The Lycan palace takes my breath away. This is where I was born. Where I was supposed to grow up. It feels nothing like home.

I catch whispers as we dismount—the lost princess, the hidden twin, the one who’s supposed to die.

Damon swings off his horse with practiced ease, already barking orders at servants. His presence commands immediate attention—this is his territory, his palace, his kingdom.

I’m just the unwanted variable.

“Ly— Kira” He doesn’t look at me, just starts walking. “Follow me.”

I glance at Malik, who’s still beside his horse. His expression is carefully neutral, but something flickers in his eyes. Concern, maybe. Or warning.

Then Damon’s striding away, and I have to hurry to catch up.

“Your chambers are in the east wing,” Damon says, his tone formal and distant.

Like he’s giving a tour to a visiting dignitary rather than showing his twin sister to her room.

“Breakfast is served at dawn in the main hall. Council meetings begin at eight. You’re expected to attend.”

“Expected by who?”

“Father. The court. Everyone who wants to get a good look at you before you die.” He takes a corner sharply, and I have to scramble to keep up with his longer strides. “Don’t get comfortable. These are temporary quarters for a temporary problem.”

The words sting more than they should. “How thoughtful.”

He stops abruptly, and I almost crash into his back. He turns, looking down at me with those silver-flecked eyes.

“You’re here only because prophecy demands it.” His voice is flat. “Because we need to finish what should have been done years ago. Making you comfortable would be—”

“What? Kind?” The word tastes bitter.

His jaw clenches. “Pointless.”

He turns and continues walking. I follow in silence, through hallways that seem to stretch forever, past guards who bow to him and stare at me. Finally, we reach a set of carved wooden doors. Damon pushes them open, gesturing me inside.

The room steals whatever response I might have had.

It’s enormous. A four-poster bed draped in silver silk dominates one wall. Windows stretch floor to ceiling, offering a view of mountains that make my chest ache. There’s a sitting area with plush chairs, a writing desk, and a vanity.

Everything is elegant and expensive and completely overwhelming. But what catches my attention are the details.

The blankets on the bed—thick and soft, exactly the kind I used to dream about. The books on the shelf—adventure novels, the kind Nessa used to read to me. And on the side table, a tray of food.

Honey cakes. Fresh berries. That specific herbal tea that smells like summer.

My favorite things. All of them.

“How did you—” I turned to face him.

Damon’s expression is carefully blank.

“The twin bond.” He says it dismissively, like it’s nothing. “I know what you like. What you need.” He moves toward the door. “Doesn’t mean I care.”

But he made sure they were here. Made sure my room had everything I’d find comforting. “Damon—”

“Settle in. Father will want to see you at dinner.” He’s already halfway out the door. “Try not to embarrass us.”

Then he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him. I stand alone in my gilded cage, surrounded by comfort I never asked for, provided by a brother who’s supposed to kill me in three weeks.

Night falls, and I can’t sleep. The bed is too soft. The room is too quiet. Too big.

I keep expecting someone to burst in and tell me there’s been a mistake. That I need to go back to my servant’s quarters where I belong.

The knock, when it comes, makes me jump.

“Come in,” I call, pulling a robe over my nightgown.

Damon enters, still dressed in his formal clothes from dinner. His hair is slightly disheveled, like he’s been running his hands through it. He looks tired. And something else I can’t name.

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