I wake before Malik does. He’s still asleep beside me, one arm draped across my waist, his breathing slow and even. Peaceful.

I carefully extract myself and slip out of bed, pulling on a robe. I need to move. Need to think. I move to the vanity, reaching for the hairbrush someone left there.

My fingers fumble, and it drops, clattering against the floor. The sound makes Malik stir, but he doesn’t wake.

I kneel to retrieve the brush, and that’s when I notice it—the floorboard where it landed sits slightly higher than the others. Uneven.

Curiosity pulls at me. I press down on the board, and it shifts. Loose.

My heart starts racing as I pry it up. Beneath, in the hollow space, is a bundle of letters. Old ones, the paper yellowed and brittle. Tied with a faded ribbon.

Hidden. Deliberately.

My hands shake as I pull them out. The handwriting on the top envelope is elegant, feminine. And the address—

‘To M. Most urgent. Regarding the twin.’

I untie the ribbon with trembling fingers, unfold the first letter.

‘The prophecy is clear. But I cannot choose which of my children to condemn. I won’t.
Damon will thrive in court—they’ll accept him without question. But Lyralei? They’ll never truly accept a Queen. They’ll undermine her, challenge her, destroy her trying to mold her into what they demand.
So I choose differently. I will hide her. Let her have a life without this burden. Even if it means she suffers in other ways. Even if she hates me for it.
Better she lives free than dies fighting a court that will never let her win.
—E’

I read it twice, my hands shaking.

My mother didn’t think I was weak. She thought the court would destroy me for being a woman who dared to rule.

The next letter is shorter.

‘It’s done. Lyralei is hidden in Shadowpine territory. The barrier will hold. But someone is already asking questions. Someone who shouldn’t know she exists. They’re searching for her.
I need to find out who. Find out why. Someone at court wants her found—and not to protect her. Or else it all would be in vain.
—M’

The letter falls from my hands.

“Kira?”

I spin around. Malik is awake, sitting up in bed, his eyes immediately finding the letters scattered around me. His expression shifts—concern, then something sharper.

“What is that?”

“Letters.” My voice sounds hollow. “From my birth mother. Hidden under the floorboards.” I hold one out to him. “She hid me because the court would never accept a Queen. And someone was already searching for me—when I was just a baby.”

He takes the letter, reading quickly. His jaw tightens. “The King doesn’t know about this.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he thought you were dead. If he knew someone was actively searching for you back then—” Malik shakes his head. “Who’s M?”

“I don’t know.” My hands shake. “But whoever they are, my mother trusted them. And whoever was searching for me…” I grab the letters. “They’re probably still here. At court. Watching.”

“No.” He sets the letter down carefully. “I know nothing about this.”

“Then we need to find out.” I press my hands to my face. “Someone’s been orchestrating everything—the false mate bond, keeping me trapped. And they’re here.”

His expression hardens. “Get dressed.”

“What?”

“Get dressed. Now.” He’s already grabbing his clothes. “You want to feel sorry for yourself? Do it while you’re training.” His movements are sharp. “Because sitting here won’t help you survive the blood trials.”

The words hit like a slap. “I’m not—”

“Aren’t you?” He turns. “Get dressed, Kira. We’re going to the training yards.”

* * *

The training yard is a circle of hell carved from packed earth.

Barely past dawn, just packed dirt, practice dummies, and weapons I’ve never learned to use. Malik doesn’t ease me into it. Doesn’t treat me like fragile princess.

Dead. I’d be dead.

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