The arena is ancient stone and blood-soaked earth.

Thousands of wolves pack the stands—nobles in silk, warriors in leather, commoners craning for a view. The air tastes like anticipation and violence. In the center observation box, the King sits pale and gaunt, the Queen Mother at his right, her smile sharp as a blade.

I stand at one entrance, Damon at the other. Fifty yards of killing ground between us.

The twin bond hums, and I feel his determination, his fear, his love.

Ready? he pushes through.

As I’ll ever be, I push back.

The horn sounds.

We both shift.

My wolf is massive, silver-white, power crackling beneath my fur. Damon’s is equally large, midnight black with those same silver eyes. We circle each other, and the crowd roars.

“First blood!” someone shouts.

“Kill her!” another screams.

We lunge.

It looks vicious—claws and teeth and bodies slamming together. But every move is calculated. When his jaws close near my throat, they don’t break skin. When my claws rake his side, they leave marks but nothing deep.

Still, it hurts. Pain lances through my shoulder where he caught me. The impact rattles my bones.

Sorry, he pushes through the bond.

Had to look real, I push back, darting under his guard.

We’ve been training for this. Malik explained to us how to fight together while looking like we’re trying to kill each other. Every strike is pulled just enough. Every dodge is a fraction too slow to be truly deadly.

But the crowd doesn’t know that.

They see two royal wolves tearing into each other with primal fury. See blood—real blood—staining silver and black fur. Hear the snarls and yelps that echo off stone walls.

Then something shifts inside me.

Power surges—not just my wolf, but something deeper. Something that’s been dormant, waiting. Magic floods my veins, and suddenly silver light crackles across my fur like lightning.

The crowd gasps.

Damon feels it through the bond. What is that?

I don’t know, I push back, but it feels right. Feels like coming home.

The magic wraps around me, amplifying everything. My strikes are faster. My movements more fluid. When I bare my teeth, power sparks between them.

This is what the Queen Mother feared. This is what she tried to suppress.

Damon and I clash again, and this time the impact sends shockwaves through the arena. Dust rises. The crowd roars louder.

We need to end this, Damon pushes. Before someone realizes—

He’s right. We’ve given them a show. Time for the finale.

I lunge, going for his throat. He dodges—but not quite far enough. My teeth close on his shoulder, and I bite down. Not to kill. Just enough to draw blood, to make it look decisive.

He goes down.

I stand over him, silver magic still crackling, my jaws at his throat. The crowd is screaming. Betting on whether I’ll kill him. Demanding blood.

Submit, I push through the bond.

Damon’s wolf goes still beneath me. Then, slowly, he bares his throat. The ultimate gesture of submission.

The arena erupts.

I step back, shifting to human form. Naked and covered in blood and dirt, but I keep my spine straight. Damon shifts too, kneeling before me, head bowed.

“I yield,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “The first trial belongs to Princess Kira.”

The King rises from his seat. “First blood to the Princess. The twins will rest before the second trial at dusk.”

Guards escort us to separate chambers. As we pass each other, Damon’s hand brushes mine.

That was close, he pushes.

Too close, I agree.

But dusk comes too quickly.

It tastes like copper and magic and Damon. The moment it hits my tongue, agony explodes through me. My veins catch fire. My bones feel like they’re breaking from the inside.

A woman with my face but older, more regal, holding two infants. “I can’t choose,” she sobs. “I won’t choose which one dies.”

The Queen Mother, younger, beautiful, whispering poison into a king’s ear. “The prophecy is clear, Your Majesty. Only one can inherit. Only one can live.”

My mother—Queen Elara—pressing a kiss to an infant’s forehead. “I’m sorry, my little star. I’m so sorry. But this is the only way to keep you safe. To keep you both safe.”

Blood on marble floors. Elara gasping, clutching her stomach. The Queen Mother standing over her, a vial in her hand. “You should have chosen, you fool. Now you lose them both.”

A small boy being told his mother died. His twin sister died too. He’s alone now, the sole heir, and he must be strong.

The Queen Mother reading to him, brushing his hair, telling him he’ll be a great king. But underneath, her thoughts—cold, calculating. “A weapon. That’s all he needs to be. A weapon I can control.”

Years of training. Years of being told his dead twin was his enemy. Years of feeling her through a bond he didn’t understand, feeling her pain and being told it was his weakness that needed purging.

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