At first, there’s only light. Blinding, golden light—pouring from the ring, flooding the hall, swallowing everything in its path. The guests scream, shields of magic rise, and the chandeliers flicker violently as if the air itself is breaking apart.
Then, silence.
When the light dims, the world is different. The palace walls shimmer like mirrors, reflecting scenes that don’t belong to this day. Not reality. Memories.
Liora gasps beside me. “It’s not Aldric’s mind,” she whispers. “It’s hers.”
My breath catches as the mirrors of air shift. We stand, hundreds of us, surrounded by Seraphine’s past.
And there she is—Seraphine herself.
Younger. Softer. Still breathtaking, but not yet wearing the crown of cruelty—or so it seems. She walks through the palace corridors barefoot, her gown a deep emerald green that drags behind her like a shadow. She glances around, cautious, almost afraid, before she vanishes behind a corner.
Gasps echo through the hall. Nobles stare, wide-eyed, as the image bends again.
Seraphine transforms.
Her body twists, bones reshaping, skin melting into glistening scales. The sound of the transformation is sickening—a hiss, a snap, a ripple of skin against stone. When it’s over, a black serpent slides across the marble floor, its eyes glowing faintly green.
Liora covers her mouth, trembling.
“She’s a shapeshifter,” Brenno mutters somewhere behind me. “By the gods…”
The serpent slithers toward a massive wooden door at the top of the staircase. It squeezes through a small gap beneath it, and the scene follows.
Inside is a dimly lit bedchamber. I recognize it at once—the royal suite.
King Percival lies on the bed, his chest rising and falling slowly, unaware of the danger creeping toward him. A guard stands by the door, half-asleep, his sword resting by his side.
The snake moves closer—the crowd in the hall holds its breath.
“Don’t,” someone whispers faintly, though no one can stop what’s already happened.
The serpent curls up beside the bed, raises its head—then strikes: A flash of fangs; a sharp gasp. The king convulses once, his hand clawing at his neck, and then stills.
The guard lunges forward, shouting, but the snake is already gone—slithering beneath the door, escaping into the night. The image fades.
The silence that follows is deafening. No one moves or speaks. The realization settles like ice in every heart present. Seraphine killed the king.
Liora’s voice trembles. “The snake… it was her all along.”
I can barely breathe. My hands shake as I stare at Seraphine—the real one, standing before us at the altar. Her chest heaves, her face pale but her eyes wild.
“This isn’t true!” she shrieks. “It’s false magic! A trick!”
But her voice cracks, and even her fury sounds fragile. A murmur ripples through the nobles. Shock. Disbelief. Fear.
Aldric stirs—the first sound he makes since awakening is a soft gasp. Then his eyes—those familiar, storm-gray eyes—find mine across the hall. And I see it.
Recognition, all of it—he remembers! The curse shatters in that single heartbeat, and I feel it too—a rush of warmth through my chest, as if the air itself sighs in relief.
Then his gaze shifts to Seraphine and it hardens. He steps toward her slowly, his face unreadable until his voice cuts through the stunned silence, sharp as steel.
“You killed my father.”
Seraphine’s lips tremble, then curve into a faint, almost broken smile. “You saw a lie,” she says, though no conviction laces her tone.
Aldric’s hand closes around her wrist before she can move. The fury in his expression makes even the guards flinch.
“Say it,” he demands. “Say it’s true.”
She yanks at his grip, but he doesn’t let go. “Let me go, Aldric.”
He leans closer. “You murdered the king who trusted you. You cursed his heir. You hurt my child.”
Her eyes widen—real anger now flickering through them. “I’d kill you too,” she spits, “if I got the chance.”
Aldric’s fist clenches. He looks ready to strike her, to end it all, but before he can move, Seraphine twists her free hand in a sharp motion.
The air splits. A hiss fills the hall, and her form collapses in on itself—bones bending, skin shimmering, dress falling into a heap. In her place, a serpent coils, gleaming black, her green eyes filled with hatred.
“She’s changing again!” Liora warns.
Brenno rushes forward, drawing his sword, its silver edge flaring with light. “I’ll end it here!”
The serpent darts toward the floor, weaving between chairs and robes, too fast to follow. Brenno swings—his blade slashes the air where she had been a heartbeat ago, slicing a piece of her trailing silk instead of her flesh.
The snake hisses, scales catching the light, and disappears into the shadows beneath the marble steps.
“Find her!” someone yells. “Don’t let her escape!”
Guards scatter, overturning tables, tearing at banners. But there’s nothing left—no trace, no shadow, no sound.
She’s gone, vanished. Brenno curses under his breath, lowering his sword. “She’s faster than I thought.”
I stand frozen, the chaos swirling around me like wind. My eyes find Aldric again. He’s staring down at the place where Seraphine stood, his face pale, his jaw trembling—not from weakness, but from fury restrained too long.
Liora moves beside him. “Your Highness,” she begins softly, “the spell’s broken now. She can’t reach you again.”
He exhales slowly, then looks at me. “Lara…”
It’s not a question. Not a memory he’s searching for. It’s recognition, pure and raw, his voice filled with the weight of everything that’s come back to him.
I nod, tears burning behind my eyes. “You remember.”
He steps forward, every movement uncertain but real. “I remember everything.”
The guests whisper again, some bowing, some crossing themselves, unsure what to do in the wake of revelation.
Brenno sheaths his sword, sighing. “She’s gone for now. But she’ll try again. She always does.”
I clutch the side of the altar, my body trembling with exhaustion, relief, and dread all at once.
Aldric turns to the priest still standing by, white-faced and silent. “Call off the ceremony,” he says. “There will be no wedding today. Not now. Not ever.”
The priest nods quickly, too terrified to argue. The great bells of the palace toll once—low, heavy, final.
And though the hall is filled with people, it feels like only three of us remain: the prince who remembers, the knight who fought to protect him, and the seamstress who dared to break a curse.
I meet Aldric’s eyes one last time, my heart still thundering.
“It’s over,” I whisper.
He shakes his head slightly. “No, Lara. Not yet.”
Because somewhere, far beyond the castle walls, a serpent slithers through the night—defeated, yes, but not destroyed.