The Queen Mother's private study is accessible through a servants' passage that most of the palace has forgotten exists.
Malik found it two days ago, and now we're pressed against the wall in the narrow corridor, barely breathing, listening through the ventilation grate.
"The blood trials begin in a few days." The Queen Mother's voice is clear, commanding. "Everything is proceeding as planned."
"And if the girl wins?" An unfamiliar male voice.
"She won't. The forced mate bond drains her—she doesn't even realize how much. Every time that pathetic Alpha's emotions spike, it weakens her through the corrupted magic."
A pause. "We let them weaken each other first. Three brutal challenges over three days. Let them both suffer, both bleed. Then Damon finishes it."
My hand finds Malik's in the darkness. His fingers tighten around mine.
"And the Prince? He's been showing concern for her."
"The twin bond." Seraphine's voice goes cold. "Once she's dead, the guilt will destroy him. A guilt-ridden, traumatized heir is far easier to control." She laughs. "He'll rule, but he'll be broken. Exactly as I need him."
"What about the King?"
"Maelric grows weaker every day. The tonic in his evening wine is doing its work." Satisfaction drips from her tone. "By the time Damon takes the throne, his father will be too ill to interfere with my regency."
Malik's entire body goes rigid. She's poisoning the King.
"And the Shadowpine Alpha?"
"Marcus keeps him distracted with diplomatic nonsense. The fool believes his bond with Kira is real, that his wolf chose her. He has no idea it's fabricated magic designed to cage her."
Her voice drops. "Marcus will ensure it stays that way. He knows what happens to those who displease me."
My chest tightens. Everything has been orchestrated by her.
"The girl must die in the trials. No accidents. No suspicions. Just a tragic prophecy." Footsteps echo. "I've been planning this since before those twins were born. Since Elara got pregnant and threatened everything I'd built." Her voice turns to ice.
"I didn't claw my way from minor nobility to Queen Mother just to be displaced by some hidden brat. Damon is mine. The throne is mine. And anyone who threatens that ends up like Elara—dead and forgotten."
The implication hits me like a physical blow. She killed my mother.
Malik's hand covers my mouth before the gasp can escape. We don't speak until we're back in my chambers, door locked, wards activated. Then I collapse onto the edge of my bed, hands shaking.
"She killed my mother," I whisper. "She's poisoning the King. She created the mate bond. She's been controlling everything—"
"Kira." Malik kneels in front of me, hands framing my face. "Breathe. We know now. We have information we didn't have before."
"What good does knowing do?" My voice cracks. "She's been planning this for decades. We have a couple days—"
"A couple days to prepare. To warn the King. To expose her." His thumbs brush my cheekbones. "You're not fighting this alone."
I lean into his touch, letting his steadiness anchor me. We stay like that for a long moment, just breathing together.
Eventually, Malik leaves to post guards and check security. I change into my nightgown, trying to calm my racing mind.
Soon, the blood trials begin.
The knock comes near midnight.
I'm still awake, staring at the ceiling, when I hear it. Soft. Hesitant. Not like Malik's confident rap or the guards' formal announcement.
I open the door, and Damon nearly falls through it.
He's drunk. Not sloppy—he's too well-trained for that—but enough that his walls are crumbling. His silver eyes are unfocused, his hair disheveled, and he's still in his training leathers like he came straight from the yards.
There's dirt on his knuckles. Blood dried under his nails.
"Damon—"
"I need to tell you something." His voice is raw, stripped of its usual cold control. "Before the trials. Before I have to—" He can't finish.
I pull him inside before anyone sees, my heart hammering. He stumbles to the window, bracing himself against the frame, staring out at the darkness. His shoulders are rigid, trembling slightly.
"You shouldn't be here," I say quietly.
"I know." He doesn't turn around. "But I couldn't—I can't go into those trials without—" His hands curl into fists against the stone. "Fuck."
I wait, giving him space. The silence stretches, broken only by his ragged breathing. Through the twin bond, I feel his turmoil—a storm of emotions he's kept locked away for twenty-three years, finally breaking free.
Finally, he laughs—bitter and broken.
"I've been preparing my whole life to kill you." He turns to face me, and his eyes are bloodshot, rimmed with red. "They told me you were my enemy. That only one of us could survive. That the prophecy demanded it."
His voice cracks on the last word, and I see his throat work as he swallows hard.
"So I trained. I studied. I made myself into a weapon."
His hands shake as he speaks, fingers flexing like he's trying to hold something that keeps slipping away.
"Into something strong enough, ruthless enough, to end my own twin. My other half."
The words hit me like physical blows. Each one lands in my chest, stealing breath. I want to reach for him, but something keeps me frozen in place.
"And I was fine with it," he continues, starting to pace like a caged animal.
Three steps to the left, three back. His movements are jerky, uncoordinated—so unlike his usual predatory grace.
"Because you were just an idea. A threat. Something abstract to eliminate."
He stops abruptly, meeting my eyes, and the pain there is devastating. "And then I felt you through the bond."
My breath catches. The twin bond hums between us, responding to his distress, pulling tighter.
"Every nightmare," he whispers, and his voice breaks on the word. "Every moment of loneliness. Every time you cried yourself to sleep. Every time you wanted to die."
His hands shake violently now. "I felt all of it, Kira. For years. Your pain, your fear, your desperation—it bled through the bond and poisoned me."
He takes a step toward me, and I see tears tracking down his face, catching the moonlight.
"I'd be in council meetings," he says, voice barely above a whisper, "and suddenly I'd feel you breaking. Feel your heart shattering. And I couldn't do anything about it. Couldn't reach you. Couldn't stop it."
His fist presses harder against his chest. "Do you know what that's like? Feeling someone you're supposed to kill, suffering, and wanting—needing—to protect them instead?"
My own eyes burn with unshed tears.
"And I realized—" His voice breaks completely, fracturing into pieces. "You're not my enemy. You're the only person in this world who shares my blood. My soul."
He presses his fist to his chest, right over his heart.
"You're my twin. My sister. The other half of me. And they want me to—"
He can't finish. Just stands there, tears streaming down his face, his whole body shaking with the weight of what he's holding.
"I can't do it." The confession is barely audible, broken and raw. "I can't kill my sister. I won't. Even if it means—" He stops, breathing hard. "Even if it means I'm the one who dies instead."