The sentencing happens three days after the bond breaking.
The Queen Mother kneels in the throne room, stripped of her purple silks. In rough brown cloth, her hair unbound, she looks smaller. Older. Almost pitiful.
Almost.
"Seraphine of House Silvercrest," the King's voice rings through the hall. "You stand accused of regicide, conspiracy, poisoning, and forbidden magic. How do you plead?"
She doesn't answer. Just stares at Damon with pleading eyes.
"Guilty on all counts. The sentence is exile. You will be stripped of title, lands, and power. If you ever return to Lycan territory, the sentence is death."
Not execution. A mercy the King grants because she did, in her twisted way, raise his son.
Through our twin bond, I feel Damon's complicated grief—anger and betrayal tangled with memories of a woman who read to him as a child, who held him when he had nightmares.
"I did it for you," the Queen Mother says, voice breaking. "Everything. I loved you—"
"You loved power," Damon says quietly. "I was just the means to get it."
"No—you were my son. I made you strong, worthy—"
"After everything you've done? Don't expect me to believe in your love."
Her mouth opens but no words come. Just a sob that sounds like something breaking.
Guards lift her to her feet. She doesn't fight, just keeps staring at Damon as they lead her away, tears streaming.
Then, at the threshold, the Queen Mother paused.
The tears stopped. Not gradually—they simply ceased, as though a hand had turned a valve shut. She straightened beneath the rough cloth, and when she turned, her eyes found mine—not Damon's. Mine.
The expression wasn't defeat. It was assessment. Cold, precise—the look of a woman cataloging exactly what stood between her and everything she'd lost. Someone already planning their next move.
The moment lasted less than a heartbeat. Then the mask slid back—the broken mother, the pitiful exile—and the guards led her through the doors. They closed with a sound like a coffin sealing shut.
I told myself I'd imagined it. But through the twin bond, I felt Damon flinch. He'd seen it too.
His shoulders sag. I take his hand and push comfort through the bond—shared grief for the woman who might have been a mother but chose to be a monster.
"Are you okay?" I ask quietly.
"No." His honesty cuts. "But I will be. Eventually."
The King gestures us forward. "The court must decide the succession. There are... complications now."
Two living heirs where there should be one. A prophecy that demanded death but got defiance.
"Speak," the King says. "Tell the court what you propose."
"The blood trials end," I say. "No more killing siblings. No more forcing children to murder each other for a throne."
Murmurs ripple through the nobles. Shock. Disapproval. Fear of change.
"The prophecy is wrong," Damon cuts through. "My sister and I survived the blood rite. Our magic merged instead of destroying each other. We're stronger together."
"But there can only be one ruler. That's the law—"
"Then we change the law. We propose twin monarchs. Shared power, shared rule."
The room erupts. "Impossible!" "Unprecedented!" "It violates centuries of tradition!"
Lord Ashworth didn't shout like the others. He leaned back, fingers steepled, and said quietly, "The prophecy exists for a reason. Defying ancient law invites consequences none of us can predict." Several nobles around him nodded with the certainty of wolves who believed tradition was just another word for truth.
The King raises his hand. "Let them finish."
"We're not asking you to trust us because of bloodline," Damon says. "We're asking you to look at what we've done. We survived assassination attempts, manipulation, and a system designed to destroy us."
"And if you fight?" a noble challenges. "If shared power becomes a weapon?"
"Then the bond stops it before it starts." Damon's hand finds mine. "We're twin souls now. What hurts one hurts both."
"The council will deliberate," the King says. "But know this—I've already made my choice. Both my children will inherit."
Not quite settled. But a start.
Later, I find Theron in the courtyard, preparing to leave.
He looks different without the corrupted bond. Calmer. Just a man trying to figure out how to be better.
"Time to go home," he says. "Face what I've done."
"How's that going?"
"Slowly." He runs a hand through his hair. "Celeste left two days ago." He paused, something uncomfortable shifting behind his expression. "She didn't just leave, actually. She told me she'd make sure I regretted this. That both of us would—you and me." He shrugged, but it didn't land as casual. "She's hurt. People say things when they're hurting."
"Should we be worried?"
"No." He said it firmly, but his eyes didn't match his voice. "Anger fades. She'll move on, find someone who deserves her."
I wanted to believe him. I almost did.
"She deserves better than being second choice," he continues. "I don't blame her. I have a lot to make up for."
We stand in comfortable silence. Two people who destroyed each other, finally at peace.
"What will you do now?" I ask.
"Learn. Be a better Alpha. Figure out who I am without stolen magic propping me up. Rebuild my pack's trust."
"That's a long road."
"I've got time." He turns back to me. "What about you? Twin monarch. Quite the upgrade from servant."
A laugh escapes me. "Terrifying. But I'm not doing it alone."
Something bittersweet crosses his face. "Malik. He's good for you. Better than I ever was."
"He chose me without magic forcing him to."
"That's what you deserve." He extends his hand. I take it—firm, respectful. The handshake of equals.
"Goodbye, Theron."
"Goodbye, Kira."
He mounts his horse. Marcus rides beside him, returning to Shadowpine as advisor. Their relationship is damaged, but Marcus said he owed it to my mother to help fix what he helped break.
As they disappear through the gates, arms wrap around me from behind.
"You okay?" Malik's voice is warm against my ear.
"Yeah. I really am."
"No regrets?"
"About him? No." I turn in his arms. "He needed to leave. And I needed to let him go."
"And us?"
I kiss him. Soft and sure and certain.
"Us doesn't change. You chose me when I was nobody. When I was a servant covered in dirt and blood, with no advantage to it except that you wanted to." My hands frame his face. "That's not something I forget."
His smile is devastating. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."
Through the bond, I feel Damon's amusement from a palace window.
Happy? he pushes through.
Very.
Good. Someone should be.
Loneliness in his voice. Grief still raw. The weight of a crown we're about to share.
You're not alone, I remind him. Not anymore.
I know. A pause. Sister.
The word fills me with warmth.
Now get out of my head, I tease, before you start complaining you didn't want to see anything.
A smile stretches my lips involuntarily.