The carriage lurches over another rut in the road, and I grip the seat to keep from sliding into Maren. Four days of travel, and every mile brings us closer to a place I thought I'd never return to.
"Tell me again why I agreed to this…" I mutter, watching the countryside roll past through the window.
"Because you're brave and determined and you want to see your sons," Maren says without looking up from the book she’s reading. "Also because my father is terrifyingly persuasive when he wants to be."
Outside, I can see Duke Phideus and Kyrell riding alongside the carriage, their horses keeping easy pace with our modest escort. Enough guards to demonstrate House Valmont's status, but not so many as to seem aggressive or threatening.
Everything is carefully calculated to avoid drawing unwanted attention.
"I still don't understand why you insisted on coming," I say to Maren. "You hate court functions. You've told me at least a dozen times how tedious they are."
"Someone needs to keep you from spiraling into panic." She turned the page with more effort than necessary. "Besides, I've been trapped at the estate for months, I need entertainment. Watching you navigate court politics while keeping in secret your real identity should be absolutely fascinating."
"I'm so glad my suffering amuses you, Maren dear."
"That's not what I…" She looks up, sees my slight smile, and swats my arm with her book. "You're terrible. Making jokes when you're clearly terrified."
"If I don't joke, I'll scream out loud."
The rest of he day passed with relative ease, Maren's constant chatter providing welcome distraction from my spiraling thoughts.
She told me stories about growing up at the Valmont estate, about the time she convinced Kyrell that the north tower was haunted and watched him investigate with a drawn sword. About her mother, the woman who died saving me, speaking of her with a mixture of pride and grief for someone she never knew.
But as we get closer to Reaton's capital, as the landscape becomes increasingly familiar, my anxiety intensifies with each passing mile. These roads feel hostile now, full of memories that cut like blades.
There's the village where Leander and I stopped on our wedding journey. Where he bought me honey cakes from a street vendor and fed them to me with his fingers while I laughed.
There's the hill where we stopped to watch the sunset. Where he pulled me into his arms and whispered that he'd never been happier. There's the bridge where he kissed me in the rain, both of us soaked and shivering and completely lost in each other.
Every landmark is a knife twisting in my chest.
"Sybil." Maren's hand closes over mine. "Breathe. You're turning pale."
"I can't do this." The words escape before I can stop them. "I can't go back there. I can't face him. I can't…"
"You can." Her grip tightens. "And you will. Because your sons are there, because justice requires it. Because you're strong."
The carriage slows, pulling off the road for a rest stop. I hear Duke Phideus calling orders to the guards, Kyrell's deeper voice responding. Maren releases my hand and gathers her embroidery.
"Come on. Let's stretch our legs before the final approach."
I follow her out of the carriage on unsteady legs. The guards disperse to tend the horses and check the wheels. Kyrell appears immediately at my side, his presence a solid comfort.
"How are you holding up?" he asks quietly.
"Ask me again when this is over."
Duke Phideus approaches before Kyrell can respond. "Your Majesty, might I have a word?"
Kyrell squeezes my shoulder once before moving away to help with the horses. I follow Duke Phideus to a spot away from the others, my stomach already tightening with apprehension.
"We need to discuss our plans once we arrive," he says without preamble. His expression is grave. "We won't be leaving immediately after the coronation."
My heart sinks. "How long?"
"A week, perhaps two. Long enough to solidify support without arousing suspicion."
He speaks with methodical precision, each word carefully chosen.
"I've arranged meetings with several noble families—allies who fled Ziana and now reside in Reaton’s capital under assumed names or diminished titles. They're crucial to restoration efforts, but meeting with them requires discretion and time."
Two weeks in the same palace as my stolen sons.
Two weeks watching Cecily hold them, feed them, claim them as hers.
Two weeks maintaining the fiction of Lady Rosetta while Princess Sybil screams inside me.
"King Leander knows me as his father's old friend," Duke continues. "It's not unusual for me to stay and pay respects to the new king, especially during the festival period. But these meetings are essential—we need their military support, their resources, their connections. Without them, reclaiming your throne becomes infinitely harder."
"Can I handle that?" The question escapes before I can stop it. "Being that close to them for that long?"
Duke Phideus's expression softens with understanding. "You can, because you must. I know what I'm asking, Your Majesty. But this is necessary."
I nod slowly, swallowing the fear rising in my throat. I agreed to this path, I knew it would be difficult. But knowing intellectually and facing reality are vastly different things.
We return to the carriage. Maren takes one look at my face and doesn't ask questions, just settles beside me and starts talking about absolutely nothing.
Court fashions, her latest attempts to convince her father that spinsterhood is a viable life choice, the questionable architectural decisions of whoever designed Reaton's capital eastern gate.
Then the castle comes into view.
Towers rising against the sky, banners snapping in the wind, the familiar stone walls that once meant home and now mean only pain. My hands start shaking so badly I have to clench them in my lap to hide it. My breath comes short and fast and I feel the world tilts sideways.
"Sybil." Maren's hand closes over mine, squeezing tight. "Just breathe, we're here with you. You're not alone."
"I can't…"
"You can. Look at me." She waits until my eyes meet hers. "You are Princess Sybil of Ziana. You are the rightful heir to a stolen throne. You are a mother fighting to reclaim her children. You are not the broken woman they tried to make you. Do you understand?"
I nod, forcing air into my lungs. In. Out. In. Out.
The carriage finally stops and before the footman can open the door, it swings wide to reveal Kyrell. He doesn't ask if I'm ready or tell me it will be fine. He simply extends his hand.
I take it, letting him lift me down from the carriage. His hand immediately moves to my back—steady, grounding, an anchor in the storm threatening to pull me under.
"I'm here," he murmurs, so quietly only I can hear. "Right here. Every step."
We're escorted through familiar corridors toward the guest wing. Servants pause in their duties to stare as we pass. I hear the whispers start immediately.
"Is that… No, it can't be."
"But that's impossible—she's supposed to be..."
"Lady Rosetta of House Valmont, they said."
"But why is she here? Isn't she meant to be in the countryside?"
Their voices fade as we turn a corner, but I feel their gazes like brands against my skin. They recognize me and they cannot understand why the disgraced first wife is walking freely through the palace halls.
Then we turn another corner, and suddenly he's there. Leander.
He's walking toward us with a small entourage, clearly coming to greet Duke Phideus as his father's old friend. He's dressed in full royal regalia, every inch the commanding king he was born to be.
His mouth opens, a greeting already forming on his lips as he recognizes Duke Phideus, but then his eyes land on me. The color drains from his face so quickly I think he might faint.
His greeting dies unspoken, lips still parted around words that will never come. For a long moment—a heartbeat, an eternity—he simply stares.
I watch the emotions war across his features in rapid succession. Recognition, sharp and immediate. Confusion, because this can't be possible. Disbelief, because the woman standing before him should be locked away.
"Rosetta?" he breathes out as if not believing what he sees before him.
________________