The coronation celebration fills the great hall hours later, transforming it from a sacred space into something else entirely.
Music plays from a gallery above, wine flows freely, servants circulating with silver trays. Nobles from across kingdoms mingle in elaborate dress, their conversations a low hum beneath the music.
Alliances being made, politics happening beneath the elegant surface.
I stand near a pillar with Kyrell beside me, nursing a glass of wine I haven't touched. The crystal stem feels fragile in my grip. I'm afraid if I drink, if I relax my control even slightly… everything will come pouring out.
I've maintained my composure through the whole ceremony. Through the formal dinner that followed, seven courses of food I couldn't taste. Through hours of watching Cecily bask in triumph, accepting congratulations with gracious smiles.
But I'm hanging by a thread so thin it's nearly invisible.
"You're doing well," Kyrell murmurs beside me, his hand hovers near my back, not touching but close enough that I feel the warmth of him. "Just a little longer."
I nod without speaking, not trusting my voice.
Across the hall, I see Duke Phideus working the room with practiced skill. I watch him engage nobles in carefully calibrated conversations, moving from group to group with the ease of someone who's spent decades navigating court politics.
A mention here and there of old Ziana bloodlines.
A question there and here about the princess who supposedly died in the massacre.
A curiosity kindled but never satisfied. Seeds of doubt planted so subtly that no one realizes they're being manipulated.
"He's very good at that," I observe quietly.
"He's had his whole life to perfect the technique." Kyrell's voice is equally soft. "Every conversation is strategic, every word is calculated."
Then the crowd parts, and my stomach drops as I see Leander and Cecily approaching with babies in their arms.
One carried by Cecily, radiant in cloth of gold. The other held by a nursemaid just behind them. They were making rounds through the hall, showing off the heirs to important guests, accepting congratulations and blessings.
And now they're heading directly toward Duke Phideus's party near us.
I feel Kyrell go tense beside me. His hand moves to my back—steadying, warning, ready to catch me if I break.
"Hold on for a little longer," he whispers. "Remember why we’re here."
But I can't do anything except watch my sons get closer.
Their tiny forms wrapped in royal silks that should be mine to choose. Their faces fuller than I remember because they're growing without me, learning to exist in a world where I don't exist.
"Duke Phideus." Leander's voice is formal but strained, like a string pulled too tight. "I wanted to personally thank you for attending. Your presence means a great deal, especially given your long friendship with my father."
"The honor is entirely mine, Your Majesty." Duke bows with perfect correctness. "I wouldn't miss such an occasion. Your father would be immensely proud."
Cecily's eyes land on me, and a calculated smile spreads across her perfect face.
"How lovely that you brought your ward, Duke Phideus." Her voice drips with false sweetness. "Though I must say, I'm surprised to see her here rather than... where she was meant to be. How unexpected."
She shifts the baby in her arms deliberately, drawing attention to him. Drawing attention to me. The comment is poison wrapped in silk, and everyone close enough to hear catches the implication immediately.
The disgraced first wife. The madwoman.
I force a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. "People often see what they expect to see, Your Majesty."
"How philosophical."
Cecily laughs—bright, musical, utterly false. She turns the baby outward slightly, showing him to the gathered nobles who've started to cluster around.
"This is Crown Prince Adney. Isn't he magnificent? Already so alert for his age. His father's eyes, I think. So intelligent, even now."
That's Cassiel. My Cassiel. My son, being paraded by a woman who stole him, claimed by a woman who has no right to touch him.
My hands clench so hard my nails draw blood, but I barely feel it. "He's beautiful. Both of them are."
My voice cracks slightly on the words.
"They truly are." Cecily's voice drips with false modesty as she gazes down at Cassiel with practiced maternal devotion. "I'm so blessed. After all, not every woman is capable of producing healthy heirs."
The barb lands deliberately, precisely, right where she intended.
"Some women simply..." She trails off delicately, her eyes flicking to me with barely concealed triumph. "Can't."
Something inside me finally snaps and I don’t care about anything. Not anymore. "Those aren't your children."
The words come out quiet but absolutely certain, deadly calm. The small circle of nobles nearby—perhaps five or six standing close enough to hear—goes silent, sensing conflict brewing beneath the elegant surface.
Cecily's smile doesn't falter, but her eyes flash with something sharp and victorious. "I beg your pardon?"
"Those. Aren't. Your. Children." My voice rises now, shaking with barely contained fury that's been building for almost two months. "They're mine. I gave birth to them. I held them. They bear my birthmark on his arm—"
I'm moving forward before I can stop myself, reaching toward Cassiel, maternal instinct overriding everything else. Strategy, caution, the careful plans—all of it burns away in the face of my son being so close I could touch him.
Kyrell catches my arm, but I wrench against his grip. The words are pouring out now, unstoppable, a dam finally breaking after too much pressure.
"What a madwoman," Cecily laughs nervously. "Perhaps you should stay at home, healing your fragile mind. Perhaps because of your low bloodline you are so vulnerable to such illnesses…"
"My low bloodline? I am the Crown Princess Sybil of Ziana! Those are my sons—heirs to two kingdoms! And you STOLE them from me!"
The last words come out as almost a scream.
Only those standing very close hear the full claim—Duke Phideus's party, Leander and Cecily, the nursemaid holding my other son. Perhaps also five or six nearby nobles who've turned to stare with wide eyes and open mouths.
Cecily gasps with perfect theatrical horror, clutching Cassiel closer to her chest as if I might snatch him away. "She's mad! Completely insane! Guards! Someone get the guards!"
But Kyrell is already moving. His arm wraps around my waist with iron strength, lifting me bodily as he turns toward the exit. I'm still reaching for my sons, still fighting against his hold, tears streaming down my face.
"Let me GO! Those are my babies! Cassiel! Kai! Those are my SONS!"
I hear Cassiel start crying, that same sharp wail I heard when he was born, the sound that's haunted my dreams. And something in my chest tears completely.
I see Duke Phideus step forward immediately, his voice cutting through the chaos with aristocratic authority and practiced embarrassment.
"Your Majesties, please accept my sincerest apologies. Lady Rosetta has been unwell. I should never have brought her to such an overwhelming occasion." He bows deeply, the perfect picture of an embarrassed guardian dealing with a disturbed ward. "If I may have your permission to retire immediately? I'll ensure she receives proper care."
Leander stands frozen, his face is white as parchment, his hand gripping Cecily's arm so tightly I can see his knuckles bone-white from here.
He heard everything. Crown Princess Sybil. The claim about the children. The absolute certainty in my voice when I called them by the names only I should know.
His mouth opens. Closes. No sound comes out.
His silence reads as consent.
Kyrell carries me through the crowd, my struggles weakening as shock begins to set in. Behind us, I hear Duke Phideus making smooth excuses, his voice calm and apologetic, containing the damage, guiding attention away from the truth hidden in my breakdown.
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