Kyrell steers me through a side corridor, away from witnesses and curious eyes. My legs work on autopilot while my mind replays the scene on an endless, torturous loop.
My sons crying. Cecily clutching them to her chest like I'm the threat. The weight of Cassiel in my arms for those few precious seconds before Kyrell pulled me away. The sound of Kai's wail echoing behind us as we fled.
We end up in my guest chambers, the door closes with a soft click that sounds impossibly loud and then I'm moving, pacing. My hands shake so badly I have to clench them into fists just to stop them from trembling visibly.
"I almost held them," I hear myself saying, the words tumbling out without permission. "Did you see? Cassiel calmed when I tried to pick him up. He knew me, Kyrell. Some part of him recognized…"
"Sybil."
"And the birthmark. I saw it. The four-pointed star, exactly where mine is. That's proof, isn't it? That's something Leander can't ignore, something that—"
"Sybil, you need to…" he tries to interrupt me, but can’t stop.
"But what if he does ignore it?" My voice climbs higher, panic threading through every syllable. "What if he chooses to believe Cecily anyway because it's easier, because admitting the truth means admitting he stole my children? That he let them be taken while I was bleeding and helpless…"
"Sybil, please, listen to me," Kyrell reaches for me, trying to catch my gaze that keeps wandering through the room. Walls, windows, floor, ceiling…
"I can't do this." The words crack on the way out. "I can't keep pretending I'm fine, that seeing them doesn't destroy me, that watching her touch them doesn't make me want to…"
Kyrell's hands grip my shoulders, stopping me mid-pace. "Sybil, breathe. Just breathe for a second. I beg you."
But even his words, even his presence seems not to work this time.
I’m far too gone in myself.
"I can't breathe!" I cry out in his face. "Every time I try to breathe all I can think about is how Cassiel reached for me and how Kai looked at me and how I had to back off, had to let her take them again, had to walk away like they're not mine, like I don't—"
He grabs my face in both of his hands and kisses me.
Kyrell's mouth crashes against mine with enough force to stop the words in my throat, to silence the spiral, to make every thought in my head evaporate except Kyrell.
Did he just… silent me with his mouth?
But the thought is disappearing as quickly as it surfaced when his hands slid down from my face to cup my neck. Tilting my head back as he deepens the kiss without asking permission.
I freeze for half a heartbeat—shocked, overwhelmed, not expecting this.
Then something inside me ignites.
My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing away. I kiss him back with all the desperation and grief and rage churning through me. Pouring everything I can't say into the press of our mouths.
He tastes like wine and want and something that's purely him, familiar in a way that makes my chest ache.
His tongue traces the seam of my lips and I open for him immediately. Needing more contact, more connection, more of anything that makes me feel something else besides the crushing weight of maternal loss.
Kyrell makes a sound low in his throat—surprised and pleased—and one hand slides in my hair where pins are already falling loose from the coronation breakdown.
At some point the kiss becomes less about silencing me and more about something else entirely.
Something we've been dancing around since the fitting room. Since the balcony or the training ground. Since every charged glance and careful touch that's built between us over weeks of proximity.
His other hand settles at my waist, pulling me flush against him, and I feel the solid warmth of his body, the rapid beat of his heart matching mine. My hands slide from his shirt to his shoulders, then to the back of his neck, holding him there as if he might disappear if I let go.
When we finally break apart, both of us are breathing hard.
His forehead drops to rest against mine, hazel eyes dark and dilated, focused on me with an intensity that makes the heat pool low in my stomach.
"I'm sorry," he says, voice rough and unsteady. His thumb strokes across my cheekbone with devastating gentleness. "I didn't know how else to make you stop. You were spiraling and I couldn't—"
A sharp knock cuts through whatever he was going to say.
We spring apart like guilty children and I press the back of my hand against my mouth, feeling where his lips were just seconds ago, trying to process what just happened.
Kyrell runs a hand through his hair, making it stand on end, his jaw clenched with visible frustration.
"What?" he calls out, and there's an edge to his voice that wasn't there before.
The door opens slowly. The young nursemaid from the ceremony stands there, the one who was holding Kai while Cecily clutched Cassiel. She looks terrified but determined, her hands twisted in her apron.
"Lord Kyrell, I..." She sees me and guilt flashes across her face. "Lady Rosetta. My name is Elspeth, I need to speak with you. And Duke Phideus. Privately. It's about the births. About what really happened."
The words cut through the charged atmosphere like a blade. I feel Kyrell go tense beside me, every line of his body shifting from frustrated to alert in an instant.
"I’ll be back in a minute," he says, his voice dropping into something more controlled, more strategic.
He moves to the door, before disappearing down the corridor. Elspeth and I stand in awkward silence while she keeps looking at me and then away, over and over.
Tears stream down her face, and she makes no attempt to wipe them away.
"I'm sorry," she whispers, so quietly I almost don't hear it. "I'm so sorry. I should have spoken sooner, I should have—"
"It's all right." I don't know what she's apologizing for, but the terror in her eyes makes me gentle. "Whatever it is, it's all right."
She shakes her head, more tears falling. "It's not. It's not all right. What they did to you, my lady, what I let them do by staying silent—"
Footsteps in the corridor cut her off.
Kyrell returns with Duke Phideus, and Maren appears moments later, positioning herself at the door like a sentinel. The room suddenly feels crowded, tense with anticipation.
"What's this about, child?" Duke Phideus asks Elspeth kindly, but I hear the steel beneath the gentleness.
Elspeth trembles, her hands grip her apron so tightly her knuckles go white. But when she speaks, her voice stays steady as the truth pours out.
"I was there. I was assistant to the head midwife at both births." She wipes her eyes with shaking hands. "Queen Cecily's labor came first. It was terrible… complications from the beginning. The baby came too early, wasn't breathing properly. Born blue. A girl died before drawing her first breath."
My own breath catches.
Cecily's baby was stillborn. Her baby… died.
"Then Lady Rosetta went into labor," Elspeth's voice cracks. "Her sons came healthy—two beautiful boys, crying lustily, exactly what the kingdom needed. Perfect in every way."
"So what happened?" Duke Phideus's voice is gentle but firm. "How did Cecily end up with Rosetta's children?"
"The head midwife pulled me aside after both births were finished. Told me the arrangements had been made weeks earlier, before either woman went into labor." Elspeth's whole body shakes now. "We were supposed to switch them. Make it look like she'd lost again while Cecily produced the heirs."
Horror floods through me, stealing my breath.
They planned this. Before my sons were even born… They planned to steal them.
"And all the witnesses?" Kyrell's voice is cold, controlled.
Elspeth’s whole body shakes now.
"The head midwife who 'fell' down the stairs, the physician who 'drowned'—they were eliminated to cover this up," she whispers, her eyes wide with terror. "I was terrified that if I spoke, if I told anyone what really happened… we'd be next."
Elspeth wraps her arms around herself. "I have a daughter. Four years old. I was terrified that if I spoke, if I told anyone what really happened… we'd be next. So I stayed silent."
"But you're speaking now," I manage, my voice coming out steadier than I feel. "Why now?"
She meets my eyes, and I see absolute certainty there despite her fear.
"Because I watched you with those babies today, Your Majesty. I saw how Crown Princes Adney reached for you, like some part of them recognized you. Their real mother."
She takes a shaky breath. "I saw the birthmark on his arm. The one that looks like a four-pointed star. And I knew… I knew I couldn't stay silent anymore. Even if it costs me everything."
Silence fills the room, heavy and absolute, before Duke Phideus speaks, his voice carrying the weight of absolute authority.
"Elspeth, you and your daughter are under House Valmont's protection effective immediately. Pack your things. You'll travel with us when we leave Reaton’s capital. I give you my word—no harm will come to you or your child."
"Thank you, Your Grace." She sobs with relief, the words breaking on the way out. "Thank you. I'll pack immediately. I'll…"
"Go," Kyrell says gently. "Quickly and quietly. Tell no one where you're going or why."
She flees, and we're left standing in charged silence.
"We have our proof," Duke Phideus says finally, and there's something fierce in his eyes. "Eyewitness testimony to the switch. Evidence of systematic elimination of witnesses. This is enough."
"Enough for what?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
"Enough to reclaim your sons." His voice is absolute. "Enough to bring justice for everything that has been stolen from you."
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