My feet carry me back and forth across Duke Phideus's study—three steps to the window, turn, five steps to the bookshelf, turn again.
Princess Sybil of Ziana.
Twenty-four years of lies. Twenty-four years of believing I was nothing—an orphan of no consequence, a failed wife, a broken woman who couldn't even fulfill the one duty expected of her.
And all along, I was a queen.
"Your Majesty," Duke Phideus says gently from where he sits. "Perhaps you should sit down. You're still recovering from your injuries."
"I'm fine." The words come out sharp, clipped.
I don't feel fine. I feel like I'm shattering and reforming simultaneously, like every tiny thing in my body is rearranging itself into someone new. But beneath the rage and disbelief, there's something else—vindication.
I'm not mad, not broken, not the worthless thing everyone claimed I was.
I'm a princess, a queen. And my sons—my stolen, precious sons—they're not just heirs to Reaton's throne. They're heirs to two kingdoms. Cassiel and Kai. Those are the names I wanted to give them, the names they should have.
They're not just Leander's heirs. They're the royal blood of Ziana.
The realization hits me with such force that my knees nearly buckle. I grip the edge of Duke Phideus's desk to steady myself, my knuckles going white.
Kyrell shifts from where he stands near the fireplace, his hazel eyes intense as they watch me. He hasn't said much since his father revealed the truth, but I feel his gaze like a physical touch, steady and unwavering.
"I need to go back." The words spill out before I can think them through. "Today. I need to return to Reaton and reclaim my sons before—"
"Your Majesty…" Duke Phideus begins, but I cut him off.
"I am the princess!" My voice rings with newfound authority that surprises even me. "What can they do to me now? They can't exile me again. They can't lock me away. I'm royalty, Leander's equal. I—"
"You'll be locked in an asylum before sunset."
Duke Phideus's words are brutal, delivered with the kind of cold practicality that shatters my momentum completely. I stare at him, my mouth still open with arguments that die on my tongue.
"Your Majesty, I understand your urgency." He rises from his desk, moving around it to face me directly. "I understand the desperate need to reclaim your children, but you must think strategically. As princes of two kingdoms, they’re not only incredibly valuable, but incredibly vulnerable. You must think like a queen, not just a mother."
"I am thinking like a mother," I snap, anger flaring hot. "My sons are being raised by a woman who stole them! Every day I wait is another day they—"
"Remain alive and safe," Kyrell cuts in quietly. His voice is gentle but firm. "Your Majesty, if you walk into Reaton's court tomorrow and announce you're Princess Sybil, the lost heir of Ziana, what do you think will happen?"
I open my mouth to answer, then close it again.
Because I know. I know exactly what will happen.
"Countess Cecily has already painted you as mad," Duke Phideus says. "Already told the entire kingdom that you lost your mind after too many losses. That you tried to steal her children in your delusion…"
He breathes out heavily before continuing, his voice breaking slightly with evident pain.
"Now imagine that same 'madwoman' appears and claims to be a dead princess. Claims her stolen babies are heirs to a foreign throne."
I sink against the desk, feeling the weight of reality crushing my desperate hope. "So I just... wait? While Cecily raises my sons as her own? While they learn to call her mother?"
"We don't wait idly, Your Majesty." Duke Phideus moves closer, his expression intense. "We've been preparing for this moment for twenty-four years. Do you think we've done nothing in that time?"
I look up at him, confused.
"There are quiet campaigns already in motion," he explains. "Rumors planted carefully among the nobility. Questions about the lost princess of Ziana, doubts about the usurper's legitimacy. We have allied houses in Reaton prepared to support your claim—who fled Ziana after the massacre, families who've waited decades for justice."
"Public sentiment is being shaped too," Kyrell adds. "Slowly, carefully, so no one realizes they're being manipulated. By the time you reveal yourself, the ground will already be fertile. People will be ready to believe."
The weight of strategic patience—of waiting while my sons are being raised by another woman, while they grow and change and forget they ever heard my voice—crushes me utterly.
My hands start to shake, my breath comes faster, shorter, until I'm nearly gasping.
"I need..." I can't articulate what I need because I don't know myself.
Air? Space? Time to process everything that's been thrown at me in the last hour?
"Perhaps Her Majesty should rest," Kyrell suggests gently, his eyes full of understanding. "This has been overwhelming, you need time to gather your thoughts."
"Yes. Yes, I think..." I nod numbly, grateful for the escape he's offering. "I need time alone for a while."
"I'll escort you to your chambers." Kyrell is already moving toward me, his hand extended but not touching. "Come. Let's get you somewhere quiet."
Duke Phideus bows as I pass, murmuring something about giving me time and space. I barely hear him. My mind is too full, too loud with competing thoughts and emotions.
Kyrell walks beside me through the corridors, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body but not touching. His hand hovers at my back—protective but respectful. Giving me space while making it clear he's there if I need him.
When we reach my chambers, Kyrell opens the door for me. I step inside, expecting him to leave, to give me the solitude I asked for. But he follows me in and closes the door behind us with a soft click.
The careful distance he's maintained in the hallway dissolves immediately. He moves closer, and suddenly the room feels smaller.
"How are you feeling?" His voice is gentle but persistent, demanding honesty. "After everything you just heard... what are you thinking?"
The dam I've been holding back since the Duke knelt before me and called me "Your Majesty" finally breaks.
"I'm thinking that I failed to protect my sons." The words come out choked, thick with tears I can no longer contain. "I was right there, in that palace… and I let them be stolen from my arms. I should have fought harder, should have…"
"You had just given birth," Kyrell interrupts firmly. "You were bleeding and exhausted, probably barely conscious. What could you have done?"
"Something!" I'm crying now, unwanted tears streaming down my face, my voice rising with desperation. "Anything! I should have known something was wrong, should have demanded they stay with me."
"You did everything you could."
"It wasn't enough!" The words tear from my throat. "It wasn't enough and now they're gone and everyone wants me to be a queen, to reclaim a throne, to play politics and wait patiently while my babies are being raised by another woman!"
I sink into the nearest chair, my legs giving out completely. The sobs come harder now, great heaving gasps that shake my entire body.
"I gave Leander eight dead babies before the twins…" I gasp between sobs. "Eight times I failed, and the one time I succeeded, the one time I finally gave him living children… they were taken from me. How am I supposed to be a queen, to rule a kingdom, when I can't even save two infants."
"Stop it." Kyrell is suddenly there, kneeling before me so our eyes are level.
His hands cup my face, warm and solid, forcing me to look at him. His thumbs brush away my tears with a gentleness that makes me cry harder.
"Stop tearing yourself apart for things that weren't your fault."
"Maybe everyone was right." My voice breaks completely. "Maybe I am mad. Maybe I—"
"My mother died for you, Princess Sybil."
The words are quiet but they cut through my spiral like a blade. I freeze, staring at him through my tears.
"She believed you were worth dying for," Kyrell continues, his hazel eyes fierce and unwavering. "She took an arrow meant for you. She bled out in my father's arms, begging him to keep you safe. So please, don’t make her sacrifice meaningless by giving up before you even try."
The truth in his words breaks something loose in my chest. Someone died so I could live. Someone believed I was worth saving, worth protecting, worth dying for.
I owe it to that sacrifice to at least try.
"I'm scared…" I whisper, my voice so broken it barely sounds like me. "I'm so scared, Kyrell. What if I'm not strong enough? What if I fail them again?"
"I know." His thumbs continue their gentle stroking across my cheeks, wiping away tears as fast as they fall. "But you're not alone in this. Not anymore. I’ll be here for you, always."
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