chapter 28
The moment the queen crossed the threshold, the floating objects screamed.
Not in pain—in recognition.
The five relics orbiting her pulsed with eerie light, casting jagged shadows that made the throne room look like a ribcage. The air itself seemed to recoil from her presence, thick with the scent of iron and something older, something hungry. Her midnight-blue gown whispered across the bloodstained marble as she stepped over Lyr's discarded dagger, her gaze never leaving the king's face.
"You always did overplay your hand, Veyrian," she murmured. The black heart in her palms contracted violently, veins squirming like worms beneath its surface, as if trying to escape her grasp. "Stealing our daughter's face for your monstrosities? Even for you, that's—"
The king moved faster than a man his age should.
A blade of pure shadow materialized in his grip—Sey's power, but corrupted, oozing like tar—and plunged straight toward the queen's throat.
Yassie shouted a warning.
Sey's shadows lashed out instinctively, recoiling the moment they touched the king's weapon, as if burned.
I reached for my blue flames—
The queen sighed.
And snapped the black heart in half.
The sound was like a thousand bones breaking at once.
The king's shadow blade disintegrated mid-thrust, dissolving into smoke that curled away like a dying breath. He collapsed to his knees, his mouth working soundlessly as inky veins spiderwebbed across his face, his skin cracking like dried parchment. The throne room itself seemed to breathe, the walls contracting like a great lung before—
—the relics shot outward—
—the white-haired lock embedding itself in Yassie's chest, her gasp choked as strands of silver threaded through her veins—
—the shadow dagger fusing with Sey's trembling hand, his fingers twisting into something sharp and terrible—
—the golden scale searing onto my forehead, branding me with a heat that sent tears streaming down my cheeks—
—the crumbling star dissolving into blue dust that coated the queen's fingers, swirling like living constellations—
And my heart…
My heart…
It floated gently back to me, pressing against my sternum until flesh knit around it seamlessly. The moment it settled into place, Aurora's stolen heart shattered like glass inside me—and I remembered:
The taste of my mother's lavender cakes, warm from the oven.
The sting of my first broken bone—a fall from the palace balcony, my father's laughter ringing in my ears.
The weight of a crown that was never meant to be mine, pressed onto my brow as my sister's blood dried on my hands.
I wasn't some modern girl trapped in a fantasy world.
I was her.
The real Aurora.
The one who had let them carve out her memories along with her heart to escape this nightmare. Who had hidden her consciousness in a false reality while her body walked these halls like a marionette.
The queen's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "You didn't think I'd let you break all my children, did you?" She crouched before the choking king, pressing her palm to his sweating forehead. Her fingers glowed with that same terrible blue light. "A heart for a heart, husband."
The king's screams reached a fever pitch as his skin began unraveling, threads of his being peeling away like layers of rotting cloth to reveal—
Nothing.
An empty shell where a man should be.
The queen stood, brushing imaginary dust from her skirts. "Now then," she said, turning to us with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Who wants to explain why my youngest is currently a puddle of gore on the floor?"
Behind her, the last remnants of the king's form collapsed inward like a deflating wineskin. From within the crumpled robes, five tiny objects clattered to the ground:
A rusted key, teeth jagged like broken promises.
A child's tooth, yellowed with age.
A lock of white hair, still threaded with strands of gold.
A scale of gold, one side blackened as if burned.
And a sixth heart—
This one gray and shriveled.
Beating backward.