The castle was too fucking quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that means rest. No, this was the silence of predators holding their breath. The stillness that chokes you, presses on your chest, makes your skin crawl like it knows something wicked is watching.
I moved through it like a ghost.
Barefoot. Silent. Wrapped in a servant's dress two sizes too big, hanging off me like shame. My golden hair, once the envy of a thousand court sluts, was braided and shoved under a filthy scarf. No perfume. No paint. Just salt stained cheeks and shaking hands.
I'd just watched my mother summon Hell.
Tucked behind a rotting panel near the dungeon steps, knees bruised from crouching, I held my breath as Lorelei screamed like a banshee in heat and the Bone Seer slathered blood across the floor like she was finger-painting with entrails.
Three virgins, strung up like fucking livestock. A cursed heart, still beating. Phoenix feathers burned into ash. All for her. For Rhiannan.
And then...gods above and below, I saw her.
For a heartbeat, her body appeared in the center of the circle. Caught mid scream. Eyes wild. Hair like fire. My bonded sister.
And then...she was gone.
Lorelei screeched. Kristoff raged. The Bone Seer turned ghost pale.
But I didn't wait. I ran.
Through the servant tunnels, where I'd learned every crack and turn by getting my back lashed when I took a wrong one. Through filth, barefoot, clutching the necklace at my chest, my one fucking lifeline. Embedded with a crystal transmitter. The rebellion's eye.
I uploaded everything. Every scream. Every rune. Every bone. My fingers bled on the damn floorboard of the old cellar as I whispered my passcode like a prayer.
And then I prayed it reached her, Zaiya Bloodrage.
Hours later, tucked in the rebellion's hidden kitchen, chewing warm stolen bread with trembling teeth, I heard Mira whisper it..
"We saw it. Zaiya sends her thanks."
I froze. "She's okay?"
"She is," Thom said, voice rough with smoke and years. "And she knows what you did."
I didn't cry.
Not yet.
That night, we toasted with watered wine and stale cheese like it was the feast of kings. We whispered about freedom. About hope. About burning this fucking place to the ground.
But when they all passed out and I crawled into the pantry, bolted the door behind me, I broke.
Not loud. Not messy.
Just... broken.
I curled up under the flour sacks, arms around my ribs like they could keep me from falling apart. I didn't sob. They taught me not to. But my tears slid down anyway, soaking into the stone.
My body still hurt in places that had never fully healed. My mind whispered their names for me...
Whore. Freak. Worthless. Pretty little punching bag. Too pretty to waste, but never pretty enough to save.
I rocked myself.
"I'm not weak," I breathed. "I'm not."
But gods, I was so fucking lonely.
I missed my brothers voice.
Arwen's laugh, wild and sharp like a war cry. The way he never bowed to anyone, not even the gods.
I missed him like I missed air.
I missed being seen, not for curves or cleavage or usefulness, but for me.
When dawn kissed the sky, I crawled to the shattered window and dropped to my knees. My skin numb. My hope hanging on by a single fraying thread.
I tilted my face to the stars and whispered,
"Please, Goddess Nythera… bring her here. Let her come. Let her burn this fucking place down."
I pressed my forehead to the cold stone, teeth gritted.
"I'm still here. I'm still helping. But I don't know how much longer I can take this."
A wind moved through the broken tower.
Soft. Cold. Gentle.
Like fingers brushing my cheek.
And I knew.
I knew it was her.
Nythera was listening.
I smiled through the tears, cracked lips curling.
"Come for us, sister," I whispered. "We're waiting."
Zaiya Bloodrage POV
The Rebellion Headquarters
I didn't flinch when the footage started.
Didn't blink. Didn't breathe.
I stood like a storm held in skin..arms crossed, one boot up on the edge of the war table, the projector crystal humming above the maps like it knew it was broadcasting the beginning of the end.
The ritual unfolded in flickering light.
Screams first.
Blood next.
The Siren bitch twirling in crimson like a child high on power, and the Bone Seer dragging a still beating heart across runes drawn in virgin blood.
My hands itched for a weapon.
My jaw cracked from clenching too hard.
I wanted to punch something. Preferably through a wall. Preferably her.
And then...
My girl.
Rhiannan.
Her body flickered through the veil like a match about to catch, caught mid summon. Her scream...I fucking felt it in my ribs, and then… BOOM.
A divine strike so hard, the vision cracked.
Light exploded.
Power like a goddamn supernova swallowed the circle whole and ripped her away, away from them, away from that filthy spell.
And I knew. I fucking knew.
Nythera.
She'd interfered.
But for once in my life, I didn't curse her for meddling. I bowed my fucking head.
Because that wasn't just divine intervention. That was a mother's war cry. That was a celestial middle finger, dipped in vengeance and thrown like a spear.
"She sent it," Barrik grunted beside me, arms folded like the mountain bastard he is. "The Princess. Gailia."
My jaw flexed. "She's still in that castle."
"In the belly of the beast," he muttered.
"She's got bigger balls than half the highborn bastards I've ever killed," I said, and this time I did smile. Sharp. Bloody. Proud.
Gailia had risked everything. Filmed the whole goddamn ritual. Got it out. Sent us proof.
And now?
It was our move.
"Send it," I ordered. "Everywhere."
By sunrise, Faenet was a wildfire.
The footage was everywhere.
Dripping into scroll feeds, rune nets, pirate song chants, smuggler spells, black market bards humming tunes with blood on the lyrics.
💬 THE ROYAL FAMILY PERFORMED BLOOD MAGIC.
💬 VIRGINS SLAUGHTERED. A CURSED FAE HEART.
💬 THEY TRIED TO ABDUCT THE PROPHECY BEARER.
💬 AND THEY FAILED.
And the world?
It didn't riot.
Not yet.
But taverns stopped laughing.
Schools stopped teaching.
Brothels stopped moaning.
And warriors?
They started packing.
Dwarves from the Frosted Reaches.
Outcast fae with scars instead of wings.
Shifters whose alphas got executed for growling at the wrong crown.
Witches whose covens were "cleansed."
Mothers whose sons went off to "serve" and came back in pieces.
They came.
And they kept coming.
Ten thousand.
Twenty.
Thirty.
And still, I didn't smile.
Not yet.
I knelt at the edge of the war map and unsheathed my dagger, pressing it into the center of the royal territory like a promise etched in steel.
"She's coming," I whispered.
Barrik stood behind me like a wall with a heartbeat. "Rhiannan?"
I nodded once. "She'll burn the fucking castle down."
I leaned in closer, voice razor thin.
"But we'll pick the bones clean."
Outside, my soldiers were quiet.
Magic was tested.
Blades were sharpened.
Oaths were whispered into dirt and blood.
The rebellion didn't scream.
We smoldered.
And when the gods gave the signal,
We'd fucking detonate.