Zara's POV
I burn the note the moment Kaelen leaves my room.
Three days. Sevrin wants Kaelen dead in three days, or everyone I care about dies. The paper turns to ash in my trembling hands, but the words stay burned in my mind.
I can't sleep. Every shadow looks like a spy. Every sound could be Sevrin's agents closing in. I pace my fancy new quarters like a caged animal, knife in hand, until the sky starts turning gray with dawn.
That's when I hear the screams.
I'm out my door in seconds, following the sound. Guards rush past me toward the main courtyard. Something's happened. Something bad.
The courtyard is chaos. Wounded soldiers everywhere—bleeding, crying, some not moving at all. They came back from a border skirmish, a guard tells me. Ambush. Twenty men went out. Only twelve came back.
And in the middle of all that blood and pain stands Kaelen.
His hands glow with silver-white magic as he kneels beside a soldier who's missing half his leg. I watch, frozen, as light flows from Kaelen's palms into the terrible wound. The bleeding slows. New tissue starts growing. The soldier's screams fade to whimpers.
"Next," Kaelen says, his voice steady despite the sweat on his face. "Bring me the next one."
I should leave. I should go back to my room and figure out how to survive Sevrin's deadline. But I can't move. I just stand there watching as Kaelen moves from soldier to soldier, pouring his magic into their broken bodies.
One soldier has a chest wound that should've killed him. Kaelen's hands shake as he seals it. Another has burns covering his arms. Kaelen heals those too, even though I can see it's draining him. His face gets paler. His breathing gets harder.
"Sir, you need to rest," Theron says, gripping Kaelen's shoulder. "You've been at this for three hours. You'll burn yourself out."
"There are still wounded," Kaelen says simply. "I rest when they're safe."
The sun rises. Kaelen keeps healing. His advisors gather, trying to pull him away. He ignores them all.
"Every life matters," he tells them, his voice sharp. "I don't care if they're common soldiers. I don't care if saving them uses up my power. They fought for this kingdom. The least I can do is fight for them."
Something cracks inside my chest. The Veil's files said Kaelen Thorne was a monster. A killer who burned enemy armies without mercy. A weapon just like me.
They lied.
This man isn't a monster. He's exhausted and gentle and he won't stop healing people even though it's killing him.
By noon, all the wounded are stable. Kaelen finally stands, stumbles, and nearly falls. I move without thinking, catching his arm. He blinks at me, surprised.
"Kira," he says, using my fake name. "What are you doing here?"
"Watching you be an idiot," I say before I can stop myself. "You're going to pass out."
He smiles—actually smiles despite looking half-dead. "Probably. But they're alive. That's what matters."
Theron helps me get Kaelen to his study. We put him in a chair and Theron brings water. Kaelen drinks it like he's been lost in a desert.
"You should rest," I tell him.
"Can't. War council meeting in an hour." He rubs his eyes. "Valdren's getting bolder. That ambush wasn't random. They're testing our defenses."
"The council can wait," Theron says. "You've used too much magic. You need—"
"I need to protect this kingdom." Kaelen's voice turns hard. "That's my job. My responsibility."
The advisors arrive before Theron can argue. They crowd into the study with maps and reports. I should leave, but Kaelen gestures for me to stay. "You're family now, Kira. You should understand what we're facing."
So I stand in the corner and listen as they plan the war.
"We need to strike Valdren's supply lines," one advisor says. "Cut off their resources."
"Their supply lines go through civilian villages," Kaelen says flatly. "We'd be burning homes. Killing innocents."
"It's war, sir. Sacrifices must be made."
Kaelen's fist hits the table so hard the maps jump. "No. We don't win by becoming worse than our enemies. We find another way."
They argue for an hour. Every suggestion involves hurting civilians. Every time, Kaelen refuses. His advisors get frustrated. One actually calls him weak.
"Then I'm weak," Kaelen says quietly. "But I can live with being weak. I couldn't live with murdering children to win a war."
The meeting ends badly. The advisors leave angry. Theron stays behind, looking worried.
"They have a point, Kael," he says gently. "If we don't act soon, Valdren will push deeper into our territory. More of our people will die."
"I know." Kaelen sounds so tired. "But there has to be a line we won't cross. The moment we start killing civilians, we become the monsters they say we are."
I think about all the targets I've killed. How many were actually threats? How many were just in someone's way? The Veil never cared. A target was a target.
But Kaelen cares. Even when it costs him. Even when it makes everything harder.
That's when I realize I can't kill him. Not in three days. Not ever.
Sevrin's deadline might as well be asking me to cut out my own heart.
I'm still trying to process this when someone screams in the hallway. Guards rush past. Theron's hand goes to his sword.
"What now?" Kaelen mutters, standing.
We follow the guards to the throne room. What we find makes my blood freeze.
A body. Hanging from the chandelier like a warning.
It's one of Kaelen's advisors—the one who called him weak. Dead. And carved into his chest are words I know too well:
"THE VEIL REMEMBERS. THE VEIL COLLECTS."
Pinned to his body is another note. Kaelen pulls it free with shaking hands. His face goes white as he reads it.
"What does it say?" Theron demands.
Kaelen looks at me. Really looks at me. And I know—somehow he knows—that this message is connected to me.
He reads it aloud: "Three days, Archmage. Then everyone you love pays for protecting what's ours."
The room goes silent. Guards stare at the body. Theron looks confused. But Kaelen's eyes stay locked on mine.
"Kira," he says softly. "Is there something you need to tell me?"
Before I can answer, before I can lie or confess or run, the windows explode inward. Glass rains down as figures in black drop into the throne room.
Crimson Veil assassins. Six of them. Moving fast and deadly.
And leading them, wearing a smile that makes my skin crawl, is Commander Sevrin himself.
"Hello, Zara," he says, ignoring everyone else in the room. "Time's up. Come home. Now."