Lyra's POV
The knife missed my throat by inches.
I twisted sideways, feeling the blade slice through the air where my neck had been a heartbeat before. My attacker—a hooded figure in Council gray—lunged again. We were in a narrow alley three blocks from Pyrstone's main gate, and I was running out of room to dodge.
"The Scarlet Veil," the assassin hissed. "Grand Matriarch Veyra sends her greetings."
Of course she did. Three days since I'd left that message on the Sanctum wall, and Veyra had already sent killers after me. I should have expected it.
I ducked under another slash and drove my elbow into the assassin's ribs. He grunted but didn't fall. Council guards were trained too well for simple tricks.
"Tell Veyra," I said, blocking his next strike, "that I'm not interested in her greetings."
I kicked hard at his knee. Something crunched. He stumbled, and I ran.
My heart pounded as I raced through Pyrstone's streets. I shouldn't be here. Coming back to the city was stupid and dangerous and exactly what Veyra wanted. But Mira's wedding was tomorrow, and I'd promised myself I wouldn't miss it. No matter what.
Even if it meant facing Daevan again.
My chest ached at the thought of him. Three years, and the bond-fragments still pulled toward where I knew he'd be—somewhere in the palace, probably planning his next duty-bound decision.
I shoved the thought away and focused on losing my pursuer. The marketplace was crowded today, full of people shopping for wedding supplies. I slipped between carts and vendors, doubling back twice before I was certain no one followed.
Finally, I reached the small house on Copper Street where I'd grown up. The healing shop my parents owned looked exactly the same—weathered sign, bright blue door, herbs hanging in the windows. My throat tightened.
Home. I was home.
I knocked three times, paused, then knocked twice more. Our old family signal.
The door flew open, and Mira threw herself at me.
"Lyra!" She wrapped her arms around me so tight I could barely breathe. "You came! I was so worried you wouldn't come!"
"I promised, didn't I?" I hugged her back, feeling tears burn behind my eyes. Gods, I'd missed her. Missed her laughter and her warmth and the way she made everything feel safe.
Mira pulled me inside and locked the door behind us. Then she just stared at me, her own eyes wet.
"You look different," she whispered. "Harder. Sadder."
"I've been busy." I tried to smile. "You look beautiful. Marriage suits you already."
"Don't change the subject." Mira grabbed my hands. "Lyra, I need to tell you something about the wedding."
Something in her voice made my stomach drop. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong exactly. It's just—" She bit her lip. "Daevan is going to be there."
I'd known that, of course. The Crown Prince attended most noble weddings. But hearing his name out loud still felt like a punch to the chest.
"I don't care," I lied. "He means nothing to me anymore."
"Lyra—"
"I'm serious, Mira. He made his choice three years ago. I made mine. We're done." I forced strength into my voice. "I came here for you, not him. I'll attend your wedding, congratulate you and Tavin, and leave before anyone notices me."
Mira looked like she wanted to argue, but she nodded slowly. "Okay. If you're sure."
"I'm sure."
"Then I should probably show you this." She walked to the table and picked up a piece of paper. Her hands shook slightly. "The final seating chart arrived today."
Warning bells rang in my mind. "Mira, what did you do?"
"I didn't do anything! I swear!" She thrust the paper at me. "Just... look at it."
I took the seating chart, my eyes scanning down the list of names and table assignments. There were twelve tables total. I found my name quickly.
Lyra Embermoor - Main Table, Seat Two.
Next to it, in bold letters: Crown Prince Daevan Ashenfell - Main Table, Seat One.
The world tilted.
"No." The word came out strangled. "No, this can't be right. I was supposed to be at Table Seven. Far away from—"
"I know!" Mira grabbed my shoulders. "I don't know how it changed! The coordinator sent the updated chart this morning with a note saying the Crown Prince personally requested the adjustment for security reasons."
Security reasons. That lying, manipulative, controlling—
"He did this on purpose," I breathed. "He knew I'd be here. Knew I'd have to sit through the entire ceremony right next to him."
The bond-fragments in my chest blazed hot, as if they could feel my rage. Or maybe they could feel him—somewhere close, probably pleased with himself for trapping me.
"I can't sit next to him, Mira. I can't." My voice cracked. "Do you know what it's like? Feeling those fragments pull toward him? Remembering everything we lost?"
"Then don't go." Mira's eyes filled with tears. "I love you more than any wedding. If being here hurts you this much—"
"No." I forced myself to breathe slowly. "No, I'm not letting him win. I'm not running away again." I met my sister's gaze. "I'll sit next to Daevan tomorrow. I'll smile and be polite and show him that he has no power over me anymore."
Even though we both knew it was a lie.
Mira hugged me again. "You're the bravest person I know."
"I'm the stupidest person you know," I corrected. But I hugged her back.
We spent the next hour going over wedding details. Mira showed me her dress, told me stories about Tavin's family, described the ceremony they'd planned. Normal sister things. Safe things.
But my mind kept drifting to tomorrow. To sitting beside Daevan. To feeling those bond-fragments sing between us while pretending I felt nothing.
Eventually Mira went to bed, exhausted from wedding preparations. I stayed up late, staring at the seating chart like it might change if I looked hard enough.
It didn't.
A knock at the door made me jump. It was nearly midnight—who would visit this late?
I opened the door a crack, ready to slam it shut if needed.
A figure in a dark cloak stood on the step. They pulled back their hood, revealing a woman's face I didn't recognize. Silver eyes. White scales visible on her neck.
Dragon-blooded. Powerful.
"Lyra Embermoor?" Her voice was soft but urgent. "I need to speak with you about Prince Daevan."
Every instinct screamed danger. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Please." She glanced behind her nervously. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to warn you. Tomorrow at the wedding—" She lowered her voice to barely a whisper. "It's a trap. Veyra is planning something. And Daevan..." She paused, pain flashing across her face. "Daevan doesn't know he's walking into it too."
My heart stopped. "What kind of trap?"
"I can't explain here. Too many eyes watching." She pressed a small envelope into my hand. "Read this somewhere private. It explains everything. And Lyra—" Her silver eyes met mine. "If you ever loved him, don't let him face tomorrow alone. He's going to need you more than either of you realize."
Then she turned and vanished into the darkness before I could ask another question.
I stood frozen in the doorway, staring at the envelope in my hand.
Inside was a single piece of paper with seven words written in blood-red ink:
The Council knows about your natural bond.