KAEL'S POV
Sera?
The name hung in the air between us like a bomb waiting to explode. Like a prayer and a curse and a question that would destroy everything.
Elena Sera? stared at me with those brown contacts hiding eyes I'd seen last night. Violet eyes. Her eyes. The eyes I'd seen every night in my dreams for five years. The eyes that had looked at me with love and trust right before I pulled the trigger.
I don't know what you're talking about. Her voice was steady, but her hands shook. I could see them trembling even as she tried to hide them in the folds of her cloak.
The photograph I started, reaching for it.
She snatched it from my fingers, moving with that lightning-fast reflexes that I'd taught her when she was seventeen. When I'd been her combat instructor and she'd been the princess who insisted on learning to fight.
Is a threat. Someone is blackmailing me. That's all you need to know.
The dismissal in her voice cut like a knife.
Elena
I have to go. She turned and ran.
I let her go this time. Let her disappear into the shadows because if I followed, if I cornered her, if she confirmed what my heart already knew
I'd have to face the fact that I'd spent five years mourning a woman who was alive. Five years punishing myself for a murder I hadn't actually committed. Five years of guilt and grief and self-destruction for nothing.
Or not for nothing. Because even if she was alive, I'd still shot her. Still watched her fall. Still chosen duty over her life.
The guilt would be the same. The betrayal would be the same.
The only difference was that now she could hate me to my face instead of from the grave.
I stood alone in that corridor for a long time after she left, staring at the blood message on the wall. THE PRINCESS LIVES. AND SHE'S NEXT.
Was it a threat? Or a warning?
And from whom?
I didn't sleep that night. Couldn't even pretend to try.
Instead, I pulled every record I could find from the military archives. Execution protocols. Prisoner files. Medical reports. Photos of shackle scars from every execution in the past decade.
I spread them across my desk like evidence at a crime scene and compared them to the scar I'd seen on Elena's wrist. Cross-referenced the width, the depth, the distinctive pattern the iron left on skin.
Perfect match.
I'd seen those scars on hundreds of prisoners. Had helped place those shackles on dozens of condemned men and women. But only one prisoner had scars exactly like Elena's scars that haunted me, that I saw every time I closed my eyes.
Princess Seraphina Valorian.
This is insane, I muttered to the empty room, running my hands through my hair. She's dead. I killed her.
But did I?
I pulled the execution report. The official military document I'd filed five years ago. Read it for the thousandth time, searching for details I might have missed.
Prisoner: Princess Seraphina Valorian
Crime: High Treason
Sentence: Death by firing squad
Commander: Kael Draven
Status: Executed at 23:47 hours
Body: Not recovered. Presumed carried downstream by rapids.
Search conducted: 72 hours
Conclusion: Deceased
Not recovered.
We'd never actually confirmed death. Just assumed it. Casimir had called off the search after three days, declared her dead, and moved on. And I'd been too broken, too destroyed by what I'd done, to question it.
I opened my computer with shaking hands and pulled up Elena Frost's background file. Studied it with fresh eyes. Tactical eyes. Investigator's eyes.
Education: Three prestigious universities in different kingdoms. Top marks in political science, military strategy, and international relations.
Employment: Political consultant for various high-profile clients spanning multiple continents. Each reference glowing. Each contract successful.
References: Kings, generals, merchant princes. All verified. All authentic. All praising her brilliance.
It was perfect. Completely, utterly, suspiciously perfect.
And that was the problem.
In my twenty years of military service, conducting background checks on soldiers, spies, and consultants, I'd learned one immutable truth: nobody had a perfect background.
Everyone had gaps. Failed classes. Bad jobs. Relationships that ended poorly. Periods of unemployment. Something. Some mess. Some humanity.
Elena Frost's life was a flawless story with no rough edges. Like it had been carefully constructed by someone who knew exactly what investigators looked for. Someone who knew how to create an identity that would pass every check because they'd been trained by the best.
Trained by royal intelligence. By the same people who'd taught Sera.
I pulled up her photo. Studied her face with the analytical detachment I'd learned in interrogation training.
Bone structure: Same as Sera's. Exactly the same. The facial recognition software wasn't lying.
Height: Same.
Build: Similar, though Elena was leaner. Harder. Like someone who'd spent years training for combat.
Fighting style: I replayed the moment she'd taken down Marcus in my memory. That move. That exact combination. I'd created it. Taught it to exactly one person.
Movement patterns: The way she walked through the palace. Confident. Knowing. Like someone who'd lived there.
Speech patterns: Occasionally, when emotional, her voice would shift. The pitch would change. And she'd sound exactly like
Sera, I whispered to the empty room.
My phone buzzed. Unknown number. Again.
The message was simple: You're getting close to the truth. So here's a gift.
Who is this? I typed back.
A friend. Check your email.
My laptop pinged. One new email. No subject. Just an attachment. A video file.
My hand hovered over the mouse. Did I want to know? Did I want this truth that would shatter what was left of my sanity?
I clicked it.
The footage was grainy, five years old. Security camera footage from an angle I'd never seen. The execution platform. Night. Rain beginning to fall.
I watched myself take position in the firing line. Watched Sera God, she looked so young, so scared, so brave stand on that platform with her hands shackled behind her back.
Watched her mouth I love you.
Watched myself pull the trigger.
But this footage showed something I'd never seen before. A different angle. A wider view.
It showed the moment after Sera fell. Showed me screaming her name I could see my mouth forming the words even though there was no audio. Showed me dropping the rifle and running toward the ravine, desperate to reach her
And showed Duke Casimir's men grabbing me. Four of them. Holding me back with brutal efficiency. Stopping me from going after her.
Let me go! my past self was clearly screaming, fighting against their grip. I can save her! Let me GO!
Casimir appeared in the frame. Calm. Collected. He said something to me. Even without audio, I could read his lips: She's dead, Commander. Let her go.
He gestured. His men dragged me away, still fighting, still screaming.
But the video kept playing.
The camera angle shifted slightly, panning down to the ravine. The water. The rapids.
And impossibly, miraculously, devastatingly it showed a figure crawling out of the river downstream. Bloody. Broken. Barely alive.
Sera.
She collapsed on the bank. Lay there for what felt like forever. Then another figure appeared a woman in servant's clothes. She pulled Sera further from the water. Started performing first aid.
The video ended.
A new email appeared immediately:
She survived. You tried to save her. Casimir stopped you. He's known she's alive for weeks. Tomorrow, at the Council meeting, he's going to expose her. And then he's going to kill her. For real this time. Unless you protect her. Choose wisely, Commander. Signed, A Friend.
My hands were shaking so hard I dropped the phone. It clattered to the floor, the screen cracking, but I didn't care.
Sera was alive.
She'd been alive this whole time.
And I'd spent five years drowning in guilt for a murder I didn't commit. Five years building an orphanage in her name. Five years visiting that library to torture myself with memories.
Five years of hell while she'd been out there somewhere, alive and hurting and probably hating me.
But I'd tried to save her. The video proved it. I'd tried.
Would that matter to her? Would it change anything?
My apartment door burst open.
Elena stood there no, Sera stood there hood thrown back, contacts removed. Violet eyes blazed with fury and fear and something that might have been hope if I looked close enough.
We need to talk, she said, her voice raw. Sera's voice. Unmistakable now that I knew to listen for it. Right now. Because someone just sent me a video of you trying to save my life. And I need to know Her voice broke. I need to know if you were really trying to kill me, or if I've hated you for five years for nothing.
SERA'S POV
He stood there in his apartment, looking like I'd just stabbed him.
Maybe I had. With words. With accusations. With the weight of five years of rage and pain and grief.
Were you trying to kill me or save me? I demanded again, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to control it. Because I watched that video. I saw you scream my name. I saw Casimir's men hold you back.
Sera He said my name like a prayer. Like a plea.
Answer the question! Tears streamed down my face now, hot and angry and five years overdue. For five years, I believed you murdered me in cold blood. I built my entire life on hating you. I became someone who could destroy you. And now someone sends me a video showing you tried to save me?
I aimed for your shoulder. The words tumbled out of him like a dam breaking. I had a plan. Fake your death, make it look real enough to satisfy Casimir, then get you out. I had people waiting downstream. Had everything arranged. His voice cracked. But you fell before I could reach you. Casimir's men grabbed me, wouldn't let me go after you. I fought them. Fought until they knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, you were gone. They said you were dead.
I stared at him. At the anguish in his face. The guilt. The grief.
So you just... gave up? The accusation was weak. I could hear it. Could hear how it didn't quite match the truth I'd just learned.
I thought you were dead! His voice rose, raw with pain. I searched that ravine for three days. Didn't sleep, didn't eat, just searched. Found nothing. They declared you dead and I He couldn't finish. Pressed his hands to his face. I wanted to die too. Tried to. General Stone stopped me. Took my gun. Locked me in quarters until the worst of it passed.
My anger wavered. Cracked.
Someone wants us to know the truth, I said quietly, trying to regain my equilibrium. Trying to think tactically instead of emotionally. Someone sent us both that video. Why?
I don't know. Kael looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. But you're in danger. Tomorrow's Council meeting it's a trap. Casimir knows who you are. He's going to expose you publicly and then kill you.
I know, I said. That's why we need to figure out who our mysterious friend is. Before Casimir kills us both.
I looked around his apartment properly for the first time. It was sparse. Almost military in its lack of personal touches. But I saw evidence of his grief everywhere. The bottle of sleeping pills on the counter prescription label showing weekly refills. The empty liquor bottles in the recycling. The files spread across his desk all about me. My execution. The search. Everything.
You've been investigating me, I observed, walking to the desk.
Since the moment I saw that scar.
I should have been more careful.
You were careful enough. He moved closer, maintaining distance but not running. I only noticed because I was looking. Because I couldn't stop thinking about you. Because that perfume His voice caught. You wore violets. Our violets. The custom blend your mother had made.
It's all I have left of her, I admitted quietly. That and this bracelet.
I held up my wrist. He recognized it immediately.
Your mother's. She wore it every day.
She was wearing it when they killed her. I took it off her body. The memory threatened to choke me. Before they could steal it.
Kael's face twisted with grief. I'm sorry. About your mother. About all of it. If I'd known what Casimir was planning
Would you have stopped it? I asked, genuinely curious. Would you have chosen us over duty?
He didn't answer immediately. Thought about it. Actually thought about it.
I don't know, he finally admitted. Five years ago? Probably not. I was so sure duty was everything. That orders were sacred. That the chain of command kept the kingdom safe. He looked at me with eyes full of regret. But I've had five years to learn that duty without conscience is just obedience. And obedience to evil makes you complicit.
It was the most honest answer he could have given. And somehow, it meant more than a comfortable lie would have.
Why didn't you tell me? he asked. Why come back in disguise? Why not just
Because I needed to see who you'd become, I interrupted. If you were still the soldier who followed orders to kill me. If you'd changed. If you'd grown. I stepped closer. If you were worth forgiving.
And? His voice was barely a whisper. Am I?
I looked at him. Really looked at him. At the pain etched in every line of his face. At the orphanage he'd built in my name. At the library visits. At the guilt that had nearly destroyed him.
I don't know, I said honestly. But I think I want to find out.
The words hung between us. Fragile. Hopeful. Dangerous.
Then his expression changed. Hardened. Commander mode.
We can't talk here. If Casimir has been watching you, he's probably watching me too. This apartment is almost certainly bugged.
Then where?
He smiled grimly. The one place he'd never think to look.