The morning council meeting began at nine, as it always did. The chamber smelled of beeswax and old parchment, the heavy velvet curtains holding in the warmth from the hearth. I took my seat at Father's right hand, the carved oak chair worn smooth by generations of princes before me. The weight of my formal doublet pressed against my shoulders—black wool trimmed with silver thread, the Valoreth crest embroidered over my heart. Heavy. Everything here was heavy.
Duke Aldric Blackthorn arrived first, as he always did, his boots clicking against the marble floor. He bowed—precise, measured—and took his seat across from me. His eyes were pale gray, calculating. I'd learned to be careful around him.
"Your Highness," he said. "I trust you slept well?"
"Well enough, thank you."
Lord Corvain entered next, followed by Lady Seraphine and the Master of Coin. The usual assembly. They settled into their places with the comfortable ease of routine, and I felt myself relax slightly. This, at least, I knew how to navigate. Six months of practice had taught me the rhythms of these meetings, the careful dance of politics and protocol.
Father entered last, and we all rose. He looked tired, the lines around his eyes deeper than they'd been yesterday. Seeing Cassia again had stirred something in him—grief, perhaps, or guilt. He waved us back to our seats.
"Gentlemen, Lady Seraphine. Let us begin."
The meeting proceeded as expected. Trade disputes with Eastshore. Concerns about bandit activity near the Shadowlands border. A request from House Ashford for additional naval funding. I listened, made notes, offered opinions when asked. It felt natural now, this role. I'd stopped thinking about each word before I spoke, stopped second-guessing every gesture.
"The princess's return changes our position with Lysandria," Duke Aldric said, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Queen Isadora will expect certain... considerations."
"Cassia is home," Father said firmly. "That's what matters."
"Of course, Your Majesty. I merely suggest we consider the diplomatic implications." Aldric's gaze slid to me. "Perhaps Prince Daemon might escort his sister to the autumn festival next week? A show of family unity would reassure our allies."
The thought of spending an entire evening with Cassia, under the watchful eyes of the entire court, made my stomach tighten. But I kept my expression neutral.
"I'd be honored," I said.
Father nodded, satisfied. "Excellent. Daemon, you'll make the arrangements."
The meeting continued for another hour. When it finally ended, I gathered my papers and stood, feeling the familiar ache in my lower back from sitting too long. Lord Corvain caught my arm as I passed.
"A word, Your Highness?"
We stepped aside, near the tall windows overlooking the training yard. Below, I could see guards running drills, their movements sharp and synchronized.
"I wanted to say," Corvain began, his voice low, "that it's good to see you taking such an active role in governance. Your father relies on you more than you might realize."
Something in my chest tightened. "I'm only doing my duty."
"You're doing more than that." He smiled, genuine warmth in his weathered face. "The kingdom is fortunate to have you."
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. If he knew the truth—if any of them knew—that warmth would turn to disgust. To rage. I was a fraud, sitting in a dead man's chair, wearing a dead man's face.
"Thank you, my lord," I managed.
He clapped my shoulder and left. I stood at the window a moment longer, watching the guards below. Their world was simple. Follow orders. Protect the kingdom. They didn't have to pretend to be someone else every waking moment. Didn't have to carry the weight of a lie that could topple a throne.
"Your Highness?"
I turned. Ser Roland stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. The captain of the guard was a mountain of a man, scarred and grizzled, with eyes that missed nothing. He'd been watching me more closely lately, or perhaps I was simply more aware of being watched.
"The princess has requested a tour of the palace," he said. "She asked specifically for you to accompany her."
Of course she had.
"When?"
"Within the hour, if you're available."
I was always available. That was part of the performance—being present, being visible, being the prince they expected.
"I'll meet her in the main hall," I said.
Ser Roland nodded, but he didn't leave immediately. His gaze lingered on me, assessing. "She seems... interested in you, Your Highness. The princess."
"She's my sister. We haven't seen each other in eleven years."
"Of course." But there was something in his tone, a subtle skepticism that made my skin prickle. "I only mention it because the court will talk. They always do."
"Let them talk."
He bowed and withdrew, but I could feel his suspicion like a weight on my shoulders. Another person watching. Another person who might see through the carefully constructed facade.
I made my way through the palace corridors, nodding to servants as I passed. The stone walls were cool despite the autumn sun streaming through the windows. Tapestries depicting Valoreth's history hung at intervals—battles won, treaties signed, kings crowned. I'd studied them all, memorized the names and dates, learned the stories until they felt like my own memories.
But they weren't. They would never be.
In the main hall, I found Cassia waiting. She'd changed into a simpler gown—deep blue wool with silver embroidery at the cuffs and collar. Her hair was pinned up, revealing the elegant line of her neck. She was examining a portrait of our grandfather, King Aldren the Second, her head tilted thoughtfully.
"He looks stern," she said without turning around.
"He was, from what I'm told. But fair."
"Fair." She glanced at me over her shoulder, and something in her expression made my breath catch. "Is that what you aspire to be? Fair?"
"Among other things."
She turned fully, and I noticed Lady Mira standing a few paces behind her—a slender woman with auburn hair and sharp, intelligent eyes. Cassia's companion from Lysandria, I'd been told. Another person to be careful around.
"Shall we begin the tour?" I asked.
"Please." Cassia moved to my side, close enough that I caught her scent—jasmine and something spiced, exotic. "I want to see everything. It's been so long, I've forgotten what home looks like."
We walked through the palace, and I showed her the places I'd learned to love over the past months. The library with its floor-to-ceiling shelves and the way afternoon light slanted through the high windows. The portrait gallery where generations of Valoreths stared down with varying degrees of judgment. The chapel with its vaulted ceiling and the smell of incense that never quite faded.
Cassia asked questions—innocent, casual questions that somehow felt weighted. How did I spend my days? What did I read? Did I still practice swordplay in the mornings?
"Every morning," I said. "In the east courtyard, usually."
"I'd like to watch sometime." She ran her fingers along the stone balustrade as we climbed the stairs to the second floor. "I remember you being... adequate with a blade. I'm curious if that's changed too."
Too. The word hung in the air between us.
"You're welcome anytime," I said carefully.
We passed a group of nobles in the corridor—Lord Theron and his wife, Lady Beatrice. They bowed, murmured greetings, but I saw the way their eyes lingered on us. The way Lady Beatrice leaned close to her husband as we passed, whispering.
"They're talking about us," Cassia said lightly.
"People always talk."
"True. But there's talking, and then there's *talking*." She glanced at me, amusement dancing in her eyes. "I imagine they're wondering if we'll get along. If there will be rivalry or alliance. If the princess from Lysandria will try to influence her brother."
"Will you?"
"Influence you?" She laughed, soft and musical. "Oh, Daemon. I don't think you're the type to be easily influenced."
We reached the west tower, where the old armory had been converted into a gallery of weapons and armor from past wars. Cassia moved among the displays, examining swords and shields with genuine interest.
"Do you remember," she said, pausing before a suit of ceremonial armor, "when we were children, and you locked me in the storage cellar?"
My blood went cold. I had no memory of this—of course I didn't. It wasn't my memory to have.
"That was a long time ago," I said, keeping my voice neutral.
"I was terrified. Screaming for hours before anyone found me." She turned to look at me, her expression unreadable. "You never apologized."
The silence stretched between us. Behind her, Lady Mira watched with interest, her dark eyes moving between us.
"I was a child," I said finally. "Children do thoughtless things."
"They do." She moved closer, and I forced myself not to step back. "But you're not a child anymore. None of us are."
"No."
"So I'll ask you now—are you sorry?"
The question felt like a trap. Every answer seemed wrong. But she was waiting, watching, and I could feel Lady Mira's attention like a physical weight.
"Yes," I said quietly. "I'm sorry. For that, and for... for not being a better brother to you before you left."
Something flickered in her eyes—surprise, perhaps, or satisfaction. "Well. That's something, at least."
She turned back to the armor, and I released a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
We continued the tour, but I was hyperaware now of every word, every gesture. She asked about the hunting accident—casual, sympathetic questions about my recovery. Had it hurt? Did I remember it clearly? Had it changed how I saw the world?
"It changed everything," I said, and that at least was true.
By the time we reached the gardens, the sun was beginning its descent toward the western hills. The air smelled of earth and dying flowers, that peculiar autumn scent of things ending. Cassia dismissed Lady Mira with a gesture, and suddenly we were alone among the hedgerows and stone benches.
"Thank you for the tour," she said. "It was... illuminating."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it."
"Oh, I did." She sat on one of the benches, arranged her skirts with careful precision. "You're very good at this, you know. Playing the prince. Being what everyone expects."
My heart stopped. "I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you?" She patted the bench beside her, an invitation. Or a command. "Sit with me a moment. I promise I won't bite."
I sat, leaving a careful distance between us. The stone was cold through my clothes.
"I've been thinking," she said, her gaze on the distant mountains, "about memory. How unreliable it is. How we remember people as we want them to be, not as they were."
"Memory is fallible," I agreed carefully.
"Exactly. So when I remember my brother as cruel, as thoughtless, as someone who cared more about his own amusement than anyone else's feelings—perhaps that's not fair. Perhaps I'm remembering wrong."
"Perhaps."
"Or perhaps," she continued, still not looking at me, "people really do change. Perhaps near-death experiences reshape us. Make us into better versions of ourselves."
The way she said it—there was something underneath the words, some meaning I couldn't quite grasp.
"I'd like to think people can change," I said.
"So would I." Finally, she turned to face me, and the intensity in her gaze made my breath catch. "Because the brother I remember, I didn't like very much. But you—" She paused, and a small smile curved her lips. "You, I find fascinating."
"Cassia—"
"It's getting late." She stood, smoothing her skirts. "We should head back before they send search parties. Father worries."
I stood as well, and for a moment we were very close, close enough that I could see the pulse at her throat, the slight flush on her cheeks from the cooling air.
"Thank you for today," she said softly. "I look forward to getting to know you better. The real you."
She walked away, leaving me standing in the garden as shadows lengthened around me. The real you. The words echoed in my mind, ominous and inescapable.
Because the real me was a lie. And if she kept looking, kept digging, she would find nothing but emptiness where a prince should be.
I stood there until the first stars appeared, feeling the weight of her attention like chains around my chest. Somewhere in the palace, servants would be lighting candles, preparing for dinner. The court would gather, and I would smile and play my part, and no one would know that inside, I was drowning.
Except perhaps Cassia.
She saw something. I didn't know what, didn't know how much. But she was watching, always watching, and every moment in her presence felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting to fall.
I made my way back inside as the last light faded from the sky, and tried not to think about the way she'd looked at me. The way she'd said *the real you*, as if she knew there was something hidden beneath the surface.
As if she knew, and was waiting to see what I would do about it.