“Well then, I guess congratulations are in order.”
The voice comes from behind us. My head snaps around, my entire body tensing automatically. When I see who it is, my hand drops from my stomach, muscles coiling for a fight.
Celeste.
She is walking down the path between the herb beds, blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight. Her steps are measured, graceful. That calculating look of hers is plastered across her face.
Astra’s voice cuts through the air like a blade. “How did you get in here?”
Celeste doesn’t even have the decency to look sheepish. She keeps walking toward us, unhurried.
“Answer me,” Astra snaps, and despite her pregnancy, despite her exhaustion, the queen in her voice is unmistakable. “This is my garden. Nobody is allowed here.”
Celeste’s eyes scan the thriving plants, the careful cultivation. Her lips curl into a sneer. “Well, you’re good for something at least.”
The insult to the Queen is like a slap to my own face. I move before I can even think, stepping in front of Astra protectively. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you, actually.” Celeste stops at the edge of the table, her gaze sliding between Astra and me. “But since both you and the Queen are here, it’s best to handle you together.”
Handle us?
The words send ice through my veins. Celeste lifts her hand, gesturing casually, and her sleeve slides up her arm just slightly.
And I see it.
The scar.
Women from noble families always wear long gloves with special cuts at the fingertips for their claws, which is why I never saw the scar before. But today, Celeste is not wearing her gloves.
Kieran has described it in such excruciating detail that I recognize it instantly: the burn scar that runs along the inside of her forearm, twisted and angry. The kind of scar that comes from channeling dark, ritual magic through your own flesh. The mark of someone who has performed necromantic rituals. Someone who has wielded death magic and paid the price for it.
My entire world narrows to that single image, and for a moment, I forget to breathe.
It’s Celeste? She’s the… But how is this possible? She’s a year younger than me. How can she be?
The danger my friends and I are in hits me like a tidal wave.
“Selene.” My voice comes out low, urgent. “Take Astra and go.”
“What?” Selene’s anger flares. “Why would we do that? She has no right to be here!”
“Trust me.” I don’t take my eyes off Celeste. My voice drops even lower, more urgent. “Please. Trust me.”
I can feel Astra’s gaze boring into me from behind. Then, she says quietly, “Let’s go, Selene.”
“Astra…” Selene protests.
“Now.” Astra’s voice is firm despite the strain in it.
Selene moves to help her up, and that’s when Celeste speaks again.
“Where do you think you’re going, Your Majesty?”
I make sure I’m blocking Astra from Celeste’s view. My heart is pounding, but my voice is steady. “Talk to me, not her. Your problem is with me.”
Celeste laughs, but the sound is wrong. All wrong. “No, Daciana. I need her, too.”
She raises her hands.
