And what it revealed now was this: if we didn’t break the leash, wrath would finish what the King started.
“Hold,” Jisoo said again.
“I’m holding,” I said, wiping blood I couldn’t name from my cheek. “But if he takes one more step towardeveryone,I’m breaking.”
“You won’t,” Jisoo said. “You’ll bend. And then you’ll make the world pay for asking.”
I nodded, because I had to believe I was built for that.
Down in the cage of shadow, Taeyang threw back his head, and the fire went white.
The Royal Betrayal
Yuna
From the eastern balcony, the war looked like a mouth full of broken glass. Lines surged and shattered, reformed and bled. The ward focus thrummed under my palms, greedy for more of me, more power to hold a border that was already a lie. I should have been the Crown’s quiet miracle—hands steady, face placid, a princess anchoring a kingdom that worships appearances.
Then Taeyang burned.
I felt it before I saw it—the bond kicking like a bird in a cage, the ribbon at my wrist searing through the ward-chain as if it remembered a gentler promise. On the field below, he went verystill. Heat rose from him in waves, thenwhite firecrawled his veins. Men stumbled back. Some didn’t get the chance.
“Steady,” the King said without looking at me, voice smooth as polished bone. “Your focus wavers.”
I tore my gaze from Taeyang long enough to see my father’s mouth. Not just a line. Acurve. The kind of smile he wore when a strategy sprang its trap.
“What did you do?” My voice didn’t carry like his. It carried like thunder held in a teeth-clenched whisper.
His eyes stayed on the slaughter as if it were theater. “I gave the beast a leash that looks like his own hunger,” he murmured. “He drank guest-right. Very old magic. The first command becomes inclination. The cup corrects; the brand remembers.”
Below us, Taeyang cut down three men in the time it took my heart to remember how to beat. Rheon crashed into him, shadow dragging at his ankles; Seori slid in like a blade whisperingstay; Minji’s signals carved the air. None of it mattered. He moved like consequence.
“Youboundhim,” I said, and the ward under my hands screamed as my power surged against it. “You turned his grief into your weapon.”
The King’s grin widened, beautiful and awful.
“I taught him the shape of obedience.” He tilted his head, thoughtful. “The dog gets to die as he should—tasting his own nature.”
I don’t remember pulling the chain from my wrist. One breath I was the obedient anchor; the next, silver links lay smoking at my feet, my mark blazing through moonlight andvelvet, the ward’s hum stuttering into a shriek as the focus tried to drink what I refused to give.
Guards rushed. The Captain lifted a hand.
“Highness—”
“Do not touch me,” I said, and the rail vines exploded into bloom—white wisteria storming the balustrade, petals pelting armor like soft hail. The Captain reeled back, blinded. The King rose, crown tilting, hand lifting to cast a binding that would turn me into a pretty statue.
Steel whispered. Kaelen stepped between us. Not flinching. Not pleading. Sword drawn, point leveled at the heart of the man he was raised to worship. His seal-scar burned pale on his palm where he gripped the hilt; his jaw trembled like a prayer trying to become a scream.
“Step aside,” the King said, mild. Mild always meant worst.
“No,” Kaelen answered, and his voice broke clean. “Your Majesty.”
Something inside me—soft and old as childhood—tore.
“Traitor,” Father said, almost curious.
“Friend,” Kaelen corrected, without looking back at me. “Go, Yun.”
“Kaelen—” I reached for him; he shook his head once.
