I wrap my hands around the cup, grateful for its warmth. “Auren thinks I’m a trap.”
“He thinks everyone’s a trap.” Aisling settles into the chair Auren occupied last night. “It’s his job—seeing threats before they materialize, planning for every contingency. Don’t take it personally.”
“Hard not to take it personally when his hatred is specifically about my bloodline.”
“Fair point.” She studies me. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a trap. Traps don’t usually drain themselves half to death in defensive magic flares.” She shakes her head. “I’ve only known about my Fire-Bringer heritage for a few months—been trying to learn everything I can, reading anything Selene and Nasyra can dig up. But that fire of yours... nothing I’ve read mentioned anything like it. Not until Nasyra explained.”
“The white flame.” I sip the tea, letting the herbs ease some of the ache in my bones. “It’s always been this way. Since I was seven.”
“Nasyra seemed to understand it instantly. Said something about royal lines and power that feeds itself.” Aisling’s brow furrows.
“The Valdorian royals bred for this specifically. Generations of careful matches to keep both gifts at full strength.” I set the cup down. “Most heirs manifest one ability or the other. I manifested both.”
“And the Crown amplifies it further?”
I hesitate. “I don’t know. I’ve never opened it.”
Aisling’s eyebrows rise. “Never?”
“The Crown isn’t a toy. It amplifies magical abilities a hundredfold—but it also drains the wielder. Without proper control, it could kill me.” I stare at my hands, still trembling faintly. “My mother was supposed to train me. We were supposed to have years. Instead...”
Instead, the Shadow Clan came, and years became days became nothing at all.
“I’m sorry.” Aisling’s voice softens. “About your family. Your kingdom. All of it.”
I nod because I don’t trust my voice. The sympathy catches me off guard—unexpected kindness from a stranger in a place that should have been nothing but hostile.
“Selene’s found you clothes.” Aisling stands, gesturing to a pile of fabric on the chair by the window. “Nothing fancy, but it’s better than the bloody rags you arrived in. Eat. Dress. Rest.”
She pauses at the threshold.
“One more thing.” Her green eyes find mine. “The other Fire-Bringers—Selene, Nasyra, and me—we’ve talked. Whatever the council decides, we want you to know that you have allies here. Not because of politics or strategy, but because we know what it’s like to be hunted for what we are.”
Something cracks in my chest. Not grief this time—something closer to hope.
“Thank you.” The words feel inadequate, but they’re all I have.
Aisling nods once and slips out, leaving me alone with breakfast and borrowed clothes and the terrifying possibility that I might actually survive this.
I eat quickly. Dress in simple clothes that fit well enough—dark trousers, a soft shirt, boots that are slightly too big but serviceable. Practical. Warrior’s clothes, not princess’s finery.
Good. I’m not a princess anymore.
I look at myself in the small mirror above the washbasin. Dark hair tangled from sleep. Amber eyes shadowed with exhaustion. A thin face that’s lost its courtly softness over days of running.
I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me. She looks harder than the princess I used to be. More desperate. More dangerous.
Good.
I’m going to need dangerous to survive what comes next.
TWO
AUREN
Ican still feel the ghost of her warmth against my chest.
Hours later, standing in the war council chamber while my brothers argue about what to do with our unexpected guest, I can’t shake the memory of carrying her through the fortress corridors. The way she weighed almost nothing in my arms. The thready flutter of her pulse against my skin. The copper highlights in her dark hair catching torchlight as her head lolled against my shoulder.
