Page 21 of Unmasked

History.

It lived on through important moments.

Stories.

Heirlooms.

Blood.

History wasn’t just something remembered, it was something protected.

With everything I had learned of Vaughn’s history during my time with Marian, the stories didn’t lie. But they had been buried.

Information on The Black Line was scattered, hidden in old newspaper clippings, forgotten articles, and the lore on historical blog sites that were obscured and required effort to uncover. If the past was true… why had it been erased?

The more I searched, the harder information became to find.

History.

Tradition.

It was the only real marker of truth. Tradition existed so nothing could be forgotten. History was something meant to be preserved. Enforced. And when history and tradition collided… we didn’t get honor. We got ritual.

It wasn’t about glorification. It was about not letting legacy die.

“Breathe, Penelope.” My lids closed through my whisper.

Sacrifice didn’t scare me—completely ruining such an important ceremony did. I didn’t do good with failure or mistakes. Which was why I needed to calm and focus.

My lids opened, and my heart only hit against my chest even harder.

I didn’t recognize the woman before me. She’d come far in the last year and a half.

Had it been so long since Vaughn had come to me at the boutique? Well… close. And here I was, standing before a mirror in my black gown and the queen’s robe, taking in the way the candles made the crown on my head sparkle.

Robe.

Crown.

The royal blue looked almost black in the dimness. Behind me, the large lion crest stood out with its white, gray, and black accents. The significance of what I wore was everything. It had my fingers tracing over the soft material. I reached along the front, grabbing the edge to cover more of my dress when thick thread on the inside caught my attention. I pulled back the robe, taking in the quote that was sewn into the silk.

By crown and blood, we carry what was taken. We restore what was lost.

Never forget.

My stare lifted back to the mirror.

Swallowing through the significance was almost impossible. This had been hers. The true queen. The queen of the fallen. The murdered.

Emotions were overwhelming. The weight of it pressed in. That could be Vaughn… me... us…

No.

Never.

His line would not end with us.

I couldn’t let his line end.