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Areanel was not meant to be in there, but it was the only place her tutors could not look. The royal chambers were off limits to all.

Ducking out of sight, she had watched her mother pour two glasses of wine when her father entered the room. Areanel’s eyes followed her father’s imposing figure as he walked to the window. A flash of raven hair, much like her own, caught her attention as her mother plucked something from the bosom of her corset and poured it into one of the wine glasses—but Areanel could not linger in curiosity, because her father turned from the window.

His icy gaze paused when they passed over Areanel’s hiding spot in the overly large closet. Had he spotted her? After a moment, his gaze moved on and settled on her mother—his soul-bonded mate—who lifted a glass towards him. Their shared words were hushed whispers that dissipated on the breeze. Her mother, beautiful in her royal gown, reached for something out of view, turning her back on her father. She saw it then. The subtle, swift movement as he switched the glasses.

Areanel, to this day, did not know how he had found out. Even though it was a memory, she wanted nothing more than to reach out and yell at her mother.

Why had she done it? Had she known what Aerileas was?

Tears streamed down her face, both in the memory of the past and in the present, as she continued to show Silas the truth.

Blood, stark and morbid against their mother’s pale skin, dribbled down the creases on her lips as she coughed. Areanel remembered the horror as she’d watched, but Aerileas had stared, bored and calm, as he lay witness to his wife slowly suffocating from the aconite-laced wine. Frozen in place, Areanel could do nothing but watch.

Run! Her mind had screamed at her. Help her!

But she couldn’t.

She was a coward.

Her mother dropped to the floor. Paralysed in fear, she looked upon the sadistic smile stretched across Aerileas’s face as he watched his own mate convulse.

Areanel felt Silas’s dread like it was her own. His consciousness in her mind jerked back, trying to escape the sight. She didn’t know if it would work, but she had to try.

Reaching for that door between her and her power, Areanel pulled on her magic like she was unravelling a knotted string. She barricaded the exits of her mind and solidified the walls, unfurling her power with that familiar blue fire she often wielded, trapping him within.

He needed to see this. Needed to see the truth: Assassins had not killed their mother.

Throwing Silas back into the memory, she felt his consciousness fight against her with everything he had, but it wasn’t enough. Areanel was far stronger than he was.

She forced him to stay, and Silas could do nothing but watch as their mother took her last breath.

Aerileas leisurely picked up the fire poker leaning against the fireplace.

With a slow step, he strolled over to his suffering mate, where he shared a final whispered word before raising the gilded poker above his head and brutally, viciously beating her to death.

Areanel let the memory collapse, let Silas spring away from it as though burnt. His gaze was frantic, head shaking and mumbling hysterically, but he had seen what she had: the crazed madness in their father’s arctic eyes—the same expression he wore now as he descended upon them.

Nothing had saved her mother from his wrath, and nothing would save Silas.

Areanel had hidden that memory deep—locked it away in a desperate attempt at survival. She knew her father had seen her that day. In his bloodied state, he had found her with silent tears tracking down her face and fright in her eyes.

With her mother’s blood lining his hands, he had asked her to spin a web of lies: their enemy, Selcirith—with which they had been in a centuries-long battle—had sent assassins to dispose of the queen.

So, history had been rewritten, the events twisted and convoluted into a web of truth, lies and murder. And Areanel had been its accomplice. Why, she didn’t know.

Perhaps it was all she knew, her father—the master manipulator—had taught her how to spin lies with truth.

Perhaps she was the monster they all claimed her to be.

‘Selyë.’ King Aerileas commanded her with a single word. Heavy, thudding steps approached, and when Areanel looked up into his cold, dead eyes, she knew what needed to be done. The predatory grin, vicious and sharp-toothed, promised a fate worse than death.

Would Silas be able to take on the cold fire of their father’s wrath? For a moment, Areanel let herself believe Aerileas wasn’t capable of it, then she saw the excited glint behind his gaze and remembered The Pit. All she had endured, all she had taken… Silas could not handle it as she had.

So, maybe that was why Areanel tightened her grip on the dark handle of her blade that had stayed settled against his neck. Aerileas would destroy him.

Before their father could reach them, Areanel twisted the inky wet strands at the nape of Silas’s neck around her fingers, forcing his trembling body to still as she brought her temple to his.

He had killed her son.