CALISTA'S POV
The east dungeon smells like death and despair.
Sera leads me through twisting corridors, past cells filled with prisoners who reach through bars with desperate hands. I keep my stolen sword ready, expecting guards at every turn.
But the hallways are empty.
Too empty.
"This is wrong," I whisper. "Where are the guards?"
"At the execution platform," Sera replies, not slowing down. "They're preparing for the public spectacle. It's why we have this window—everyone's focused on the courtyard."
We reach the final corridor, and there—at the end—is a cell with torchlight spilling through its bars.
Lyra.
I break into a run, and Sera lets me go ahead.
"Lyra!" I grab the bars. "Lyra, I'm here!"
My sister looks up from where she's huddled in the corner. Her face is bruised, her hands still bound, but her eyes—her eyes light up with desperate hope.
"Elara?" she whispers, using my real name. "You came?"
"Of course I came." I try the cell door. Locked. "Do you have keys?" I ask Sera.
She's already pulling a ring of keys from her belt. "Stolen from the guard captain. Try these."
I fumble through five different keys before one finally clicks. The door swings open, and I rush inside, pulling Lyra into my arms.
She's so small. So young. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be sentenced to die because I forgot who I was.
"I'm sorry," I whisper into her hair. "I'm so sorry I forgot you. I'm so sorry—"
"Stop." Lyra pulls back, wiping her eyes fiercely. "You're here now. That's what matters. But Elara—we need to hurry. The execution is in three hours, and when they come for me and find me gone—"
"They'll hunt us," Sera finishes grimly. She's standing at the cell entrance, keeping watch. "Which is why we need to move. Now."
I cut Lyra's bonds with my stolen sword, and we run.
Back through the dungeon, up a narrow staircase that Sera says leads to the servants' passages. We're almost to the exit when—
"HALT!"
Guards pour from both ends of the corridor.
We're surrounded.
Sera steps in front of us, raising her crossbow. "Stay behind me."
"There are twenty of them!" I protest.
"I know. I can count." She fires—one guard drops, clutching his leg. She reloads with practiced speed. "Get your sister out. There's a door behind that tapestry. Follow the passage until you reach the gardens. Someone will be waiting."
"Who?"
"Someone you used to trust." She fires again. Another guard falls. "GO!"
I grab Lyra and run for the tapestry, yanking it aside to reveal a hidden door. Behind us, I hear Sera fighting—crossbow bolts flying, guards shouting, steel clashing against steel.
We burst through the door into darkness.
The passage is narrow, barely wide enough for one person. Lyra and I stumble forward, hands on the stone walls, guided only by a faint light ahead.
"Is Sera going to die?" Lyra asks, her voice small.
"I don't know," I admit. "But she chose to fight. For us. We have to make it count."
The passage ends at another door. I push it open carefully—
And we emerge into the palace gardens.
It's twilight now. The sky is painted in oranges and purples. In the distance, I can hear crowds gathering—the execution audience.
"Where's the person Sera mentioned?" Lyra whispers.
Movement in the shadows.
A figure steps out from behind a hedge, and my hand goes to my sword—
"Peace, Lady Calista." The voice is familiar. Male. "I'm here to help."
Theron.
He's wearing dark traveling clothes instead of wedding finery, and he's carrying a bag that clinks with glass vials.
"You got the memory anchors?" I ask, hope flaring.
"Three of them." He opens the bag, showing me three small crystal vials filled with glowing liquid—one gold, one silver, one deep blue. "The Academy, your mother's garden, and my office. The other three are in more difficult locations. I couldn't access them without alerting the Queen."
"Which three are missing?"
"The Sanguine Vaults, the throne room, and—" He looks at Lyra apologetically. "—your bedroom. I couldn't reach it in time."
Lyra touches her pocket, and I see tears in her eyes. "My teddy bear. Mr. Patches. He has one of my sister's memories inside him?"
"Your most important one," Theron says gently. "The memory of love. Of family. Of why you're fighting."
I stare at the three vials in his bag. Three pieces of myself. Three chances to remember.
"We need all six to break the curse," I say. "Don't we?"
"Ideally, yes. But three might be enough to give you a fighting chance tonight." Theron closes the bag. "We need to leave the palace. Now. Before they realize you've escaped."
"I'm not leaving without all six anchors," I say firmly. "And I'm not leaving without getting Lyra to safety first."
"Elara—" Lyra starts.
"No." I crouch to her level. "You're sixteen years old. You have your whole life ahead of you. I'm not letting the Queen take that away."
Theron nods slowly. "I have contacts outside the palace. The Silent Court—the resistance. They can hide Lyra."
"The same resistance whose members I murdered?" I ask bitterly.
"The same ones who now understand you were being controlled." He looks at me intensely. "They want to help you, Calista. Because stopping the Queen stops the murders. Everyone wins."
A bell tolls in the distance.
Two hours until the execution.
One hour until that becomes an execution hunt when they discover Lyra is gone.
Four hours until my wedding.
"Alright." I make the decision. "Get Lyra to safety. I'll retrieve the remaining anchors."
"Alone?" Theron looks incredulous. "That's suicide."
"So is marrying me." I smile grimly. "At least this way, one of us might survive."
"Elara, no—" Lyra grabs my arm.
I hug her tightly. "I love you. Even when I don't remember you, I love you. That's what the memory anchor in your teddy bear contains, right? That love. Which means it's already inside me. I just can't access it yet."
"Then take Mr. Patches now," she says desperately, pulling the worn teddy bear from inside her jacket. "Take the anchor—"
"And leave you without your most treasured possession? No." I push the bear back to her. "You keep him. Keep that piece of me safe. And when this is over—when I've broken the curse and defeated the Queen—you give it back to me. Deal?"
Lyra's crying openly now. "You're the bravest person I know."
"I'm the most stubborn person you know. There's a difference." I stand, turning to Theron. "Get her out. Protect her. That's more important than protecting me."
"You're both important," he argues.
"But she's innocent. I'm..." I look at my hands—hands that have killed six people. "I'm something else."
Theron steps close, cupping my face. "You're the woman I love. Innocent or guilty, cursed or free, you're still her. Still worth saving."
He kisses me.
It's quick, desperate, and filled with three years of longing. When he pulls back, my lips are tingling and my heart is racing and something deep inside me whispers: I remember this. I remember him.
"Go," I say, my voice shaking. "Before I lose my nerve."
He takes Lyra's hand, and they disappear into the garden shadows.
I'm alone.
Again.
But this time, it's by choice.
I turn back toward the palace—toward the throne room, the Sanguine Vaults, and the secrets I need to steal.
Three memory anchors left. Two hours until guards start hunting me. Four hours until I have to face Theron across a wedding altar and try not to murder him.
No pressure.
I'm halfway across the garden when I hear it: a soft rustling behind me.
I spin, sword ready—
Nothing.
Just shadows and roses and evening breeze.
But I know someone's there. I can feel eyes watching me.
"Show yourself," I command.
A woman steps from behind a statue. She's beautiful in an unsettling way—too perfect, too polished. Her dress is black and silver, and her smile is poisonous.
"Lady Calista," she says warmly. "Or should I say, Princess Elara? We finally meet properly."
I don't recognize her. "Who are you?"
"Lady Serath Nighthollow. Chancellor to the Queen. Sister to Lord Theron." Her smile widens. "And the person who's been orchestrating everything."
My blood goes cold. "What?"
"Did you really think you were figuring this out on your own? Finding those convenient letters? Discovering those well-placed memory anchors?" She laughs. "Oh, my dear. You've been following a script I wrote three years ago."
"You're lying."
"Am I?" She circles me slowly, like a predator. "Who do you think convinced Theron to marry you? Who do you think planted Sera as your maid? Who do you think has been feeding you clues, letting you escape, keeping you alive just long enough to become useful?"
My mind reels. "Useful for what?"
"For killing the Queen, of course." Serath stops circling. "Tonight. At your wedding. When the curse activates and you lose control, you won't kill Theron. You'll kill Queen Meridian. I've been adjusting Vaskir's curse for months, waiting for the perfect moment."
"Vaskir is dead," I say. "I watched Sera kill him."
"Did you?" Her expression doesn't change. "Or did you see what I wanted you to see? Blood-mages are excellent at illusions, and Vaskir serves me now. Not the Queen."
"Why?" I demand. "Why go through all this?"
"Because dead queens can't rule." Serath's mask drops completely, revealing cold ambition underneath. "And confused, memory-wiped princesses can't claim thrones. But if you kill Meridian in front of the entire court, while cursed and clearly not in control? You become a tragic figure. Too damaged to rule. And the throne passes to the next in line." She gestures to herself. "Me. Through my carefully crafted lineage claims and council support."
"You're using me," I whisper. "Just like the Queen did."
"Exactly like the Queen did. The difference is, I'll let you live when it's over. Locked in a tower somewhere, safely insane, no longer a threat." She pulls out a small glass vial—red liquid, glowing. "This is the real curse trigger. Drink it before the wedding, and everything proceeds as planned. Refuse, and I kill your sister. Slowly. In front of you."
"Lyra is already gone. Theron took her—"
"Theron took a girl he thinks is your sister." Serath's smile is triumphant. "The real Lyra is still in my custody. The child you rescued was one of my agents. An excellent actress, don't you think?"
No.
No, no, no.
"You're bluffing."
"Am I?" She produces a second vial—this one containing something dark and writhing. "This holds a piece of your precious Lyra's hair. And her blood. And her screams, magically preserved. Would you like to hear them?"
My hand tightens on my sword. "If you hurt her—"
"You'll what? Kill me? Try it. I have twenty guards hidden in this garden. You'll be dead before you take three steps." She holds out the red vial. "Drink this. Kill the Queen. Save your sister. Everyone wins. Except Meridian, but she's a murderer anyway. You'd actually be doing the kingdom a favor."
I stare at the vial.
This is it. The real trap. Not the curse. Not the Queen. This woman, who's been manipulating everything from the shadows.
"What's in the vial?" I ask carefully.
"A modified version of your curse. When you drink it, you'll appear normal until the wedding ceremony. Then, during the vows, you'll lose control and attack the nearest person in power. Which will be the Queen, standing right next to you. Quick, clean, public. Perfect."
"And if I refuse?"
"Then your sister dies. Theron dies trying to save her. And I trigger the original curse, making you kill yourself. Either way, I win. But my way? At least some people you love survive."
My mind races, trying to find a way out.
There isn't one.
I'm trapped again. Always trapped.
"I need proof," I say finally. "Proof that you have Lyra."
Serath snaps her fingers.
A guard emerges from the shadows, dragging a small figure.
It's Lyra—the real Lyra, I can tell by her eyes—gagged and bound, terror written across her face.
"Satisfied?" Serath asks.
I look at my sister. At the vial. At the woman who's turned my entire life into a game.
And I make my choice.
I take the vial.
"Smart girl," Serath purrs. "Drink it now. Let me watch."
I uncork it. Raise it to my lips.
The liquid smells like blood and roses and death.
I drink.
It burns going down—fire and ice and agony—but I swallow every drop.
Serath watches with satisfaction. "Excellent. Now go to your wedding, sweet princess. And when the curse activates, remember: you're saving your sister. That makes you a hero, not a monster."
She vanishes into the shadows, taking Lyra with her.
I'm alone in the garden, poison coursing through my veins, three hours until my wedding.
I fall to my knees, gasping, as the modified curse takes hold.
This is it.
I'm going to kill the Queen.
And there's nothing I can do to stop it.