Katerina's POV
My mother is dead.
The words echo in my head like a scream. My mother. The woman who raised me, who loved me, who cried when I was sent away to marry a stranger. The woman who thought I died three years ago.
She never knew I survived. She died believing her daughter was executed for treason.
And it's my fault. I could have sent word. I could have told her I was alive. But revenge mattered more than her peace. My plan mattered more than her knowing her child still breathed.
Now she's gone, and I can never take it back.
Lady Raven? Damien's voice cuts through the roaring in my ears. His hand is still on my elbow, steadying me. You look like you're about to faint.
I can't faint. I can't fall apart. I'm Lady Raven Blackwood from the Neutral Territories, and I have no reason to mourn a foreign queen I never met.
But the tears are coming anyway, hot and furious behind my eyes. I dig my nails into my palms, using pain to anchor myself. Focus. I need to focus.
I'm fine, I manage, but my voice cracks on the last word.
Damien's eyes narrow. He turns to the messenger, his voice sharp with command. Leave us. Tell my father I'll be in his study within the hour.
The messenger bows and practically runs from the balcony.
We're alone now. Just me and the man who killed me, standing in the darkness while my mother's death hangs between us like poison.
Why do you care? Damien asks quietly. Too quietly. You're from the Neutral Territories. Queen Isadora was nothing to you.
Think. I need to think. What would Lady Raven say? What excuse makes sense?
I admired her, I say, forcing steadiness into my voice. Her wisdom. Her diplomacy. Everyone in the Neutral Territories knew of Queen Isadora's fairness. She was... she was one of the few monarchs who actually cared about her people instead of just power.
It's all true. Every word is true, and that makes it hurt worse.
Damien studies my face like he's reading a map. You're crying.
I touch my cheek and my fingers come away wet. Gods. I didn't even realize.
She deserved better than to be murdered by her own son, I say, and this time I don't hide the anger in my voice. Let him hear it. Let him think I'm just another person disgusted by Adrian's ambition.
Murdered? Damien's entire body tenses. You think Adrian killed her?
Don't you? I turn to face him fully, wiping away the tears. You just said yourself—if you had proof, you'd say he murdered her. So you suspect it too.
For a long moment, Damien doesn't answer. He just stares out at the dark gardens, his jaw working like he's fighting some internal battle.
Finally, he speaks. Three weeks ago, Queen Isadora was perfectly healthy. She wrote to my father about trade negotiations. She was sharp, clever, planning years ahead. His hands grip the railing. Two weeks ago, she fell mysteriously ill. This week, she's dead. And Adrian has already announced his coronation.
That's not grief, I say bitterly. That's ambition.
Exactly. Damien turns to me, and there's something fierce in his eyes. Something that looks almost like... alliance? Which is why I need to know everything you promised to tell me about Adrian's plans. Tomorrow. My private study. Dawn.
My mind spins. This doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense.
Three years ago, Adrian told me he and Damien were working together. He showed me letters supposedly from Damien, agreeing to eliminate me and form a stronger alliance. The evidence at my trial included Damien's signature on documents planning my death.
But if Damien suspects Adrian now, if he clearly distrusts my brother, then what was the truth three years ago?
Were those letters forged? Was Damien manipulated just like I was?
The thought makes my stomach drop. Because if Damien was played by Adrian too, then he's not the villain I've been hunting. He's another victim.
And I've wasted three years preparing to destroy an innocent man.
Dawn, I agree, my voice barely a whisper. I'll be there.
Damien reaches out like he's going to touch my face, then stops himself. Who are you, Lady Raven? Really?
My heart hammers. I told you
No. He shakes his head. There's something about you. The way you speak, the way you move. You remind me of... He trails off, pain flickering across his face.
Your wife? The words slip out before I can stop them.
The silence that follows is crushing.
Yes, Damien finally says, so quietly I almost don't hear him. You remind me of the woman I murdered.
The raw agony in his voice breaks something inside me. This isn't the cold, heartless killer from my nightmares. This is a man drowning in guilt for something he was tricked into doing.
Just like I was tricked into believing he was my enemy.
I should go, I whisper, because if I stay one more second, I'm going to confess everything. I'm going to tell him the truth, and I can't. Not yet. Not until I understand what really happened three years ago.
I turn to leave, but Damien catches my wrist. The touch sends electricity through my entire body.
Be careful, Lady Raven, he says, his thumb brushing against my pulse point. Can he feel how fast my heart is racing? If you're investigating Adrian, you're playing a dangerous game. He's destroyed everyone who's gotten in his way.
Including his own sister, I think bitterly.
I can handle danger, I say, echoing my words from earlier.
Can you handle betrayal? His eyes bore into mine. Because that's Adrian's real weapon. He makes you trust him, and then he uses that trust to destroy you.
I know. Gods, I know exactly how Adrian operates. I learned it the hard way.
I'll be careful, I promise.
I pull away from his grip and walk back into the ballroom. My legs feel shaky, my mind a mess of grief and confusion and questions I can't answer.
The crowd parts as I move through it. Nobles whisper and stare, but I don't care. I just need to get out. I need to find Lyssa, find Marcus, figure out what to do with this terrible new information.
I'm almost to the main doors when I feel it—eyes on my back. Watching. Studying.
I glance over my shoulder and freeze.
A woman stands in the shadows near the orchestra. Beautiful, cold, with golden hair and a smile like poisoned honey.
Lady Serena Thornhart. The woman who played Damien's mistress. The woman who helped frame me for treason.
And she's staring directly at me.
Our eyes meet across the ballroom, and I watch her expression shift from curiosity to confusion to something that makes my blood run cold.
Recognition.
She tilts her head, studying the way I walk. The way I hold my hands. The little unconscious gestures that three years of training couldn't completely erase.
I see the exact moment she realizes. The moment the impossible becomes possible in her mind.
Her lips move, forming words I can't hear but can read clearly:
It can't be. She's dead. I watched her die.
Then louder, a whisper that carries across the sudden quiet:
That walk... those hands... impossible.
I turn and run.