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Silas.

Young or old, scared or smiling, it doesn’t matter. I’d know his face anywhere. He’s just a boy in the photograph, seated beside the young king, a man and woman standing behind him. A family. His family.

The king’s words cut through the fire’s crackle. “Smart girl. You found him.”

My head snaps toward him, eyes flashing quick. “Silas?” My voice is sharp but shaken. “He’s a Braveheart?” The words rip free before I can stop them.

The king smiles. “You see, darling…” That fucking word makes bile surge up my throat, just like he knows saying it would. “I have had a hand in your life since the day you washed up on that cursed, pirate-riddled island. A Sirenborne.” He spits the word at the ground, the insult searing through me like acid. “I’ve known your every move. I was the reason you killed those thirteen boys. I was the reason for your pain. Your torture.” A small wave of relief washes over me. He said thirteen, but I only killed twelve. Zorren is safe.

My eyes are still locked onto his. “Silas only played his part. Dark and gruesome, yes, but even monsters need teachers. Silas is my younger brother, slayer. And everything he knows, he learned from me. You’ve been a great weapon in the making for a very long time. Just didn’t expect you to have such a mouth on you. Or for you to have kept parts of your heart. Didn’t Silas teach you anything? To love is a weakness.”

Inside, every fiber of me howls. The twelve. The screams. The blood. All of it was orchestrated and relentlessly trained into me for nothing but his amusement. Twelve. The number echoes through my brain. I never knew where Silas came from; I always just assumed he was born in that godforsaken academy. I didn’t ask the right questions. He is so much more powerful than I could have ever imagined. And now I know he needs to die sooner rather than later.

Where did he get the last name Vale from?

Rage surges in my veins, begging to erupt from my throat.

But on the outside, I am stone. No emotion or weakness, only a slayer staring into the face of the man who has forged her suffering. In this moment, I am doing exactly what I was trained to do, being the weapon they made me. I was merely a puppet being controlled this entire time. But Silas freed me when I was sixteen. He wanted me to take over Magda. Was that all for the royals? Or did he do it to save me?

I lean forward, slamming my dagger into the desk again, feeling the wood slice beneath my blade. It quivers upright between us, daring him to test me. “You didn’t control anything,” I hiss. But he did. He knew fucking everything. I hate it, I hate him for it.

Finally, he stands. From beneath his heavy robes, he unsheathes a sword, black steel gleaming in the firelight, matching his onyx-colored eyes. He’s armed even within his own castle walls. He knows not everyone who walks within them is loyal. That says everything about the king of kings he truly is. There is no loyalty here.

He swings with a speed that would have cut a lesser fighter in half. But fighting with anger and only seeing red doesn’t get you very far. Easily, I dodge the attack. Roman doesn't move to stop him. He only steps back, eyes burning, watching. Maybe Roman really is what the rumors say?

“You want to save the boy?” the king taunts, his lips curling into that viper’s smile. “Your clock is ticking.” I draw my cutlass. Its smaller size is no disadvantage; it’s sharper than his, quicker than his, lighter than his. The moment our weapons collide, the air sings with the scream of steel. Sparks burst like fireflies between us.

“If you know everything,” the king spits as I force him back a step, “how do you not know your pathetic little love isn’t inside this castle? He’s due back after his little rendezvous with you, isn’t he?” Goosebumps crawl over my skin. No. I knew it was him at Shoreline Village, but I kept flying. I didn’t even stop to check. My emotions led me straight into this trap.

My stomach churns, making me feel sick. My silence is my weapon. I only focus on his next move: calculating what every single next move of mine would be.

I slash for his throat. Steel meets steel in a shriek that rattles the room as he parries with practiced ease, the motion lazy, insulting. His sword drops to his side afterward, the heavy blade swaying like a pendulum, as if daring me to try again.

I straighten, drawing myself to my full height. My cloak spills around me like living smoke, confidence rolling off me in cold waves. With a sharp flick of my wrist, I throw the obsidian hood back over my head, shadow swallowing my face, sealing away any crack in the mask I wear.

If he wants a monster, I’ll give him one. His mouth curves into a smirk as he lifts his chin, baring his throat in mockery.

“Tell me, slayer,” he drawls. “How exactly do you plan on leaving this study? Jumping out the window? It is a very far fall.” His gaze flicks toward the glass. “Or strolling through my front gates?”

This isn’t about curiosity. He wants to possess me. It’s about the smug certainty of a king who believes that he has a newfound creature to torture. “You are mine,” he continues, voice dropping. “You were mine the moment you set foot in my castle.”

The stone walls seem to press closer at his words. He thinks his power is unbreakable. I say nothing. Because men like him always mistake silence for surrender.

My brain is calculating any way out. Maddoc isn’t here. That means he’s gone back to Magda. Straight to Silas. My chest burns with the weight of the realization, but my face remains stoic.

“Your Majesty,” I say, smooth and condescending, “you underestimate your own training.” I tilt my head slightly. “I always have a plan. I’m already five steps ahead of you.” My gaze never leaves him. “You see, there are still things you don’t know. And I would be very careful who you make enemies of.”

A faint smile curves my mouth as I watch his eyes betray him, flicking to the windows, the door, the shadows lining the walls. Exit points. Escape routes.

Rule number one: never take your eyes off your opponent. Not even for a breath. Before his smirk can deepen and his focus can snap back to me, I move.

It’s a fluid switch, faster than a heartbeat. One moment, I’m standing before his desk, the next, I’m already past him. My shoulder grazes his robes as I slip by, taunting, the whisper of fabric intended to unsettle rather than wound. Roman could grab my arm, but he doesn’t. He just watches me with glowing eyes as I brush past him. He let me go.

By the time the king turns, I’m already at the tall doors. I don’t look back. The hall stretches out in front of me, moonlight spilling over stone. My boots barely kiss the ground as I slip down its length. There’s a window looming at the end, black with night. Glass and shadows swallow me whole as I dive through.

The air meets me, sharp and cold. And in that breathless freefall, before the earth can claim me, I burn. Feathers split from skin, my bones breaking and reshaping. The raven tears out of me, black and violet wings catching the wind. The moonlight shines on every one of my feathers.

By the time the king makes it to the window, I am already a pinprick in the sky, shrouded by the clouds.