The ballroom hadn’t recovered. The music had long since collapsed into silence, but the air still thrummed like strings pulled too tight. Laughter was gone, replaced by whispers sharp enough to draw blood. Teachers clung to their lies—“just a malfunction, just a glitch, nothing to worry about”—but their voices shook, smiles cracking too wide.

The air reeked of too many things at once—frost still clinging to Naomi’s cuffs, the bitter copper sting of Veil-touched smoke, perfume soured by sweat. My chest heaved shallow, lungs refusing to find enough air.

And every gaze was on me.

They’d seen everything. Not just the torn silk sticking to my skin, the bruises already blooming dark along my ribs. My pointed ears, uncovered. My hair, sparking faint ember-light. My eyes, wide and starlit, burning through every mask I’d ever built. No glamour. No shield. Just me, raw and wrecked in front of them all.

Hide it. Gods, hide it.

I pulled in a breath sharp enough to burn my throat and forced the instinct: glamour. Green eyes. Ginger hair. Rounded ears. Just Mira Quinveil, just another girl in sequins and silk.

For half a heartbeat, the shimmer caught. Veil-light skimmed across my skin like heat over asphalt—then shattered. My starlit eyes glared back at me, brighter for the effort. My hair flared molten. My ears stayed sharp.

Gasps spiked through the crowd, stabbing worse than the wound under my ribs.

I tried again, clenching fists, teeth grinding, dragging at whatever control I had left. The illusion guttered in a single flash—green bleeding over gold, then dying like a candle drowned. Gone.

My hands shook. My throat locked. They’ll know. They’ll see. I can’t stop them. I can’t—

“Enough.”

Roran’s voice hit like a shield dropping into place. He was suddenly there, heat rolling off him, cloak snapping around my shoulders. The fabric pressed heavy, smothering the raw edges of my gown, though it couldn’t hide what had already broken free. His jaw ticked anyway, the muscle tight enough to cut stone, like it was killing him to fail at shielding me.

Cassie’s hand slid into mine, citrus and steel against the storm. “Move,” she hissed, voice low enough only I heard, but the command of it rooted me. My pulse found hers where our palms pressed.

We moved. Naomi and Kess flanked tight, shadows and frost. Lucien hovered like he wanted to fight the whole room, Alina clutching his sleeve, wide-eyed. Students parted in sequined waves, shoes clicking back, eyes wide.

And then the doors ahead blazed white with flashes. Reporters pressed closer, voices tangling—Princess of Eversea! Who is she with? Magic on film! Cameras lifted like weapons, and terror scraped my throat raw. They were going to see me—all of me—burned into headlines before I even caught my breath.

That’s when it started.

The whispers. Not fear this time. Not gossip. A thread weaving under the panic, passed mouth to mouth like kindling catching.

“She saved us.”

“She’s ours.”

“Not theirs. Not the press. Not the rest of Dominveil. Ours.”

The air shifted. Students surged—not away, not scattering. Toward.

They hit the doors in a glittering tide, sequins and silk and tuxedos forming a wall. Their laughter rose too bright, their chatter pitched deliberate, drowning out the reporters. Phones waved high, skirts swished sharp, shoes clattered thunder against the marble. They didn’t just block the exits. They smothered them.

For a heartbeat I froze. This couldn’t be real. They’d mocked, whispered, doubted—but now they moved as one, shielding me instead of staring. Gratitude burned hot in my chest, dangerous as fire, and I buried it quick. I couldn’t afford to trust this. Not yet.

And in the crush of their chaos, Cassie tugged me deeper into the crowd. Roran braced at my flank, cloak still heavy, Naomi iced the floor under a reporter’s slick shoes, Kess’s grin daring anyone to shove through.

I ducked my head, cloak suffocating but necessary, Cassie’s grip iron on my hand. Fire thrummed under my skin, out of control, pressing sparks into my veins. The air was too thick, the perfume too sharp, the whispers too loud—but they weren’t betraying me. They were protecting me.

For one staggering heartbeat, I wasn’t prey. I wasn’t spectacle. I was just another girl in the crowd. Their princess. Their secret.

The limo door yawned ahead. Cassie shoved me inside, Roran right behind, Naomi and Kess closing off the gap. The students’ tide spilled outward, overwhelming the press, smothering their shouts under glitter and noise.

The door slammed. Darkness wrapped around us, muting the roar outside.

We were out. Barely.

But the whispers followed, alive in my skull, humming louder than the fire in my veins:

She’s ours. She’s ours. She’s ours.

The door slammed, and the roar of Ravenrest muffled into silence. Not gone—just pressed against the glass, a phantom echo I couldn’t shut out.

The limo’s air was suffocating. Too warm. Too tight. Leather reeked sharp under the overlay of perfume, ozone, blood. My blood. My fire. It was everywhere—on my hands, in my lungs, in the way the hem of my gown stuck damp against my thigh. The cloak Roran had thrown over me scratched at my collarbone, too heavy, too much, not enough.

Lucien’s eyes burned holes through me from the opposite seat. Pride? Anger? Fear? I couldn’t tell. His jaw was tight, arms crossed, but every few seconds his gaze flicked from the blood on my temple to my hands, like he was counting the places I’d split open. Like he was trying to memorize the damage.

Alina sat beside him, small in her rose-gold gown, wide eyes darting from my hair—still smoldering faint with ember-light—to my starlit eyes. She didn’t speak. Just stared like she’d woken up inside a fairytale she wasn’t ready to believe. Her hand brushed Lucien’s sleeve, not steadying him so much as steadying herself.

Cassie never let go of me. Her hand was iron around mine, her thumb stroking slow lines against my skin. Every pass was grounding, deliberate. But the tremor under her control betrayed her. She knew. She knew I was spiraling.

And I was.

The adrenaline had burned off, leaving only ache and ruin in its place. My ribs throbbed deep and sharp with every breath. Cuts stung along my side, hot where silk still clung. Fae healing should’ve sealed them already. It hadn’t. The wrongness sat heavy in my chest, worse than the blood soaking my gown.

Guilt gnawed raw. I should’ve been faster. Stronger. I should’ve ended it before Cassie ever felt the mist’s touch. I should’ve held my glamour—given the students something, anything they could mistake for a glitch. Instead they saw me. My ears, my hair, my eyes, the fire sparking uncontrolled. No mask. No hiding. I’d lost that forever.

No more blending into chem lab Tuesdays. No more just being another cheer girl in the bleachers.

And Cassie—gods, Cassie—she could’ve died.

Lucien’s words from earlier clawed back, unbidden: You’re not the same. You changed. I don’t know how to be your brother anymore.

And now? Now I didn’t know how to be me anymore.

I clenched my jaw, pressing my nails into my palms until crescent moons bit my skin. The rough edge of Roran’s cloak bunched between my fingers, three-beat, three-beat—six, then six again. My breath hitched too fast. My ribs locked tight.

Cassie’s thumb pressed firmer into my skin, then shifted: three-beat, three-beat. A mirror. My breath stumbled, then dragged in ragged, but in.

Naomi’s reflection in the tinted glass caught the light—sharp profile, eyes scanning the darkness outside like every shadow might sprout teeth. Her hand rested casual on her lap, but I knew frost was already gathering at her fingertips.

Kess slouched like she owned the night, dagger twirling between her fingers, grin too sharp. “Wouldn’t mind a round two,” she muttered, voice low, deliberate. “They hit like amateurs.”

The joke fell flat.

But it punctured the silence just enough for my lungs to drag another breath.

Roran sat nearest the door, stone-faced, one hand on his gun. His eyes swept constantly—windows, doors, the rearview, us. Always moving. Always calculating. But under his breath, almost too low to hear, he was muttering clipped notes. Drafting his report, rehearsing it. Every so often his voice sharpened, like he was reminding himself as much as anyone else: “Her Highness fought like a warrior tonight.”

The words landed in my chest, hot and wrong. A warrior. No. I was just a girl who almost failed everyone, who almost lost everything.

My throat burned. My fire ached for release. And all I could think, over and over, was that I’d never be just Mira Quinveil again.

Gravel crunched, and the limo slowed. Emberhall’s lanterns flared like a crown of fire along the walls, each flame too bright, too watchful. They should have felt like home. Instead they looked like judgment.

The car stopped. My stomach dropped.

The shears whispered.

Silk surrendered in long, wet sighs, peeling where blood had glued it down, the gown sliding away in petals to reveal the map the corridor carved into me—old-plum bruises laddered along my ribs, a breath-syncing gash at my side, frost-kiss marks where the mist licked and my heat-shield shoved it back. No glamour, not even a ghost. Starlit eyes. Fire-threaded hair. Ears sharp enough to cut the room.

My fingers found the linen’s edge instead of a sleeve and pressed three-beat, three-beat, three-beat. Anchor. Don’t float.

A hand, cool and perfectly controlled, brushed damp hair off my forehead.

“Daughter,” my mother said, the word secret-soft. Not High Lady. Mother. Her thumb cleared the sticky line at my temple. “Stay with me, stargazer.”

The name cracked something I’d welded shut. Vision doubled, then steadied. I breathed. Tried, anyway.

Warm weight covered my other hand. My father didn’t crowd the healers; he simply folded his palm over my fist and didn’t ask me to unclench. “Lightning bug,” Elias murmured, rain-calm, “you’re here. That’s enough for now.”

Cedar smoke. Ink. That stubborn citrus soap he refuses to give up. It made my throat ache a different way.

Selene hovered just beyond them—all heir-lines and control until her gaze caught mine and she was only my sister. Knuckles white in silk. She leaned in, mask dropped for two breaths. “Little star,” quiet steel, “look at me.” I did. “You are whole. They did not take you.” One fingertip pressed once into my forearm—precise, grounding. “Breathe with that.”

I breathed with that.

Beyond the wall of them, Lucien hunched like he was holding up a collapsing roof. His jaw locked so hard the muscle fluttered. When I found his eyes, the anger in them cracked and the boy I grew up with looked back—wrecked, protective, lost. Alina’s hand hooked into his blazer sleeve like an anchor. Small, luminous, wildly out of place; rose-gold gown catching firelight. Her gaze skimmed my ears, my hair, the glow at healer wrists. Wonder widened her eyes, not fear. “Oh,” she breathed, reverent. “It’s real.”

I would’ve told her I was still just a girl who hates physics and burns toast and loves her impossible brother, but the healer at my ribs pressed a compress and my minute-old breath detonated into white-hot sting. I swallowed the sound. It still slashed the air.

Cassie tipped forward until her shoulder blocked the worst of the lantern glare. Vanilla-citrus softened at the edges, threading into me whether I wanted it or not. “You look like hell,” she muttered, mouth close enough to warm my temple. The bite was deliberate—love refusing to pretend. Her thumb kept mapping slow lines over my palm, a sideways figure eight, like she’d decided to write infinity into me by touch.

A laugh clawed out of me, brittle as glass. She smiled like I’d given her a crown.

“Hold,” a healer instructed. Clever hands braced my side; salve kissed the gash—mint, crushed lilies, copper—and the cold of it burned. My fae healing should have sealed it already. It hadn’t. My skin tried, trembled, failed again. The failure scraped bone-deep.

Seara’s breath hitched and smoothed inside a blink. “Be gentle,” she told the room, a promise of ruin to anything that wasn’t. Her thumb kept moving over my brow, a rhythm older than politics. “You did well,” softer, for me alone. “You did so well.”

I didn’t. I almost lost Cassie. I almost turned the corridor into a funeral. I almost—

Cassie’s grip tightened, like she felt the thought form. “Hey,” command under velvet. “Not tonight, Firefly.”

Firefly. The word looped through the ache and left a scorch that felt like belonging.

Naomi had taken a quiet guard near the doors, violet eyes tracking every shift, every shadow. Frost ghosted her cuffs where she hadn’t fully banked the instinct to fight. Kess lounged the way only a predator can lounge, weight spilled against a column, dagger spinning slow between fingers. Neither spoke. When a bowl clinked too loud, both heads snapped and settled again—coiled, waiting. Roran’s leather rasped as he adjusted his stance, hand on his gun, gaze sweeping doors, windows, corners, back to me, repeat. A wall you’d break your hands on. A wall that had bled with me and was furious about it.

The shears finished their work. A sheet over my hips, another across my chest; then a blanket, blessed weight to keep me from vibrating off the earth. Rune-stitch prickled where it touched my wrists. Bandages wrapped in snug, neat lines. Spelllight combed for fractures; a low hum under my collarbone turned the worst pain distant and small.

“Easy,” one coaxed when my breath hitched. “Like that. Again.”

I tried. In, out. Count lanterns—too many. Count breaths instead: Seara’s steady, controlled; Elias’s set to the rhythm of you’re safe whether he said it or not; Selene’s measured metronome; Lucien’s too fast; Alina’s small and careful; Cassie’s braided to mine on purpose.

“You should see the other guy,” Cassie murmured for me alone. “He regrets his life choices.”

A snort escaped before I could stop it. It hurt. I didn’t care. “I regret my dress choices,” I rasped. “Tell Val to send an apology fruit basket. And a dagger.”

“Done,” she said. “Card will read: Return policy void if bloodstained.”

“Classy.”

“Always.”

The worst of the blood was wiped away; fresh pink traced where needles had danced. My fire still pressed everywhere, restless and ashamed, wanting to blaze and hide at once.

Seara’s hand found my cheek again. The killing-heat had banked into something no less bright. “There you are,” she whispered, and for a wild second she was just a mother with her girl, not a woman who could turn cities into bargaining chips. “My stargazer.”

Elias’s laugh was more breath than sound. “She’s a comet,” fond and helpless. “Won’t be contained to any sky we tell her to use.”

Selene didn’t bother with a quip; her fingers ghosted my blanket’s edge, checking the corner like sealing a writ, eyes saying what her mouth did not.

“Pain in the ass,” Kess added, amiable.

“Language,” Naomi said without looking at her.

Lucien made a sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t broken in the middle. He scrubbed a hand over his face, then stepped closer like the floor finally released his feet. “You scared me,” he said, raw.

It unlaced me. “You always say that,” I tried, too soft, too apologetic.

“I mean it this time.” His mouth twisted. He glanced at the gash the healer was dressing and jerked back to my eyes like the sight hurt. “Don’t—” He swallowed. “Don’t do that without me.”

“Noted,” I said, because the alternative was crying and I didn’t have room for that too. “Next assassination attempt, we make it a family outing.”

Alina let out a startled laugh and clapped a hand over her mouth, horrified, which somehow made it worse. Or better. She tipped forward before she could overthink it and set the smallest, gentlest hand on my shin—polite, asking permission without words. “You were… you were incredible,” she whispered, cheeks pink. “I’ve never— I didn’t know people could be like that.”

“I’m not people,” I said, too tired for the soft lie, winced at my own voice. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Her fingers tightened, firm and brave. “You are to me.”

My throat closed. I stared at the ceiling and breathed like the healer told me, because if I looked at Lucien’s face I’d unravel.

“Enough,” Seara said—cradle, not cut. The word steadied the room. “We will speak. We will decide. We will lock this house down until I say otherwise.” Steel for the world, warmth for me; her hand never left my hair. “For now, we tend.”

The healers murmured compliance. Salves glowed. Thread slid. Beyond the doors, armor scuffed and a low order carried, the house adjusting its bones to keep something precious. Naomi ghosted to a window; a white-frost kiss sealed a latch with a sigh. Kess drifted to the opposite corner without seeming to move. Roran did not shift at all.

Cassie kept drawing that sideways eight into my skin. Infinity, infinity. “You’re not going anywhere without me,” she said, soft threat. “And I don’t mean rooms.”

“Bossy,” I breathed.

“Efficient,” she corrected, mouth tilting in a smug that should be illegal. “Try not to bleed on the sheets. I’m very attached to them.”

I let my eyes close. For a heartbeat, the lanterns were less merciless. The table felt less like a stage and more like a raft. The house hummed—wards old as my great-grandmother, secrets baked into cedar and stone. My mother’s fingers carded through my hair. My father’s hand stayed on mine. My sister guarded by not moving. My brother remembered how to breathe. Alina believed in something impossible and decided it was me.

I was raw. I was seen. I was not alone.

A bitter taste hit the back of my tongue—herbs and honey gone wrong. A healer tipped a vial past my lips, steady as stone. “Pain draught,” she murmured. “It will ease the worst, but you’ll drift. Soreness for a few days. No exertion.” Her eyes flicked to my mother like I wasn’t in the room. “She should have healed by now. Veil-taint stress and overburn—concerning.”

I wanted to argue—to say I could handle it, that I always handled it—but warmth slid down my throat and spread lazy through my veins, dulling fire into smoke. Limbs heavy, head light, the world tilting like a slow tide.

Cassie squeezed my hand harder, dragging me back into place. “Stay with me, Firefly.”

“Trying,” I slurred, blinking at her crown, her sharp mouth, the citrus sting that cut through mint and blood and cedar. “You’re really pretty when you’re bossy.”

Her jaw went tight, cheeks flushing; for once she didn’t have a snark ready.

The healers stepped back, murmuring to one another, silver and glass vanishing into kits. One nodded to Seara. “She will recover fully. Rest is essential.”

My mother hadn’t moved. Her hand kept smoothing my hair like when I was five and feverish after sneaking fire in the gardens. At last her molten gaze tore from me and cut to Roran. “Report.”

The command struck like flint.

Roran straightened, one hand still on his gun, eyes sweeping edges even as he spoke. “Assailant deployed Veil-tainted mist at Gloamhearts. Initial strike aimed at Marisol Vega, redirected to Cassandra Fairborn by crown signature. Intervention immediate. Her Highness engaged and disrupted operator. Subject escaped via service access. Reverse-burn sigil scorched at point of departure.” He didn’t look at me when he said it.

The words clicked into place, neat and bloodless. They didn’t sound like my torn dress, or Cassie’s scream, or a masked hand crushing my throat. They didn’t sound like failure.

A cold compress shifted against my ribs. I winced. Cassie’s thumb traced infinity again, and again.

Roran’s voice dipped, a dry ember banked in protocol. “Her Highness fought like hell—even when she shouldn’t have had to.”

Heat curled in my chest, not fire—smaller, traitorous. I wanted to tell him not to say that. I wanted him to say it again.

Naomi’s tone cut clean, winter-steel. “Veil-taint confirmed.” She lifted a shard of ice webbed with black runes, mist leaking off it like a dying thing. “Not mortal tech. Alchemy bound to glamour. Crafted for hunting.”

Kess tossed her dagger, caught it. Voice flat. “And the target wasn’t Mira. It was Cassie.”

Air thinned razor-sharp. Selene’s chin lifted. Elias’s grip tightened. Seara’s molten gaze narrowed to a killing edge.

Cassie’s nails bit my palm. I leaned into her even as the draught made lanterns swim.

The world went soft at the edges. Light bled into halos; the stone floor rippled like water under me. My fire hummed, dulled but restless, unsure whether to sleep or scream.

I tried to focus—on Cassie’s hand, Selene’s steady shadow, Elias’s anchor—but everything slid. My ears caught too much: a hidden drip somewhere, glass vials clinking back into kits, the hitch in Lucien’s breath that sounded like a swallowed sob.

Too loud. Too much.

The draught made me float and sink at once. Body heavy, head helium. Cassie’s perfume hit sharp, then blurred into warm vanilla that wrapped me like a blanket I hadn’t earned. My mother’s hand combed through my hair and I almost laughed, because it felt like being five and feverish—except I wasn’t allowed to be five anymore. I wasn’t allowed to be small.

The words kept repeating, looping with the infinity under Cassie’s thumb:

Princess. Princess. Princess.

Not just Mira Quinveil. Not the cheer girl trying to blend. Not the girl who wanted to kiss her rival and pretend that was the worst of it. A princess who fought with fire and fists in a gown, in front of the whole damn school.

I wanted to claw back into the night before this one. Wanted my glamour, my mask, the fragile lie that I could be another girl. Wanted it so badly my chest hurt worse than my ribs.

The chandelier doubled. Tripled. Little suns burned overhead. My head lolled against Cassie’s shoulder. “Don’t let them take it,” I mumbled, thick-tongued.

“Take what?” Her voice, fierce and near.

“Normal,” I slurred. “My… normal.”

Her hand crushed mine tighter. “Then they’ll have to come through me first.”

Somewhere behind us, Naomi shifted. Kess whistled low, a bet placed on the night. Selene exhaled, measured. Elias squeezed my fingers, said something I couldn’t catch through the fuzz.

For one wild, loopy heartbeat, I thought maybe it was enough. Maybe I was still safe, here in the storm.

And then the gilded screen on the far wall flickered alive.

Mortal noise flooded the hall—headlines crawling bold at the bottom, a shaky camera feed playing on repeat.

Princess of Eversea Found. Secret Princess Revealed at Ravenrest Academy Gala.

There I was on the screen. Perfect hair. Perfect gown. Emerald eyes, rounded ears, crown glittering like I’d been born to wear it. Cassie on my arm, smiling sharp and sure beside me. No torn hem, no blood, no starlit eyes. Just a fairy tale the mortals had decided was real.

The applause on the screen roared like it was inside my skull.

That wasn’t me. That girl with her hair neat, her glamour seamless, her gown glittering like a storybook—she wasn’t me. She hadn’t bled on marble. She hadn’t clawed at mist that wanted her wife. She hadn’t failed to hold her mask.

But the mortals had chosen. They’d already decided: princess, theirs.

My chest squeezed. My ribs ached under the compress. The draught dragged my thoughts slow and sharp at the same time, every sound too loud, every light too bright. I couldn’t hold onto a single beat—every one cracked into three.

This was Daevan. Zyrella. I could smell their smugness even here, taste it behind my teeth. They’d ripped away the one thing I had left—the school, the friends, the stupid dances and late-night study sessions that let me pretend I was just Mira. Just a girl. Not a crown. Not a weapon. Not a secret.

Gone.

I clenched Cassie’s hand so hard my nails must’ve cut her skin. Her scent—citrus, vanilla under it—spiked sharp enough to ground me for a breath, but the spiral came back faster.

“They took it,” I whispered, voice too thick, tongue too heavy. “They—they wanted me humiliated. They wanted—wanted me trapped. I’ll never—” My throat locked. “I’ll never be normal again.”

“Firefly.” Cassie’s voice, low and jagged, cut through the storm. Her thumb pressed that sideways eight into my palm again, again, again. “Breathe. Look at me.”

I tried. Her face swam, doubled, then steadied into sharp lines—crown, eyes, mouth that had never once let me drown.

“They don’t get to decide who you are,” she said, steel under silk. “Not Daevan. Not Zyrella. Not the press. You hear me? They don’t.”

My vision blurred anyway. My fire pressed at my skin like it wanted to burn through the pain draught and torch the world.

And all I could do was whisper, hoarse and broken, “I just wanted one night. One. Night.”

It came out slurred, thick, like my tongue had grown three sizes. My chest hitched, ribs screaming under the compress.

Seara’s hand smoothed through my hair, gentler than her fire ever was. “Stargazer,” she whispered, molten soft. “Breathe. You are here.”

I blinked up at her, loopy enough that her face blurred in the lantern light. “You’re… glowing. Like, extra glowing. Fire mom.” My lips twitched. “Don’t… don’t let anyone say I’m the dramatic one.”

Cassie huffed out a laugh that wasn’t really a laugh, thumb still scribbling infinity into my palm.

Elias leaned closer, his hand tightening around mine. “You’re safe,” he said. His voice carried that bedtime-story cadence, the one that always made monsters under the bed sound smaller.

I squinted at him, eyes heavy. “Safe? I was just… smoke-netted by some creep with a mask, Dad. Not safe. Very much… un-safe. Like negative safe.” My words tangled, but his expression stayed steady, the kind of steady you could build a house on.

Selene bent near, cedar and powdered perfume slipping into my nose. “Breathe with me,” she said, calm but firm, demonstrating slow inhale, slow exhale.

I tried to copy her but ended up snorting mid-breath. “I sound like… a busted flute.”

Her lips twitched, but she didn’t break. “Again,” she said, patient. And I did, because Selene never let me quit without trying twice.

Lucien hovered like he might explode out of his own skin, fists clenching, unclenching. His eyes were raw, stormy, and when I looked at him my chest squeezed. “Lu,” I muttered, reaching a shaky hand to tap his wrist. “Stop… folding yourself up like origami. You’ll get… paper cuts.”

He let out a noise that was half laugh, half broken. “Gods, Mira.” His hand covered mine, big and trembling. “Don’t joke right now.”

“I’m… not joking. You’re crinkly,” I insisted, but the pain draught dragged the fight out of me, made the word melt on my tongue.

Alina’s voice slipped in, soft, reverent. “I didn’t know… Eversea… it’s real?”

I turned my head toward her, everything tilting like I was on a ship. “It’s real enough that I can’t hide from it now,” I mumbled, then bit my lip hard because that was too raw, too close to the bone. My gaze drifted to my father. “Dad, tell her.”

Elias slid closer to Alina, his tone quiet, warm. “Eversea is the name mortals are allowed to know. A storybook kingdom. Safer than telling the whole truth about the Courts. When the world hears ‘Eversea,’ they think princess, fairy-tale, glitter.” He shot me a look, sad and proud at once. “Not fire and blood on marble floors.”

Alina’s eyes went wide, then she nodded slowly. “So they’ll see the crown. Not the fight.”

“Exactly,” Elias murmured.

The words pressed down on me. Heavy. Suffocating. My throat burned. “I don’t… want them to see anything,” I whispered, eyes sliding shut. “I just wanted to be Mira. Just a girl. Just… me.”

Cassie’s hand squeezed mine so tight it hurt. “You’re still Mira,” she snapped, sharp like she was daring anyone to argue. “You’re my Mira. Firefly. The rest is noise.”

I let out a wet laugh, a little unhinged. “You’re… bossy.”

“Efficient,” she corrected, smug tilt to her mouth.

Her crown caught the lantern light like it was mocking me, but her hand never stopped moving against mine, infinity traced again and again until I almost believed her.

“You’ll thank me later,” she said.

“I always thank you later,” I mumbled, head tilting toward her shoulder. “Sometimes sooner. Sometimes with kissing.”

Her cheeks went pink, but she tilted her chin higher. “You’re insufferable when you’re drugged.”

“You love me drugged,” I slurred. “Less filter. More truth.”

Cassie’s mouth twitched. The lanterns bent and doubled and then, somehow, settled into two sharp points of ice that were her eyes. “Only you could say that and make it sound like foreplay.”

I laughed, a hiccup of a thing, and the sound made my ribs throb. The draught turned everything syrup-thick and slow. Faces blinked in and out at the edges of my sight—Selene a calm outline, Elias a warmth anchored at my hand, Lucien rustling like a bird that was almost brave enough to land.

“Lightning bug,” my mother murmured, fingers threading through my hair the way she always had when I was small and scraped. Her voice was molten and soft at once. “You are still you.”

“Am I?” My throat cracked. “Because the mortals on that screen don’t think I’m me. They think I’m some… crown-wearing, gown-wrapped… porcelain doll. And you—” I blinked up at her, loopy, desperate. “You can’t fix this. Can you?”

Her jaw twitched once, fire dimming in her eyes. She didn’t answer.

That silence hurt worse than the burns.

Elias bent closer, his hand covering mine, thumb grounding against my knuckles. “If I could fix it, I would,” he said, quiet but firm. “I would tear down every headline. But you’re right, Mira. We can’t put this back in the bottle.” His voice cracked soft on the edges. “That doesn’t mean you’ve lost yourself.”

The words sank like stones. The draught made my chest heavy, like I was drowning in syrup. “Feels like it,” I whispered. “Feels like I’m trapped in a crown I didn’t choose. I’ll never be just… Mira again. Not at school. Not anywhere.”

Seara’s fingers trembled once in my hair. Selene’s hand on my arm steadied, but her mouth pressed tight, like she wanted to deny it and couldn’t. Elias’ jaw worked, as if the truth tasted bitter. Even drugged, I saw it: the way they realized alongside me. They couldn’t fix this. They couldn’t put me back in the bottle either.

Selene finally leaned closer, cedar and perfume curling around me. “You’re still my sister,” she said, no hesitation. “The Courts can howl. The mortals can gossip. It doesn’t touch that.”

Something in me unclenched, just a little.

Lucien edged closer, shoulders hunched like he was carrying rocks instead of guilt. He crouched awkwardly, tried to meet my eyes. “I don’t… I don’t know how to do this right,” he admitted, voice raw. “But I want to. I miss you. And I’m going to figure it out. We’re going to hang out again, okay? No matter what. Just like before.”

I blinked at him, dazed. “Before when I was—” I caught myself too late, words tumbling out like loose teeth. “—your brother.”

The room stilled. The air seemed to thrum, lanterns swimming too bright.

Oh gods. My palms went cold. My ribs seized tight, fire pressing like it wanted to tear free.

Cassie’s brows knit, confused. Alina tilted her head, uncomprehending. Roran’s jaw twitched once, but he stayed stone. My mother’s eyes sharpened molten, Selene’s softened, Elias’s hand tightened, and Lucien’s face crumpled with the kind of recognition that broke me.

Panic clawed up my throat. “Shit,” I whispered, biting my lip until I tasted blood. “I didn’t… I mean… forget it. Drugs talking.”

But my heart was racing. That secret had been buried for years. Buried in Court whispers, family protection, a thousand glamours. No one at Ravenrest knew. No one at school had ever known. And now it had slipped out of my own stupid mouth.

What if Cassie looked at me different? What if she left?

The ring against my palm flared warm. Cassie’s voice threaded into my head, sure and steady: Later. When you’re sober. I’m not letting you drown on this now.

I froze, then thought back, dizzy: You’re in my head.

Her squeeze was sharp, her smirk undeniable. Always.

I giggled, too high-pitched, too loopy. “Creepy wife powers,” I announced to the room, and Alina gave me a baffled look while Roran only arched a brow.

He finally stepped close enough that his shadow cut across me. His hand stayed on his gun, but his mouth tilted faint. “For the record,” he said, deadpan, “you fight better loopy than most warriors do sober. Try not to make this a habit.”

I snorted, then winced because ribs. “You… you’re not funny.”

“Tell that to your classmates.” He adjusted his coat, scanning the doors again. “Half of Ravenrest will be writing ballads about you by morning.”

“Gods,” I groaned, covering my face with my free hand. “Kill me now.”

Cassie yanked my hand back down, glaring like she could dare me to mean it. “Don’t even joke.”

“Fine,” I sighed. “Kill Roran instead.”

“Not happening,” he said smoothly, already turning back toward his vigil.

Even drugged, even bruised, even broken open in front of all of them, I felt it: the tether of hands and voices around me. Parents who couldn’t fix it but refused to leave. A sister steadying my breath. A brother fumbling his way back to me. A wife who’d fight the world for me. A guard who’d turned into something almost like a friend.

And me. Still Mira. Even if everything else had cracked.

It might have ended there, but Seara’s molten gaze suddenly snapped toward Alina, sharp as a drawn blade. Her voice cut like flint: “Who is she?”

The tone made me flinch. Not because it was cruel—it wasn’t—but because I’d never seen my mother miss something before. She always knew. She always had every piece of the board arranged before anyone else moved. But she hadn’t even registered Alina until now. She’d been too consumed by me.

Alina froze, breath stuttering.

Lucien’s hand shot out, steady on her arm. “She’s with me,” he said, solid as stone. “Alina Merrick. She helped.”

I forced myself upright enough to slur, “She stays. She’s fine. She… helped.”

Selene’s voice cut in like quiet iron. “She stayed. She helped. That is enough.”

Elias inclined his head toward Alina, voice folding into warmth. “Miss Merrick, if you will accept a place here for the night, you’ll be under our protection.”

Alina’s nod was small, fierce, mortal—and brave.

Seara’s jaw ticked, but after a beat her hand came back to my hair, smoothing again. “We will not be rude to a guest who stood by my child,” she said softly.

Even drugged, even broken, even with secrets bleeding at the seams, I felt it: the tether of hands and voices around me.

And me. Still Mira. Even if everything else had cracked.

Seara’s hand lingered at my temple, but her voice shifted—steel again. “Roran.”

He was already moving, the map of the house in his head. “West wing sealed. Guards stationed at every door. No one enters or leaves without my command.” His eyes flicked to me, then to Cassie, then back to the doors. “Sleeping arrangements: Princess Mira remains in her chambers. Cassandra Fairborn and Alina Merrick will share her bed.”

Alina’s breath hitched, Cassie’s jaw locked, and I—drugged as I was—let out a startled laugh that turned into a cough.

“On a cot beside them, Lucien,” Roran continued, unflinching. “I’ll be in the adjoining suite. Naomi and Kess take the north watch, door to door. Healers will rotate through the night. Wards already reinforced.”

Cassie muttered under her breath, sharp as a blade dulled by embarrassment. “Great. Just what every newlywed wants—privacy in a pile.”

I turned my head toward her, grin sloppy. “Romantic, isn’t it? Our first royal sleepover.”

Her glare was supposed to shut me up. It didn’t. I wheezed a laugh instead. “Careful, Firefly,” she whispered, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her.

The humor cracked the air for a heartbeat—just a sliver—but the room closed back in as the healers approached again. Silver trays glinted under lanternlight; their tools hummed with restrained glamour.

I tensed, ribs screaming. The compress shifted, my skin a map of bruises and burns that refused to vanish. The glamour that usually stitched me seamless wouldn’t return, leaving me raw in front of everyone. Exposed.

Cool salve spread across my ribs, smelling of mint and smoke. Needles whispered through torn fabric, thread stitching more dignity than flesh. My skin ached; my pride burned hotter.

Cassie held my hand through every touch, thumb tracing infinity even when I hissed. Selene steadied my breath. Elias murmured low comforts.

And I thought, through the haze: they all see me now. No glamour. No mask. Just Mira. Bruised. Burned. Broken open.

Not a crown. Not a doll.

Just me.

And that terrified me more than the pain.

When the last stitch was tied, the senior healer dipped her head and stepped back. “She must not walk.”

“Then we carry her,” Selene said, simple as law.

Before I could protest, arms slid beneath me—Elias at my shoulders, Roran bracing my legs. My father’s warmth pressed into one side, Roran’s armor into the other, both steady as stone.

“Hey,” I slurred, blinking up at them, “this is… cheating. I can walk. Probably.”

“You can’t,” Elias said gently, his voice fraying at the edges, and the sound gutted me worse than the burns.

They carried me up the stairs swaddled in nothing but bandages and bruises, and I had just enough brain left to register the way Lucien’s ears turned scarlet. Alina looked like she’d stepped into some forbidden temple—wide-eyed, reverent, and scandalized all at once. Her gaze snagged on me: bruises like warpaint, ribs bound in silver thread, ember-light still smoldering in my hair. She didn’t look horrified. She looked… astonished. Like I wasn’t wreckage at all, but some goddess carved from ruin.

I dragged a fold of the sheet across my chest with exaggerated drama. “Oh no,” I slurred. “So indecent. Princess scandal. Don’t tell the mortals.”

Alina’s mouth twitched, like she was trying not to laugh. Her eyes lingered a beat too long, and I gave her a crooked grin. “Don’t stare too hard, Merrick. I’d try to tone it down, but…” My fingers sparked, useless glamour stuttering against my skin. “…seems I can’t glamour worth shit right now.”

Cassie’s hand tightened around mine. Lucien stiffened like the words had branded him. Alina only blinked, reverence still soft on her face.

“You don’t actually care, do you?” she asked, voice hushed.

“Not even a little,” I said, loopy and wicked. “But it’s fun watching my brother combust.”

Lucien groaned, muttering a prayer to whichever gods tormented him with sisters.

When they lowered me onto my bed, Cassie was already in motion. “Arms up,” she ordered, producing one of my nightgowns from the closet.

I blinked at her. “You’re… dressing me? That’s—mm—complicated.”

“Necessary,” she shot back, sliding soft fabric over my head like she’d done it a hundred times. Her fingers brushed my ribs, careful around the bandages, but my stomach still flipped.

I squirmed, half-laughing. “Bossy. And handsy.”

“Efficient,” she corrected, tugging the gown down over my hips.

Alina made a strangled sound that might’ve been a laugh. Selene covered a smile with her hand. Even Elias coughed pointedly and looked away.

Cassie smirked, victorious. “There. Presentable.”

“Barely,” I mumbled, sinking back into pillows. “Could’ve at least bought me dinner first.”

Cassie flushed, and Lucien groaned louder.

“Speaking of presentable,” Cassie said sweetly, far too sweetly, “Lucien needs pajamas.”

My head lolled toward my brother. “Yes. Pajamas. Preferably pink.”

Lucien stiffened as Cassie flung a bundle of frilly fabric at him. “No.”

“Yes,” Selene countered, voice sharp with rare mischief.

Kess leaned against the doorframe, grinning like a cat. “Absolutely yes.”

Alina laughed outright, cheeks red but eyes bright. She watched Lucien fumble with the nightgown Cassie had thrust at him, her gaze sticking longer than she realized.

I noticed, even loopy. “Ooooh,” I drawled, voice syrup-thick. “Alina’s watching.”

She gasped. “I’m not!”

Lucien yanked the gown over his head, muttering curses under his breath, the hem brushing his knees. He looked ridiculous. He looked like my brother.

I laughed so hard my ribs ached. “Perfect. Absolutely perfect. I approve.”

He glared, but when Alina’s laugh spilled again, softer this time, his ears went redder.

Eventually Cassie declared the arrangements: me in the middle, Cassie on one side, Alina on the other. Lucien got banished to a cot nearby, still sulking in his nightgown. Roran took the adjoining room. Naomi and Kess claimed the suite next door, their voices already trading barbs as they settled in. Guards took up posts outside like carved statues.

I lay there, familiars pressed close, Cassie’s arm warm against mine, Alina still sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed like she wasn’t sure she belonged.

“Y’know,” I slurred, grin wicked and loopy, “if you don’t wanna cuddle with me and Cassie, you could always share the cot with Lucien.”

The words slipped out before I thought. The room froze. Elias coughed into his hand, Selene’s brows arched sky-high, and even my mother muttered something sharp in Summer Court dialect under her breath.

Lucien made a strangled noise, face going scarlet. “Gods, Mira—”

Alina’s cheeks flamed, but instead of bolting, she lifted her chin, brave and mortified all at once.

After a long pause, her voice slipped out, quiet but curious. “So… what are you, really?”

My eyes cracked open, loopy but honest. “A disaster,” I said solemnly.

Cassie pinched my hand. “Try again.”

I sighed, letting the word taste bitter and sweet. “Half-fae. Summer Court. Princess of Eversea. Queen of the Small Folk.” My head tilted toward Alina. “Full-time mess. That part’s the most accurate.”

Her eyes went wide, but instead of shrinking back she smiled, tentative and fierce. “Then I’m glad I met you like this. Not the crown version. The messy one.”

Something in me loosened, fragile but real. I closed my eyes, her words echoing soft as the draught pulled me deeper.

But Alina didn’t stop there. Curiosity tugged her forward, her voice hushed like a kid sneaking questions past bedtime.

“So… do all fae glow like you?” she asked.

My eyes cracked open again, bleary. I looked at my hands, ember-thread flickering faintly under the skin. “Only the pretty ones,” I whispered conspiratorially. Then I squinted at her. “Don’t tell Naomi I said that. She’ll freeze my shoes.”

Cassie snorted. “She already has.”

Alina’s lips parted like she was trying not to laugh too loud. “And the Small Folk? Are they… real? Like tiny, jewel-bright real?”

As if on cue, one darted across the curtain rod—wings like shards of ruby glass, eyes too old for its size. It perched, watching.

I pointed, loopy and smug. “See? Told you. Little gremlins. They judge me constantly.”

The Small Folk cocked its head, unimpressed.

Lucien groaned from his cot, face buried in his pillow. “Gods, Mira, stop talking about them like that. They’ll hex my boots again.”

“They like you,” I said sweetly, then whispered loud enough for everyone to hear: “Because you’re the funnier sibling.”

He threw the pillow at me. I giggled until my ribs hurt.

Alina’s eyes darted between us, awed and delighted. “So wait—if you’re half-fae, does that mean you can, like, fly? Or vanish? Or turn into animals?”

Cassie pinched the bridge of her nose. “She sets things on fire.”

“Accidentally!” I protested, then blinked, reconsidering. “Okay, mostly accidentally.”

Selene arched a brow from her corner. “Mostly?”

I wilted into the pillows, guilty and loopy all at once. “Fine. Sometimes on purpose. But only when people deserve it.” My eyes rolled toward Cassie, heat curling under my words. “Like when someone hides the good chocolate.”

Cassie’s cheeks flushed, but her chin stayed high. “Efficient rationing.”

“Bossy rationing,” I muttered, earning a chuckle from Elias.

Before Alina could press on, my mother’s voice slid through the quiet—low, molten, no room for lies. “She is more than fire.”

The room hushed. Even Cassie stilled against my shoulder.

Seara’s gaze held Alina, but her hand stayed threaded in my hair. “Half-fae means stronger bones, quicker reflexes, a body that will outlast mortals by centuries. Heightened hearing, sharper scent, instincts tuned to a world most cannot feel. And her fire—” her voice faltered, then steadied, “—her fire has the potential to eclipse any Fae alive. But she is only seventeen. Among our kind, that is little more than a child. She will not know the full shape of her gifts for centuries.”

My ears pricked at the word that came next. “Whether she ascends or not.”

Ascends. The syllables sparked through me like dry tinder. I turned my head, trying to focus past the haze. “Ascend?”

A shadow flickered across her molten eyes, too quick to catch. Her thumb stilled against my temple. “Loose tongue,” she muttered, sharp with herself. Then, firmer: “Ascension is not for now. Not for you. Not for any child. It kills more often than it grants. And when it grants, it takes something with it—something you never get back. Yes, it can amplify a gift beyond measure, but the cost is ruin as often as it is glory. Do you understand me?”

I nodded—too slow, too dazed—but my chest buzzed with the new word, the forbidden promise tucked inside it.

The room stayed heavy until Selene’s voice, calm and cedar-strong, smoothed the silence. “Enough for tonight.”

The breath I hadn’t realized I was holding shivered loose.

Alina sat stiff as stone for a long beat, her gaze flicking between me and the family that ringed me. Then her shoulders softened. Quiet as a vow, she eased down beside me, sliding under the covers. Her heartbeat tripped fast—mortal-quick, too quick—but steady enough that I heard it through the haze. She smelled of rosewater and nerves, and her warmth seeped against my front like an anchor I hadn’t expected.

Cassie’s arms adjusted around me from behind, careful of the bandages. Her lips brushed my cheek, whisper-soft. “Goodnight, Firefly.”

And just like that, the three of us folded into a crooked knot of warmth, bracketed by protection on every side.

Lucien had already gone under, breath heavy and even on his cot. Elias lingered by the doorway until Seara’s quiet gesture sent him to rest. Roran paced once more before finally stilling just outside the room.

Selene stayed the longest, a sentinel in her chair, eyes calm and unyielding as ever. Only when my giggles finally melted into uneven breaths did she rise. Her steps were soundless as she crossed to me. A hand, cool and cedar-scented, pressed to my hair. A kiss brushed my brow.

She slipped to the door and her voice carried just enough for the guards beyond to hear: “The healers are to check her every hour. If her condition worsens, you come to me immediately.”

That should’ve been the last thing I caught before the void pulled me down. But the cocoon held me light—Cassie’s steady weight at my back, Alina’s tentative warmth at my front—and my ears refused to shut. The door muffled, but not enough.

A healer whispered: “She should have knitted by now. Even half-fae resilience should have closed those ribs. The wounds resist. Veil-taint, overburn… and she cannot hold glamour.”

The words speared me, even through the haze.

And then my mother. Not the High Lady. Not the tactician. Just a mother, fire-scorched and feral.

Her voice hit like a blade dragged across stone. “My daughter lies torn open—her ribs splintered, her skin refusing to mend, her glamour stripped from her like a veil ripped away. And while she bled, the world watched. They saw her ears, her eyes, her fire, and they will make a spectacle of it. They will never give her back what they stole.”

Heat lashed the hallway. The lanterns trembled, chains groaning. Selene straightened, spine unbending, though the flicker painted her cheeks stark. Elias flinched back a half step, ink-dark eyes pinched with pain, but he didn’t leave her side. Roran froze mid-stride outside, every line of him locked as if her fury might scorch the floor itself. Even the healers shrank from her voice, spelllight guttering in their palms.

“She is seventeen. Seventeen!” Seara’s words thundered, fire bleeding through every seam. “She should be laughing at study sessions, sneaking chocolate from her sister’s room, kissing the girl she loves in peace. Not choking on mist. Not dragged into battles meant for soldiers. Not lying half-dead because some monster marked her as prey.”

Her voice broke—just once, jagged and guttural—before it flared again, hotter, rawer. “They have taken her agency. Her anonymity. Her normal. And now even her own magic abandons her. Tell me,” she snarled, low and dangerous, “how does a mother fix that?”

Elias’s breath stuttered, but he forced the words through. “We can’t. Stars help us, Seara—we can’t. We can shield her, salve her, give her time. But the Mira who could pass as just another girl at Ravenrest… she’s gone. And I don’t know how to give that back.”

Selene’s voice steadied the air, though her knuckles whitened on the doorframe. “Then we give her what remains. Choices. Boundaries. Cassie, Lucien, Alina—they are already tied into this. We either pull them clear or brace them for the tide.”

Seara’s fire guttered and flared again, molten enough to sear the stone. Even Selene had to narrow her eyes against the glow, and Roran’s jaw tightened like he was holding himself from stepping in. “If we rip her out of Ravenrest, we steal the last shred of her mortal life. If we leave her, they will hunt her again. There is no path that is safe. Only paths lined with loss.”

Roran finally moved, his voice rough but firm. “Then we carve one. Layered wards at Ravenrest. Guards that no one will see. She stays if she wills it—but she will never stand alone in a corridor again.”

Elias dragged in air like it weighed a ton. His hand hovered, then settled lightly on Seara’s arm despite the heat. “Not another cage. If she stays, it’s by her choice. Never by ours.”

Selene’s voice closed the space like iron sealing a wound. “We will not take her choices. But we will not leave her exposed.”

Their words braided into me like a vow, burning and raw, even as sleep dragged me down. No fixing normal. But maybe… not alone in the wreckage, either.