I remember the chill of the temple stones against my skin, the way my breath fogged in the air as I crawled, broken and bleeding, toward the altar. My pendant—my mother’s last gift—was gone, ripped from my neck by Wanda’s cruel hands. "You’re nothing," she hissed, her voice wrapped in my own. "No one will ever believe you." Just as darkness closed in, a horn sounded. Boots echoed across the hall. Prince Theron burst through the incense smoke, sword drawn, eyes blazing. He didn’t know me, but he saw the truth in my wounds. Now, days later, I stand in the Empress’s chamber, her fevered body trembling beneath my hands. The court watches, waiting. If I fail, I’ll be cast out—or worse. If I succeed, Wanda will stop at nothing to destroy me.

The empress gasps. Light blooms beneath my palms. Everyone falls silent. And I realize: this is only the beginning.