CHAPTER 9: THE Truth I Couldn't Tell

"What exactly are you?"

​The question hung in the heavy, static-charged air between us.

​For several agonizing seconds, the only sound in the study was the relentless drumming of rain against the glass and the low, rolling thunder echoing over the capital. I stared at Kael, my throat tight, unable to utter a single word. My heart slammed against my ribs like a trapped beast.

​If only you knew.

​If only I could lay it all bare. Tell him I had already lived through these exact years once before. Tell him I remembered every quiet betrayal, every devastating mistake, and every step of the trail that had dragged me to the execution square. I remembered standing bound in iron chains while the kingdom cheered for my end. I remembered the blinding, agonizing heat as the flames took me.

​Most of all, I remembered him—the man standing six feet away—giving the order that ended my life.

​And yet, by some impossible twist of fate, I had opened my eyes five years in the past.

​How could I ever say that out loud? He would call me mad. No one would believe it—least of all the unyielding, pragmatic prince of the realm.

​I crossed my arms and forced my face into a mask of bored composure. "You ask ridiculous questions, Your Highness."

​His golden gaze didn't flinch. "That wasn't an answer."

​"It wasn't a reasonable question."

​A muscle in his jaw flexed, but he refused to take the bait. Instead, he looked back down at the ancient scroll unrolled across his mahogany desk. The parchment was brittle and yellowed, its frayed edges stained dark with age. Jagged, sweeping runes spanned its surface—symbols I recognized with a sickening jolt, even though I had never studied them in this life.

​I had seen them in my nightmares. I had seen them carved into the face of the colossal black gate.

​"The royal archives are incomplete," Kael said softly after a long stretch of silence. The razor-sharp edge of his interrogation had smoothed into something quieter, far more analytical. "Most of this history was systematically erased centuries ago."

​I frowned, taking a half-step closer. "Erased by whom?"

​His fingers traced the crumbling edge of the parchment. "That's precisely what I intend to find out."

​For the first time since I’d entered the study, I saw the sheer weight dragging at his frame. Dark shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes, and a rigid, unnatural tension sat across his shoulders. In the low candlelight, he looked less like the invincible Alpha heir the court revered, and more like a man suffocating beneath a crown he hadn't yet inherited.

​"The emblem belongs to a syndicate that calls itself the Crimson Dragon," he continued, his voice dropping an octave. "They've operated in the deep shadows for generations."

​A cold prickle slid down my spine. Hearing the name spoken aloud made the nightmare feel dangerously, undeniably real. "What are they after?"

​Kael looked up, meeting my eyes directly. "We don't know."

​The admission unsettled me far more than a grim truth would have. If the Crown was blind, then we were all standing on the edge of a precipice without a railing.

​Kael leaned back against the edge of the heavy desk, exhaling a long, weary breath. "The incursions started six months ago. Minor incidents at first. Missing archival records. Dead informants in the lower city. Disappearances that looked like ordinary street crime."

​My stomach churned. None of this had ever reached the public in my first life. The noble houses had continued their petty squabbles while a shadow expanded right beneath their boots.

​"We assumed they were hunting for a relic," Kael said.

​"What kind of relic?"

​His expression darkened. "Something tied to the ancient dragon lines."

​The room seemed to drop several degrees. My mind immediately flashed to the creature in the flames—the sweeping ruby scales, the golden eyes, the searing mark hidden beneath my sleeve.

​A week ago, I might have convinced myself it was merely a stress-induced hallucination. Not anymore. Something dormant was clawing its way up through my blood, and I was running out of ways to deny it.

​Kael’s eyes narrowed as he tracked the shifting expressions on my face. "You know something."

​It wasn't a question.

​I averted my gaze, pretending to study the rain-slick glass of the window. "I know children's stories."

​"Children's stories don't draw assassin blades in broad daylight, Seraphina."

​Silence settled back over the room. Outside, the storm broke open in full force, rain lashing the glass so hard it rattled the iron frames. A brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the study, casting sharp, jagged shadows across the walls.

​Then, three sharp, frantic knocks rattled the heavy oak door.

​Kael straightened instantly, his relaxed posture vanishing. "Enter."

​The door swung wide, admitting a royal guardsman, his heavy wool cloak dripping rainwater onto the floorboards. He was pale, his chest heaving as if he had sprinted the entire length of the keep.

​"Your Highness," he gasped, dropping into a hasty bow. "We have another situation. A body was just discovered."

​Kael's face hardened into stone. "Where?"

​"The eastern district, near the old docks." The guard swallowed hard, his throat working. "The mark was carved into the scene."

​The Crimson Dragon.

​My breath hitched.

​Without missing a beat, Kael reached for the heavy broadsword resting beside his desk, buckling the leather scabbard to his waist in one fluid motion. "I'm going down there myself."

​"Your Highness, the storm—"

​"Assemble four riders at the side gate," Kael cut him off coldly. "Now."

​The guard bowed again and vanished back into the hallway.

​The moment the door clicked shut, Kael turned his sharp gaze back onto me. "Get your cloak. You're coming."

​I blinked, taking a step back. "What? No."

​"I wasn't asking."

​"I am not one of your guards, Kael. You don't command me."

​"We don't have time for a battle of wills, Seraphina."

​"We never have time for it, yet you always insist on pushing!"

​A brief, microscopic flash of dark humor flickered in his eyes, gone as quickly as it came. "Seraphina."

​The tone of his voice made the protest freeze in my throat. It was quiet, steady, and terrifyingly certain.

​"The unit that ambushed my carriage wasn't trying to breach the palace," he said softly, stepping closer. "They were tracking the signature of whoever pulled off that stunt at the temple. The people searching for that mark are the same ones leaving bodies in the alleyways."

​My blood ran cold. Searching. Not merely hunting to kill—searching to collect.

​The distinction made my skin crawl.

​"Why are you so convinced I have anything to do with this?" I demanded, forcing my voice to stay level.

​"Because ever since the attack, everywhere you go, the air changes," he replied without a second's hesitation. No malice, no suspicion—just absolute, unshakeable certainty.

​And that was far worse. Because deep down, beneath the terror and the bitter memories, I knew he was right. The visions, the dragon, the mark, the shifting timeline—every thread was knotting around my fingers. I was sitting at the epicenter of an ancient war, whether I had volunteered for it or not.

​Thunder cracked directly above the palace, vibrating through the stone beneath our feet.

​Kael reached out, his hand hovering just shy of my shoulder, the heat of his skin bleeding through the space between us. "You can guard your secrets," he murmured, his golden eyes locking onto mine with ruthless focus. "For now."

​It wasn't a concession. It was a promise that he would eventually unravel every layer I hid behind.

​Five minutes later, we were tearing through the storm.

​Rain soaked through my heavy riding cloak within seconds, the freezing wind whipping against my face as our mounts thundered across the slick cobblestones. Street lanterns flickered weakly in the downpour, casting long, wavering ribbons of amber light across the flooded avenues.

​The city was dead, its citizens locked tightly inside their homes, completely unaware of the rot spreading through the capital's veins.

​By the time we skidded to a halt in the lower eastern district, a detachment of royal guards had already cordoned off a narrow, mud-slick alleyway. A few desperate onlookers lingered at the edge of the torchlight, whispering beneath tattered cloaks until the guards shoved them back.

​Kael swung out of his saddle before his horse had even fully stopped. I dismounted right behind him, my boots squelching into the freezing mud.

​The metallic tang hit me before we even cleared the iron archway.

​Blood. Fresh, heavy, and thick in the damp air.

​My stomach turned.

​Slumped against the damp brick wall was a middle-aged man in rough merchant clothes, his eyes wide and vacant. Rainwater washed over his still form, pulling thin, red ribbons of blood across the dark cobblestones toward our boots.

​But my gaze didn't stay on the corpse. It couldn't.

​Directly above the man's head, carved deep into the brick, was a massive, jagged emblem.

​A dragon coiled around a broken blade.

​The line work didn't just catch the torchlight—it was bleeding a faint, pulsing crimson glow.

​The moment my eyes locked onto the symbol, a white-hot spike of agony drove straight into my right wrist.

​A choked gasp tore from my throat, and my knees gave out.

​The world went white. Heat exploded beneath my skin, roaring up my arm like liquid fire.

​"Seraphina!"

​Kael’s arm clamped around my waist before I hit the muddy stones. But the second his bare hand made contact with my sleeve, the mark beneath the fabric ignited in response.

​A blinding flare of crimson light burst straight through the cloth.

​Across the alley, the carved symbol on the brick wall reacted instantly.

​The stone groaned. The ground beneath us vibrated with a sickening, low frequency that rattled my teeth. Guards shouted in panic, drawing their swords as hairline fractures spider-webbed through the alley wall.

​The carved dragon flared brighter and brighter, the crimson glow blindingly intense, until the entire brick face seemed to liquefy into floating, burning glyphs.

​Then, the runes began to shift, rearranging themselves in the air before searing into the stone beneath the crest.

​The guards backed away, shielding their eyes, shouting about dark magic. But as I looked at the glowing script through the haze of agony, my breath died in my chest.

​They saw terrifying, unreadable arcane shapes.

​I saw words.

​Clear, crisp, and unmistakable.

​The message hadn't been written for the Crown. It hadn't been written for the guards, or even for Kael.

​It was a summons.

​The Queen has awakened. Bring her to the Gate.