Chapter 4

My mother Helena crossed the courtyard, helped Vivienne rise, and inspected her wrist. She never asked whether the daughter she believed was Celeste had been injured.

Vivienne pressed herself into Helena's arms. "Aunt, she stole my necklace and threatened the King. She wants to destroy everything I have."

My mother came toward me. I kept the knife still at Adrien's throat; any sudden movement would give the surrounding guards a reason to fire. Her palm struck my face.

"Vivienne grew up without a family," she said. "We brought her home and gave her some care. Was that such a crime? You already killed her child. Must you take her marriage and crown too?"

I tasted blood. "That slap was for her?"

"Yes. What of it?"

"I will remember."

My father arrived in formal robes and ordered the guards to disarm me. I kept the knife near Adrien long enough to hold their fire.

"Kneel and apologize to the King and Queen," Roland commanded.

"If I refuse?"

"I will remove you from the Montclair family. You will lose every family right and property claim. Your life and death will no longer concern us."

They had once praised Celeste for being obedient. Now any refusal to surrender herself to Vivienne became proof that she was unworthy of a family.

"You already decided her life did not concern you," I said. "You deceived her into surrendering the Crescent Guard command key."

My father did not deny it. "That force answered only to Cassandra and resisted lawful royal control. It became an insurrection after she died."

"Seventeen people were killed. Did they deserve it?"

"They refused to disarm. Cassandra was cruel, defiant, and dangerous. The organization she created was no different."

I looked directly at him. "Did Cassandra deserve to die?"

"Her disappearance secured Celeste's marriage and protected this family from a succession crisis. If she had returned, she would have threatened the Crown. Yes. She deserved it."

Three years earlier, they had told me the Mirror Inheritance Protocol existed to prevent impersonation, disputed heirs, and a divided succession. Because Celeste and I shared the same face, bloodline, and biometric identity, the Royal Marriage Council would not approve her marriage while both twins retained public legal status. My parents said my disappearance only needed to last until Celeste's position was secure. My father held my hand, called me his bravest daughter, and promised that I would have a new life abroad.

Now my sacrifice had become evidence that I was disposable.

My mother kept Vivienne behind her. "Your sister gave up everything so you could marry Adrien. If Cassandra were alive and saw you attacking Vivienne out of jealousy, she would be ashamed of you."

"You say your family owed Vivienne's mother," I said. "That debt belongs to you. Why did Celeste have to pay it?"

Helena's mouth tightened. "Vivienne's mother died because we failed her. Vivienne grew up with nothing. You had three years as queen. Why could you not give her this one thing?"

One thing meant Celeste's husband, title, home, trust, protection, and freedom.

Vivienne adjusted her crown. "If you confess to killing my child, I can ask the King to drop the charges. Without the Montclair name, a husband, or Cassandra's private guard, you are nothing."

My mother picked up Marianne's restraint strap and swung it at me. I caught the end.

"Did you use this on Celeste too?"

"Household discipline is not your concern."

I released it. She stumbled into my father's arms.

Adrien stepped away from my knife. I lowered it, and the Royal Guards closed around me at once. Snipers appeared on the gallery. Red sights settled over my chest and forehead.

“Without this family, you are nothing,” Vivienne repeated.

A ceremonial captain reached for me. I caught his wrist, pulled the sword from his belt, and pushed him back.

The weapon turned once in my palm as I adjusted my grip. Then twice more—an old habit my body remembered before I did.

My mother's voice stopped.

The restraint strap slipped from her fingers.

When I was ten, someone pushed Celeste through the ice of a frozen lake. I had turned my training blade the same way before going after him. Celeste had never copied the gesture. I had never taught her.

My father stared at the sword. Then he looked into my eyes.

The anger drained from his face.

My father began, "Stop imitating your sister."

Then he looked into my eyes and fell silent. Celeste's gaze always held softness, even when she was hurt. Mine did not.

My mother stared at the sword, then at my face. Fear replaced disbelief.

"The drug could not have failed," she whispered before stopping herself.

Vivienne frowned. "Aunt, she is only copying a dead woman."

No one answered her.

Adrien finally looked at me as if I were a person rather than an inconvenience. He understood that the woman who knew nothing of Celeste's last three years, who had overpowered palace security, and who had never once pleaded with him was not his wife.

My father stepped back. My mother followed.

“Cassandra?” my father whispered.

I lowered the sword. “Yes. Now tell me where my sister is.”