Chapter 20
I was home.
A month had passed since I'd last seen Sey. A month since I'd refused his visits, his letters, even the gifts he sent in silent apology. I needed time—time to think, to untangle the mess of the phoenix's power writhing beneath my skin, to understand why I still felt so *useless* in a fight.
Was it muscle memory? Had my body forgotten how to wield a sword, or was it something deeper—some flaw in my very bones that made me falter when I needed strength most?
The evening air was thick with the scent of burning cedar from the great hall's hearth when Arl arrived, his expression grim.
"Your Majesty," he said, bowing slightly. "The Duke of Valmire has arrived. He awaits an audience."
I stiffened. The Duke—a man from the non-magical plane, a kingdom untouched by dragons and phoenixes and the wars that came with them. His lands were rich in steel and trade, not sorcery. And yet, by some cruel twist of fate, his son was betrothed to Aurora.
Why?
"Let him in," I said, smoothing the folds of my robe. "But keep the guards close."
The doors swung open, and the Duke strode in, his son trailing behind like a shadow. The young man—Yessie, was it?—kept his head bowed, his shoulders tense. He moved as if every step were a sentence, his fate already sealed.
"Your Majesty," the Duke said, dipping into a practiced bow. *"I see you've recovered well."
His voice was too smooth, too polished. A merchant's charm, not a nobleman's grace.
I descended the throne steps, my bare feet silent against the cold marble. "Wine," I commanded, and a servant hurried forward with a goblet. The Duke's men followed, hauling a chest between them. With a flourish, they opened it—gold coins, silver filigree, jewels that caught the firelight and threw it back in dazzling splinters.
"A dowry," the Duke said, smiling like a man who'd already won. "As agreed."
I took a slow sip of wine, letting the silence stretch. "Kin Aurtyi, isn't it?"
"Yes, Your Majesty." He gestured to his son. "This is Yessie. Twenty-five. My most… promising heir."
I studied the boy. His knuckles were white where they gripped his cloak. Afraid. Resentful. Trapped.
"You may not have heard," I said, circling them like a hawk, "but after the poison in the Creter War… I've been… different." I leaned in, lowering my voice to a whisper. "Would you like to know a secret?"
The Duke's smile faltered. "Yes?"
"I've lost all my memories."
His gasp was sharp, genuine. He seized his son's arm, dragging him close to hiss something in his ear. Yessie's face paled.
"The alliance still stands," the Duke said quickly, as if that could undo the revelation. "The seal is unbroken."
I waved a hand. "Let me speak to your son alone. I'll decide if it's worth remembering."
The Duke hesitated, then bowed stiffly and retreated, his men following like obedient hounds. The moment the doors shut, Yessie exhaled as if he'd been holding his breath for years.
"You don't want this," I said.
His eyes flicked to mine—wide, startled. "Does it matter?"
"It does to me."
For the first time, he stood a little taller. "Then tell me, Your Majesty… what do you really remember?"