The road back from the Oracle's tower was longer than the one they'd taken to reach it.
Not because the land had changed—but because they had.
Seraphine hadn't spoken since the revelation. Not about her family. Not about the truth of her birth.
And Kael hadn't pushed. He only watched her, and when she didn't notice, he reached for her hand—but never quite touched it.
The silence between them was no longer empty.
It was full. Of everything they didn't say.
Of the choice neither wanted to make.
Three nights after leaving the tower, Tharion reined in his horse and pointed east.
"Smoke," he said grimly.
Kael's eyes sharpened. "From where?"
The commander didn't answer.
Because they all already knew.
Cindralis—the neutral kingdom. The one Seraphine's cousin ruled. The one Kael had sent envoys to in hopes of forming an alliance.
They arrived at dawn.
And what they found made Seraphine fall to her knees.
Cindralis burned.
Its once-white towers were charred to the bone, its rivers running thick with ash. The palace gates had been torn down—not by siege engines, but from within.
The court had not been conquered.
It had been betrayed.
Inside the throne room, Kael stepped over bloodstained marble and broken chandeliers. Seraphine's cousin, Queen Celene, lay slumped on the throne—her throat slit, a crown of thorns shoved on her head in mockery.
Kael's jaw clenched.
On the wall behind the throne, written in dried blood, were the words:
"ALL HAIL THE TRUE BLOOD."
That night, as the embers cooled and soldiers buried the dead, Tharion returned with news.
"A new king has taken the palace of Ruthermont," he said. "He claims divine right. Says the demons betrayed their own kin, and he alone holds the blood of gods."
Kael turned slowly. "What is his name?"
Tharion hesitated. "He calls himself... King Vaelen the Unburned."
Seraphine's face went white.
"Vaelen," she whispered. "That was—"
"My half-brother," Kael finished.
The one who once shoved his head into a river as a child.
The one who spat on his food.
The one who laughed when their mother cried.
"He died," Kael said, pacing. "I saw his body after the invasion. I buried him myself."
Tharion shrugged. "Apparently not well enough."
Seraphine looked up. "Why would he claim to be the true blood?"
"Because he's not," Kael growled. "He's a mongrel. A coward. He barely has a spark of demon magic."
"But he knows what it means to the kingdoms," she murmured. "He knows how to manipulate the prophecy."
Kael stopped pacing.
"Then we do the one thing he doesn't expect," he said coldly. "We let the world see the truth."
That night, Kael stood before the remnants of the allied soldiers. Demons, shifters, and humans alike—all weary, all watching.
"I am Raezriel Kael, son of the demon queen and true heir of Virelia," he said. "My blood is cursed. My name is broken. And I do not come to you with promises."
He paused.
"I come to you with war."
A stir rippled through the crowd.
"We will take back what is ours," Kael continued. "Not just a throne. But the future. The prophecy can burn in the pit it came from. We write our own fate now."
He turned to Seraphine.
"Together."
She stepped forward, her voice clear. "I am Seraphine of the Crescent Moon. I was meant to be sacrificed, broken, and silenced. But I am none of those things now."
She raised her sword.
"And I will not kneel to a man who wears a crown stolen from corpse."
The army roared in approval.
Kael looked at her—really looked at her—and in that moment, something settled in him.
Not peace.
But purpose.
Later that night, as they stood alone in the wreckage of the palace garden, Kael finally said what had haunted him since the tower.
"If the prophecy says I die to save you... or you die to save me..."
Seraphine shook her head.
"I don't care what it says," she whispered. "I didn't fall in love with fate."
She looked up, eyes blazing.
"I fell in love with you."