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“He knows about your visit to Nyssaion,” he continues. “Wants to know if you found anything about his daughter.”

That bastard. I swallow my outrage.

“Fine. I’ll send a letter. A report. Whatever he wants.” I’ve lied to worse men in council chambers. Wrapped truths in silk and poison before. I’ll do it again.

But Sienna doesn’t move.

She holds up a shimmering cream-colored shell, spiraled and glinting in the low warm light. “He wants it recorded. And sealed with a truth oath. ”

My blood runs cold.

That shell is enchanted. It binds the speaker to truth by elemental law.

My pulse hammers in my ears. My vision tunnels. I promised Lena, I swore, but I’ve waited too long to make this right. To make him pay. That promise has cost me enough already.

So I choose duty. I choose revenge. I choose vengeance over forgiveness because I don’t deserve the latter.

Half-truths. That’s all I need. Accurate words, strategically chosen. It’s not the complete story, but it will be enough .

“Fine,” I say, my tone lifeless. Burned out. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Are you sure, Iryen?” Sienna’s voice is soft, but laced with unease.

I straighten my spine like armor snapping into place. “Yes.”

She hands me the shell slowly, like she’s handing me something that might explode.

“I, Crown Princess Iryen, heir to the throne of Aetheria, vow to tell the truth and only the whole truth regarding my stay in Nyssaion.”

The words taste like decay and ash on my tongue.

The shell glows brighter, its shimmer tightening as it accepts the vow. It pulses against my palm like a heartbeat.

I speak slowly, each word carved from ice.

“While in Nyssaion, I confirmed His Grace King Orion’s previous suspicions about his daughter’s location. However, I could not locate her exact position.”

True. All of it. And yet the pain that shoots through me as the oath settles in is blinding, searing through my chest, curling deep in my ribs like fire made flesh.

I grit my teeth, breath shallow.

“It’s done.”

I inhale slowly and deeply, steadying my voice before the tremor takes hold. “Deliver it to the King yourself. He can do what he wants with the information. And tell him my assistance ends here.”

They both hesitate. I see it, feel the weight of it, but they obey. Of course they do. And when the door shuts, leaving me in the cavernous silence of my study, I finally exhale.

I broke my word. Betrayed Lena. Twisted the truth. But I will finally have what I need to destroy Draven.

I smile then, cold and clean, as the pain fades into something sharper.

He murdered my parents. He shattered everything. And soon, I will return the favor. I may die for it. My powers might consume me. But if that’s the price, so be it.

He dies screaming.

* * *

Elora’s silence gnaws at me, every passing day feeding the pit in my stomach.

She’s the top enforcer, the strongest siren in all Aetheria, and the royal guard’s most deadly weapon.

And yet, she’s unreachable, gone without a trace.

It’s been days since I found that shell, the one that sealed my oath to King Orion, and weeks since I walked away from Adrian.

Two weeks of torment. Two weeks of searching, hunting, digging for any shred of information that could lead me to him, to Draven. The only reward for my efforts is that I’m a little closer to getting justice than I was before.

The energy signature from the shell led us to Okeanis.

The perfect place for someone like him to disappear, to hide among the masses without drawing attention.

It’s no wonder I couldn’t find him. He. He’s been slipping between kingdoms, blending in with the crowd, a shadow.

And with my hands tied, no spies, no military intervention, he’s evaded us .

That bastard always finds a way.

King Orion, pleased with my recording, gave me free rein to handle the traitorous scout from his kingdom. Without his daughter, he doesn’t care about minor, in his view, issues.

Still, there’s a nagging dread in my gut.

Draven’s been silent for days now, and that cold, prickling sensation on the back of my neck only deepens with each passing hour.

Everything’s supposed to be falling into place: Ronan and Kieran are tracking the signature and should be back tomorrow.

Elora, wherever she is—no doubt chasing Thalor’s trail—will return with the proof we need.

Sienna’s securing the council’s votes. All of it is happening.

So why does it feel like something’s wrong?

It must be the pressure of finally reaching what I’ve wanted for so long, suffocating me. I try to push the feeling away, but it lingers, heavy and thick.

I force myself to swim toward the dining hall, the long corridors of the palace passing in a blur.

When I step into the room, my heart slams into my ribs. My grandmother’s eyes are wide with panic, and the air feels… wrong. The same unease claws at my insides, twisting in tight knots. “I’m not late, am I?”

Then I hear his voice—cold, smooth, and full of that sickening, twisted amusement.

“Not at all, my little Divinity. You are just in time for the main course.”

Draven. His icy blue eyes, unfeeling, lock with mine, and a spike of panic shoots through me. That same curly blond hair and smirk from years ago are still there, but now they’re tainted with something darker, something I can’t quite place. The madness has only grown since I last saw him.

My breath catches in my throat. Elora. Elora is bound to his side, her defiance barely visible beneath the restraints binding her.

My vision blurs for a second, the rage rising like a tidal wave in my chest, but it’s nothing compared to the sight of Sienna, pressed tightly against Thalor’s chest, helpless.

I knew something was wrong. I knew it. But this? This is worse than anything I could’ve imagined. The way they’re standing there, their bodies chained to the whims of monsters, it breaks something in me, something I didn’t know was still salvageable.

I can feel my anger coiling tighter, but it’s colder now. Detached. I have no choice but to play along, but I’m sick to my core. Sick of Draven, sick of Thalor, sick of everything they’ve taken from me.

Tonight? It will scar me in more ways than even the memory of my parents’ murder ever could.