Chapter 27: The Ones Who Knew Her First
The sketch lay between them like a wound.
Bryant didn't speak right away.
He held the drawing like it weighed more than iron. Like it was poison scrawled in charcoal.
"Where did he draw this?" he finally asked.
Nyra didn't look away.
"Before I was locked in the dungeon. Before I stopped smiling."
He swallowed.
Not because of the answer.
But because the smile on the paper still looked alive.
"Did you love him?"
Nyra paused.
Then:
"Does it matter?"
His jaw tightened. "It does to me."
She stepped closer. Not to comfort. Not to deny.
But to make it hurt more.
"Are you angry that he saw me—" "—or that I let him?"
The words sliced through whatever part of Bryant still believed he could control this.
Not her.
Not the story.
Not the past.
In a cold corridor beneath the council wing, Damon stood before a blind man with ink-stained fingers.
"You copied letters for Lucien Kings?" he asked.
The man nodded once. "He dictated. Never wrote his own."
Damon crouched, voice low. "What did he say about Nyra?"
The man's eyes remained empty, but his voice did not.
"That she would either burn the kingdom… or save it."
Damon's blood chilled.
"And what did you think?"
The man smiled.
"I think you're already too late."
That evening, the Queen Dowager was reading alone when a raven slammed against her window.
Dead.
Tied to its leg — a ribbon of deep blue.
And a card.
Your masquerade is lovely, Elaria. I look forward to dancing with your ghosts.
—L
She dropped the card slowly.
"Lucien is here," she whispered.
Not coming.
Not approaching.
Here.
Somewhere below the palace…
A mask was being carved.
White as bone.
Sharp as vengeance.
And behind it, a man whispered her name.
"Nyra."
[End of Chapter 27]