WRATH OF THE ASHEN TWINS: REBORN IN BLOOD

Breaking the Queen

Morning light didn't feel like morning light in this palace. It felt like someone poured cold water over the stones and told everyone to pretend they weren't terrified.

While the council lords were still sweating over whether their dead assassins had made it back to their doorsteps, I had other plans. Let Cassian cry into his Persian rug all he wanted. He was done. The real problem in this house wasn't the broken man weeping in his study; it was the woman who still thought she owned the crown.

Lady Eleanor.

I found her out in the private royal gardens just after the sun cleared the high stone walls. It was supposed to be a quiet place. Paved stone walkways, imported rosebushes, and little marble statues of ancient kings who probably did terrible things just like the ones running things now. Eleanor was sitting at a white wrought-iron table with her three precious kids, trying to drink tea like nothing happened last night.

Except her hand was shaking so badly the porcelain teacup kept clinking against her saucer. Clink. Clink. Clink. Like a little clock counting down her bad day.

Vesper and Cael strolled right behind me, their boots crunching loud on the gravel path. Cael had an apple in his hand, tossing it up in the air and catching it, while Vesper just looked bored. The kind of bored that means someone is about to get hurt.

Eleanor snapped her head up the second our shadows hit her table. Her face went from pale to chalk-white.

"You," she breathed, her voice tight and shaky. She stood up so fast her chair screeched against the stone. "You have no right to be out here. The guards—"

"The guards are busy picking up trash in the eastern courtyard," I cut her off, walking right up to her table and pulling out a chair without asking. I sat down, leaning my elbows on the white metal, and looked right at her. "Or did your husband forget to mention that his little guild friends didn't make it back alive?"

Eleanor gripped the edge of the table so hard her knuckles turned blue. Her oldest boy, Julian—still looking like a bruised peach from where he fell in the gravy last night—tried to stand up to back her up.

"Don't talk to my mother like that, you—" Julian started, his voice cracking halfway through.

Vesper didn't even look at him. She just snapped her fingers, and a tiny, crackling spark of dark purple flame jumped from her thumb, scorching a black ring right into the center of the white iron table inches from Julian's hand. Julian choked on his own spit, snapping his mouth shut and dropping back down into his seat like a puppet with cut strings.

"Sit down, little prince," Vesper said, her voice flat, sweet, and entirely empty. "Your mom is talking."

Eleanor glared at Vesper, her chest heaving under her expensive silk dress. For a second, you could see the real woman underneath the royal title—angry, desperate, and realizing her whole life was built on sand.

"What do you want, Sylas?" Eleanor spat out my name like it tasted like dirt. "Money? Titles? A wing of the palace? Just tell us what it takes to get you and your wild dogs out of our sight."

I let out a low, dry laugh. I reached across the table, picked up a sugar cube with my fingers, and tossed it into my mouth.

"Money?" I shook my head, chewing slowly. "Eleanor, I spent twenty years living in the Ashen Wastes eating things that would make you throw up your breakfast. I don't give a damn about your gold. I want the exact same thing you stole from me twenty years ago."

She flinched. She didn't know the exact details of the cliff, but she knew enough. She knew her husband had a past he tried to bury, and now that past had crawled out of the dirt and moved into the master suite.

"You think you can just walk in here and take the crown?" Eleanor whispered, her voice dropping into a harsh hiss. "The high council will never let a savage from the Wastes sit on the throne. They will burn this entire castle to the ground before they let you win."

"Let them try," I said, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms. "They already sent their best killers. You saw how that turned out. So here is how this works, Your Ladyship. You are going to finish your tea. You are going to smile for the servants. And when Cassian calls that emergency assembly in the throne room this morning, you are going to sit beside him, keep your mouth shut, and watch him hand over the keys."

Eleanor stared at me, her eyes filling with hot, frustrated tears. She looked at her kids—Julian looking down at his plate, Clara trembling beside her—and she finally understood. Her royal title wasn't a shield anymore. It was a target.

"You're a monster," she whispered.

"Takes one to know one," I replied, standing up and smoothing down my leather jacket.

We left them sitting there in the middle of their fancy garden, surrounded by imported roses and ruined tea.

By mid-morning, the throne room was packed.

Every single lord and high council member was standing shoulder-to-shoulder on the cold marble floor. They looked nervous. Whispers were bouncing off the high stone pillars like angry hornets. Word had gotten out about the bodies left in the courtyard before sunrise, and nobody wanted to make eye contact with anyone else.

The heavy double doors swung open, and the herald announced the king.

Cassian walked in.

He didn't look like a king. He looked like a ghost wearing a crown. His velvet doublet was pressed, his hair was brushed, but his face was completely hollow. Every step he took toward the raised marble dais looked like he was walking through knee-deep mud.

Lady Eleanor walked right beside him, her head held high by pure stubborn pride, though her eyes were dead.

And right behind them? Me, Vesper, and Cael. We didn't wear fancy court clothes. We wore our scarred leather, our dust, and our knives.

Cassian climbed the steps to the golden throne. He didn't sit down. He stood right in front of it, looking out over the sea of corrupt lords who thought they ran the kingdom.

"Your Majesties," the head council lord—an old fox named Thaddeus with a grey beard and too many rings—stepped forward, flashing a fake, oily smile. "An emergency assembly? Is something the matter? We heard... disturbing rumors about the grounds this morning."

Cassian swallowed hard. He looked down at Thaddeus, then over at me standing at the side of the dais.

"There are no rumors, Thaddeus," Cassian said, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling. It was quiet, but it carried across the whole room. "The Crimson Vane guild failed."

A sharp wave of panic rippled through the crowd. Lords started whispering, shuffling their feet, looking around like rats trying to find a hole.

"Failed?" Thaddeus’s oily smile slipped just a fraction. "Surely, Your Majesty, that's a misunderstanding—"

"It is no misunderstanding," Cassian interrupted, his voice growing stronger, fueled by pure, desperate survival. He reached into his doublet, pulled out a heavy velvet pouch, and unfastened a thick iron key from his golden chain.

He stepped down the dais, walking right past the terrified councilmen, and stopped right in front of me.

The whole throne room went dead silent. You could hear a pin drop on the marble two rooms away.

Cassian held out the heavy iron key on the flat of his palm. It was the key to the eastern treasury—the heartbeat of the kingdom's wealth and power.

"You wanted it back," Cassian whispered, his hands trembling so badly the key rattled. "Take it."

I looked down at the iron key, then up into his tired, pathetic eyes. I didn't smile. I didn't brag. I just reached out, picked the key off his palm, and slipped it right into my pocket.

"Good boy, Cassian," I said softly.

Then I turned around, looking out over the frozen, horrified faces of the high council.

"Meeting's over," I told them, resting my hand on the pommel of my knife. "Go home. We have a lot of unpacking to do."