The path to the northern marshes was drawn on no map.
They crossed dead rivers and abandoned sentry posts. Fog clung to the ground like a mourning shroud, and the wind carried secrets only ghosts remembered. Elias led the way, sword unsheathed, each step measured and watchful. Mira scanned the trees, where shadows swayed as though listening.
Charlotte said nothing.
The crimson silk crest lay hidden beneath her inner coat, pressed over her heart. With every step north, it felt warmer—no, alive.
They reached the cottage at dawn.
It was no palace. Not even a hovel. Merely a ring of stone circling a tree whose roots had devoured most of the structure. Smoke curled from a narrow chimney. A goat, unimpressed, watched them pass.
A girl was already waiting.
She stood just beyond the stone threshold—barefoot in damp moss, golden eyes catching the morning light like twin lanterns. Her dark hair was long and tangled with bark and fern. Around her neck hung a strip of pale red silk. The same crest. A perfect match.
Charlotte froze.
So did Elias.
Mira clutched Charlotte's sleeve.
The girl tilted her head, studying them. "You came," she said. Her voice was low, even, without fear. "You wear the Queen's look. A bit sharper, though."
Charlotte stepped forward. "Are you… the Queen's daughter?"
The girl's gaze didn't waver. "I was born beneath a blood moon. That's what they said. That I screamed so loud it rattled the sky."
"Then why remain here?"
The girl—no, the woman now—glanced up at the trees. "Because I was told to. Raised by an old knight who took an oath of silence and stories. He died last winter. But I stayed. Waiting for someone who would ask the right question."
Charlotte's heart beat hard. "And what question is that?"
The firstborn gave a faint, tired smile. "Not 'Who are you?' Not 'Do you want the throne?'" She stepped closer. "This: What do we do now, sister?"
Silence fell—soft, thick, and cold as snowfall.
Sister.
Charlotte's throat burned. Her past life howled to flee, to scheme, to strike first. But another voice—her own voice—rose instead.
"I don't know," Charlotte whispered. "But I didn't come to erase you. I came to see if you were real."
"I am."
"Then we start from there."
They stood face to face. The blood moon's child and the rewritten princess. Shadow and sunlight. Both born royal. Both born into silence.
Elias stood taut, unsure if he should step between them—or shield them both.
Behind Charlotte, Mira signed slowly: You could share the crown. In some way. Rewrite the ending.
The firstborn turned to Mira, reading her hands, and nodded. "I don't hunger for crowns. Only for truth. And maybe… justice."
Charlotte exhaled. "Then let's find both. Together."
And so, for the first time in centuries, the fate of the realm did not begin with war—
But with two daughters of the crown, standing side by side.