Lysandra didn't answer him at once.
The word fire still rang in her ears, dangerous and tempting.
She folded her arms tightly, as if holding herself together. "You speak as if rebellion is a game," she said quietly. "You have no idea what he does to those who even think of defying him."
Malveric's gaze didn't waver.
"I know exactly what he does," he replied. "I watched him have a boy's tongue cut out for begging. I watched him laugh while a man bled to death for stealing bread."
Her jaw clenched.
"You watched," she said bitterly. "And you did nothing."
A shadow crossed his face—not guilt, not shame, but something colder.
"I survived," he said. "So that one day, I could do more than scream and die."
Silence settled between them.
The candles flickered, throwing long shadows across the walls.
"You think I haven't imagined it?" Lysandra whispered at last. "Standing up to him. Exposing him. Ending this madness." Her voice broke. "Every time I tried… people suffered more. My family suffered."
Malveric's expression sharpened at that.
"Your family," he repeated softly.
Her heart skipped. "What about them?"
He hesitated—just a fraction of a second too long.
Fear bloomed instantly in her chest.
"What do you know?" she demanded.
Slowly, deliberately, Malveric reached inside his coat.
Lysandra stiffened, every muscle tensing.
Instead of a blade, he pulled out a folded piece of parchment—worn, creased, clearly passed through many hands.
He held it out to her.
"This arrived three nights ago," he said. "It was intercepted before it reached the palace archives."
Her hands trembled as she stared at it.
The seal.
She knew that seal.
Her breath left her in a shaky whisper. "That's… impossible."
"It isn't," Malveric said. "They're alive. Some of them. Hiding. Constantly moving."
Tears blurred her vision as she took the letter from him, her fingers barely able to hold it.
"You read it?" she asked.
"No," he replied. "Some things should remain yours."
She broke the seal with shaking hands.
Her eyes skimmed the words—and then stopped.
Her knees nearly gave out.
My Queen, my daughter…
We live because you endured…
She pressed the letter to her chest, a sob slipping free before she could stop it.
Alive.
They were alive.
For the first time in years, something inside her cracked open—not pain, not rage—
Love.
Hope.
And terror.
Malveric's voice cut through it, low and urgent.
"You must understand," he said. "If the king discovers this letter—if he learns they live—"
He met her eyes, deadly serious.
"It won't be good for you… or your family."
The weight of his words sank in.
Edward didn't just punish rebellion.
He erased bloodlines.
Lysandra slowly folded the letter, hands steady now—not because she wasn't afraid, but because fear had sharpened into resolve.
"Why are you helping me?" she asked softly.
Malveric watched her closely. "Because the king believes you are broken."
Her gaze hardened.
"And you don't?"
A faint, dangerous smile touched his lips.
"I believe," he said, "you're remembering who you were."
Outside, the palace bells rang for nightfall.
And in the quiet of her chamber, with her family's words burning against her heart, Queen Lysandra understood one terrible truth—
If she stayed silent, they would die.
If she chose fire…
The world would burn with her.