CHAPTER THREE
The palace whispered in its sleep.
Raven sat curled in the window alcove of her chamber, staring out at the still water of the underground lake. Bioluminescent vines pulsed gently along the cavern ceiling, giving the illusion of stars. The lake shimmered like black glass, motionless. Silent. Watching.
She hadn't slept since the mirror cracked.
The image of her older self—crowned and cold-eyed—wouldn't leave her. Nor would the words:
He gave you away.
Alexander Draven.
He hadn't been cruel… yet. But there was something dangerous in him. A sharpness she couldn't ignore. Even when he was silent, she felt like he was dissecting her, peeling back layers to see what hid beneath her skin.
You touched the altar. It responded.
Raven hugged her knees tighter.
She couldn't explain what had happened in that chamber. The sensation when she touched the crown—the way it had flared like it knew her, like it belonged to her. Or she to it.
But she didn't belong here. This place, with its glowing runes and shifting shadows, its veiled truths and silent threats—it wasn't her world.
Except… some part of her felt like it was.
The thought made her sick.
———
A soft knock echoed from the carved oak doors.
Raven turned. "Go away."
The door creaked open anyway.
Of course.
Alexander stepped in, dressed in a tailored black coat embroidered with faint silver sigils. He didn't look at her right away. Instead, he scanned the room—checking for danger, or secrets. Maybe both.
"I wasn't expecting company," Raven muttered.
"I wasn't asking permission."
She rose from the window, arms crossed. "You have a weird way of treating guests."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're not a guest. You're a question. One I intend to answer."
"Oh, good. Do I get a sticker when you solve me?"
His lips twitched, but the humor didn't reach his eyes. "You slept near the mirror."
"I didn't sleep at all."
"That's worse."
He crossed the room and paused before the cracked mirror. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then: "What did it show you?"
Raven hesitated. "You wouldn't believe me."
"Try me."
She swallowed. "A woman. Looked like me. Older. Crowned."
Alexander's jaw clenched. "What did she say?"
Raven studied him. "You tell me. You seem to know more about me than I do."
"That's not true," he said. But it sounded like a lie.
"Then why did you look at me like you saw a ghost?"
He didn't answer.
Raven followed Alexander through a winding passage she hadn't seen before. The palace shifted when it wanted—hallways appearing, stairwells vanishing, doors unlocking only at certain hours.
At last, they reached a door unlike any she'd seen. It was narrow, metallic, carved with sigils she didn't recognize. It pulsed softly.
"The Echo Door," Alexander said. "It listens to blood."
Raven blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Place your palm on it."
"Why?"
"Because if I do, it won't open. It's keyed to your line."
Her skin crawled. "You still think I'm royal."
"I don't think," he said simply. "I know."
Raven hesitated—then stepped forward and placed her hand on the surface.
The metal hummed. Warmth spread through her fingers, then up her arm, then into her chest.
Suddenly—images hit her like a wave.
FLASHBACK — A FRACTURED MEMORY
She's in a golden hallway, her feet bare against the polished floor. Light streams in through massive stained glass windows. She's holding someone's hand—a woman's. The woman wears silver armor and smells like wildflowers and fire.
"Stay quiet, my love," the woman whispers. "He mustn't know you're still here."
A distant crash. The sound of soldiers shouting.
Raven is pulled into a side room—a hidden door behind a tapestry. The woman kneels in front of her, cupping her face.
"If I don't come back—run. Find the mirror. Find your name."
The memory fractures—a sudden flash of heat, the smell of blood.
A man's voice yells, "Amaria, don't be a fool—"
Then darkness.
———
Raven gasped and fell back.
Alexander caught her before she hit the floor.
She shoved him away. "What was that?"
"The door opened," he said, voice tight. "It heard your blood."
The door was indeed open—just a crack. But enough for a cold wind to spill out from the chamber beyond.
Raven wiped her face. Her cheeks were wet. She hadn't realized she was crying.
"Who is Amaria?" she asked softly.
Alexander didn't answer.
Instead, he pushed the door wider.
Inside was a memorial chamber.
Statues lined the walls—kings, queens, warriors. But one stood at the center.
A woman carved in silverstone. A mirror in one hand. A sword in the other.
Raven moved toward it slowly. The face wasn't exact—but the resemblance was clear.
Beneath the statue, the name read:
Queen Amaria Solenne Quinn. The Last Bloodborn.
Raven's legs went weak. She sat hard on the stone floor.
Alexander knelt beside her.
"She was your mother," he said. "And she died to save you."
Raven stared at the inscription. "Why… why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Because if the Ash Court had known you lived… they would've hunted you. They still will."
Raven looked at him. "And what about you? Are you going to hunt me too?"
Alexander met her gaze. "No. But I may have to choose between protecting you… and protecting the realm."
She turned away.
"That's comforting."
That night, Raven didn't return to her suite.
She found herself wandering the palace halls—drawn by something she couldn't name.
Past the Mirror Gallery.
Past the Library of Hollowed Hours.
To a small, spiral stair hidden beneath the chapel floor.
She didn't know how she knew it was there.
She just did.
Each step downward made her heart pound harder. The air grew colder. Dustier. Older.
Finally, she reached a sealed door—no handle. Only a single rune, glowing faintly.
Her fingers moved on their own, tracing the symbol.
The door melted open.
Inside: a cradle.
Covered in velvet and stardust.
And a crown of pure flame hovering above it.
As she stepped forward, a voice whispered:
"She hid you here. But fire remembers. And blood always returns home."
The cradle burst into flame.
Raven didn't scream.
She just watched as the fire rose.