The journey to the capital blurred into endless days of wheels grinding against stone and the stink of unwashed bodies crammed into the prison wagon. Lysandra stopped counting the villages they passed when they all began to look the same: scorched fields, houses picked clean by rebels, people kneeling in the dirt as imperial banners unfurled above them.
By the time the towers of the capital rose on the horizon, she was too exhausted to feel awe. Gray walls as high as mountains swallowed the sky. Black banners rippled along the battlements, stitched with the golden dragon that marked the emperor's reign. The gates loomed like a beast's jaws, and when they opened, the wagon rattled into the city's throat.
Crowds lined the streets as the prisoners were paraded through. Some spat. Some jeered. A few only stared in silence, the way farmers look at pigs on the way to slaughter. Lysandra lifted her chin anyway. If they wanted shame, they would not find it in her face.
The palace waited at the end of the road, carved from white stone that caught the sun like bone. Soldiers hauled her down from the wagon, chains heavy around her wrists. She stumbled once, caught herself, and forced her steps steady across the marble floors.
The throne room yawned open like a cathedral. Gold columns, crimson banners, chandeliers heavy with firelight. Nobles lined the hall in silks that shimmered as they leaned in to whisper behind jeweled fans.
On the dais sat Emperor Aurelius. His crown looked heavier than the head beneath it. The man was broad-shouldered still, but the lines in his face were deep, his eyes sharp with suspicion. A court built on fear reflected in him like a mirror.
"Bring the prisoner forward," he ordered.
They shoved her to her knees.
Lysandra didn't bow. She raised her chin and met the emperor's eyes.
Whispers hissed through the hall like snakes.
The soldier who had found the pendant stepped forward, holding it aloft. "Your Majesty, we caught this one fleeing with rebels in the north. She bore this."
The emperor's gaze fixed on the pendant. For a heartbeat, his expression faltered. Something almost like recognition flickered before it hardened again.
"Your name, girl."
"Lysandra." Her voice didn't shake.
"And your mother?"
The question hit harder than the chains. She swallowed. "Dead."
Aurelius's mouth thinned. "And your father?"
The hall waited for her answer like wolves waiting for a hare to stumble.
Lysandra let silence drag long enough for tension to prickle, then tilted her head. "If you're asking, Your Majesty, perhaps you already know."
Gasps rippled. Someone stifled a laugh.
The emperor's eyes narrowed, but before he could speak, another voice rang sharp across the chamber.
"Enough."
The crown prince stepped into view.
Cassian moved like he owned the air itself. Tall, built like a man trained in steel, hair dark as ink against a white collar. His eyes caught the firelight cold, calculating, and fixed on her as though she were a stain on marble.
"So this is the bastard," he said, slow, each word deliberate. "Dragged in from the mud, wearing a crest she has no right to touch."
Lysandra's lips curved, though her wrists ached against the chains. "Strange, then, that the mud speaks back."
The hall broke into murmurs, some shocked, some delighted at the audacity. Cassian's jaw tightened. For the briefest moment, she saw the flicker of something beneath the polished cruelty, irritation, perhaps even amusement but it vanished as quickly as it came.
"She is an insult to this court," he said, voice sharper now. "Allowing her here spits on the blood that built this throne."
"And yet," Aurelius cut in, leaning forward, "blood she carries still."
The silence that followed was a blade drawn thin.
Cassian's gaze never left her, but Lysandra only stared back, unflinching.
The emperor gestured, and the guards wrenched her to her feet. "She will remain in the palace. Chains or no, she will learn her place."
A tide of whispers rose again. Some mocking, some fearful.
Cassian took a slow step closer as the nobles bowed. His voice lowered, meant for her alone.
"You'll regret standing tall, bastard," he murmured. "I'll see to it."
Lysandra tilted her chin, letting the torchlight catch the dirt on her face, the stubborn gleam in her eyes.
"Then I look forward to disappointing you, Your Highness."
And the chains bit deeper as the court watched, breath held, while the first spark between them caught flame.