______
Marissa
I stood at the center of my opulent receiving room, the golden afternoon light spilling through towering arched windows and pooling across marble floors veined with gold. Even so, the sunlight could not outshine the excess around me—gilded pillars, crystal chandeliers, and silk-draped walls designed to overwhelm anyone foolish enough to believe beauty equaled virtue.
The heavy silk of my crimson gown clung to my body, every fold and stitch a reminder of the role I wore as carefully as my smile. I lifted my black-gloved hand and snapped my fingers once.
The sharp sound echoed—clean, commanding.
"Tsk. Oh dear." I let out a languid sigh, perfectly measured. My pale blue eyes softened, feigning mild concern, though beneath the surface there was nothing but calculation.
My attendant stood before the chaise lounge, posture immaculate, gaze lowered in respect. His silence was practiced, honed by years of serving someone whose moods could shift as quickly as poison in a goblet. His quiet efficiency made him useful—politically, strategically, and otherwise.
"How's the war going?" I asked lightly, as if I were inquiring about the day's weather or the quality of wine at last night's banquet.
He did not hesitate. "The situation worsened when the Tayar Tribe joined forces with the Wolf Tribe."
I moved to the chaise and settled at its edge, the dark velvet cool beneath my fingertips. I listened—truly listened—though my thoughts drifted as he continued. Supplies dwindling. Forces stretched thin. Plans unraveling.
Then came the number.
"There are only ten Shifters left…?"
The words tasted wrong on my tongue—too small, too final.
"Yes, my Lady," he confirmed quietly.
I leaned forward, irritation tightening my chest. "Fewer than I expected." My voice sharpened despite myself. "Tell them to buy as much time as they can. And make sure the ones who infiltrated the Tayar Kingdom are extra careful."
Ten lives. Ten disposable tools. Annoying, but acceptable—so long as my design remained intact.
My attendant hesitated, his fingers tightening just slightly. "Will you be visiting the palace again today?"
"Of course." I rose smoothly to my feet, a genuine smirk curving my lips. Something hungry flickered behind my eyes. "What am I supposed to do if that fool gets scared and calls off the war?"
The hem of my crimson skirt whispered against marble as I turned toward the door.
"Wait, my Lady."
I paused.
When I looked back, his eyes were not on my face. They were fixed on my hair.
Golden waves cascaded down my back—at least, they had moments ago. Now, creeping through the blonde like frost across glass, streaks of silver shimmered faintly in the light. A metallic sheen, unmistakable. Unforgiving.
Annoyance sparked hot and sharp.
I lifted a gloved hand and smoothed the strands, as though sheer will might force them back into submission. "What a hassle," I muttered, drawing a slow, irritated breath.
It was the one flaw in my disguise. The single betrayal my magic could never fully suppress.
The King of Brion adored his fair-haired Queen—his symbol of purity, of light, of divine favor. A lie I had sculpted strand by strand, smile by smile.
Why couldn't the King of Brion like silver hair instead of blonde hair?
The thought passed quickly, dismissed just as swiftly. Self-pity was indulgent. Useless.
I inhaled once more, steadying myself. Perfume lingered in the air—sweet, cloying, artificial. Much like this palace. Much like my role within it.
They needed their blonde Queen.
And I needed the war to continue.
With one last deliberate motion, I adjusted my hair, sealing the illusion in place, and stepped through the doorway—leaving my attendant behind, his worry lingering with the silver that threatened to expose me.
---
✈️ A Change of Plans — Expanded
I was already halfway down the corridor, my thoughts turning to the pathetic King I would soon have to placate, when a far more delightful idea surfaced.
I stopped.
A slow, satisfied smile curved my lips.
"Oh… that reminds me."
I turned back. For the briefest moment, the air around me shimmered, a faint purple glow leaking from beneath my carefully maintained façade—raw, ancient power pulsing with wicked delight.
"There's somewhere I need to go after I stop by the palace," I said smoothly. "I'll be gone for a while. Prepare my things."
Concern flickered across my attendant's face. He knew what my "preparations" usually entailed. He knew the risks. The blood, the chaos, the consequences.
But professionalism prevailed.
He bowed deeply. "Very well, my Lady. I will ensure everything is ready."
---
Hours later, the King's private audience chamber shook with unrestrained rage.
"SLAM!"
The stout, gray-haired man brought his fist down on the massive desk, rattling documents and goblets alike. His face burned red with fury, sweat glistening at his temples.
"HOW ARE THEY PUSHING US BACK?!" he roared.
Even surrounded by advisors and generals, fear hung thick in the air.
"We've even joined forces with the Slayers!"
A nervous woman stepped forward, hands trembling despite her attempt at composure. "According to recent reports, Your Majesty, the Tayar Tribe has formed an alliance."
Another advisor added quickly, voice tight, "And for reasons still unclear, the Slayers have suffered heavy losses."
The King's breathing grew ragged. "UGH…!"
"What?" His bloodshot eyes locked onto the speaker. "Not only did that incompetent general fail to bring me victory—"
Before his tirade could spiral further, a braver advisor attempted to soften the blow. "Fortunately, our army itself appears to be holding. His Highness has dispatched additional guards to support the Slayers—"
But the King heard none of it.
All he understood was this: the war was slipping from his grasp.
His rage curdled into something darker—fear masquerading as fury. He did not understand alliances, ancient bonds, or the balance of power. He only knew that the people he called savages were winning.
The fool is truly getting scared, I thought, listening with detached amusement.
I must get this task done before he decides to cut his losses.
---
After witnessing the King's reaction, I knew time had become my enemy.
The situation needed to remain volatile—chaotic enough to keep the war burning, yet not so unstable that the entire structure collapsed before I was ready. Fear was useful. Panic was not. And the King hovered dangerously close to both.
"Oh, that reminds me…"
The thought of my true objective surfaced like a spark in dry tinder. For a fleeting moment, a thin shimmer of violet light curled around me, barely perceptible, but rich with intent. A wide, private smile tugged at my lips—one that belonged to me, not to the Queen I pretended to be.
"There's somewhere I need to go after I stop by the palace," I said lightly. "I'll be gone for a while, so prepare my things."
My attendant stiffened.
"Ah…" Concern flashed across his face before discipline smoothed it away. He bowed deeply, voice steady despite the unease beneath it. "Very well, My Lady. I'll make sure everything is ready."
The very next hour was spent performing devotion.
I stood beside the King, silent and composed, while his temper devoured the audience chamber. The walls themselves seemed to tremble beneath the weight of his fury.
"SLAM!"
The desk shuddered as his fist crashed down upon it.
"HOW ARE THEY PUSHING US BACK?!" he bellowed. "WE'VE EVEN JOINED FORCES WITH THE SLAYERS!"
Spittle flew from his lips, his voice hoarse with wounded pride rather than reason.
His advisors rushed forward, eager to placate him, desperate to survive the moment.
"According to recent reports," one woman began, hands trembling as she clutched her documents, "the Tayar Tribe seems to have formed an alliance."
Another official stepped in, pale and rigid. "And for reasons we cannot yet determine, the Slayers have suffered heavy losses."
The King froze.
"UGH…!"
The sound tore from his throat—animal, enraged. He grasped at the nearest thread of blame, ignoring all context, all nuance. The air darkened as his fury thickened, oppressive and suffocating.
"WHAT?" His eyes bulged, bloodshot and wild. "Not only did he fail to bring me victory—"
One advisor, braver or more foolish than the rest, attempted to redirect him. "Fortunately, our army itself appears stable. His Highness has dispatched additional guards to assist the Slayers—"
"NO… THAT'S NOT—"
The King surged to his feet.
"BRING HIM TO ME AT ONCE!" he roared. "I'LL STRIP HIM OF HIS AUTHORITY AND ASSIGN THE CAPTAIN OF THE ROYAL KNIGHTS AS THE NEW COMMANDER!"
Good, I thought calmly.
The kingdom would stagger under the sudden shift. Authority would fracture. Confusion would spread.
Exactly what I needed.
The war would continue, but the chaos would carve out the perfect window—for my departure.
A few days later, I was far from the suffocating gold of the palace.
The forest canopy swallowed the sky above me, emerald light filtering through leaves thick with life. I wore simple leathers now, my movements unencumbered, my presence unremarkable. A small, well-hidden encampment lay tucked between natural rises and dense brush—easy to miss unless one knew precisely where to look.
"There you are, Your Majesty."
The voice came from my side. A handsome man with long, braided gray hair stepped into the shade beside me, his movements fluid, alert. There was no trace of courtly softness in him—only the sharpness of someone shaped by survival rather than luxury.
Across the rough wooden table sat another man. I met his gaze openly, my disguise discarded. My hair had returned to its natural dark brown, my features unmasked, my magic quiet but present. His expression tightened with concern.
The gray-haired man smiled faintly, teasing despite the gravity of the situation. "You must be worried about Lucina."
"Of course I am," I admitted.
The words came softer than any I had spoken in the King's presence—honest, unguarded.
"Then why don't you return to Tayar for a while?" he suggested, brow furrowing with genuine care.
"WHAT?"
He startled slightly at my reaction and hurried to clarify. "The Slayers don't seem inclined to emerge anytime soon. Don't worry—I'll stay here. If anything happens, I'll handle it." He even lifted his thumb with an encouraging grin. "I'm sure she's missing you, too."
Lucina.
My twin. My other half. The axis upon which this entire game truly turned.
He knew she mattered—just not how much.
"Hm…" I murmured, a genuine smile forming as the final pieces slid effortlessly into place. "I suppose I could visit her… while I check on the situation in Tayar."
His shoulders visibly relaxed. "THAT'S A GOOD IDEA."
The King of Brion's fury had cleared my path. My allies' concern had furnished the perfect justification.
It was time to go home.
I concluded my discussion with the gray-haired man, ensuring he understood every instruction, every contingency.
"You can take charge for now," I said. "I won't be long."
He swung easily onto his horse, energy bright despite the responsibility placed upon him. "YES, YOUR MAJESTY! I'LL TAKE CARE OF THINGS OVER HERE!"
The sound of hooves faded into the forest.
"CLIP CLOP. CLIP CLOP."
I turned away, the weight of the moment settling heavily on my shoulders.
This was my true self now. No silk. No crown. No lies spun in gold. My dark curls framed my face, my gaze steady and resolute.
It will take a few days to reach the kingdom.
I glanced skyward, a fleeting, wistful thought crossing my mind. I wish I could transform into a dragon and fly there.
The idea vanished as quickly as it came.
Too visible. Too dangerous.
I withdrew the encrypted message from within my cloak, tracing the familiar script with my fingers. It was meant for Lucina.
"Just wait a little longer," I whispered. "I'll be there soon."
The journey had barely begun when the sound reached me.
Hooves.
Multiple riders.
I halted immediately, my hand sliding to the hilt of my sword as my senses sharpened.
"Well, well, well. Look who it is."
The voice was oily—thick with smug authority.
I narrowed my eyes.
The man riding toward me wore polished armor bearing Brion's crest. Behind him marched a troop of soldiers. At their head was the newly appointed commander—the Captain of the Royal Knights.
His hair was an offensively bright blonde, his grin sharp with disdain.
"WHERE ARE YOU GOING IN SUCH A RUSH, YOUR MAJESTY?" he called.
Heat flared in my blood.
That title. That mockery.
"THAT'S WHAT I'D LIKE TO ASK," I shot back, my voice cold and razor-edged. "WOULD YOU LIKE TO EXPLAIN WHAT ARMED BRIONIAN SOLDIERS ARE DOING SO CLOSE TO MY CAMP?"
He let out a short, arrogant snicker.
"IT'S OBVIOUS, ISN'T IT?" His eyes gleamed, stripped of pretense, brimming with hatred. "WE'VE RECEIVED ORDERS TO PUT DOWN SAVAGES LIKE YOU."
The moment the mask fell, the fight began.
_______
Hakan
I narrowed my eyes at the Captain of the Royal Knights.
He sat tall in his saddle, posture rigid with self-importance, armor polished to a blinding sheen that matched his offensively bright blonde hair. Everything about him screamed entitlement—of a man who had risen not through merit, but through proximity to a foolish throne.
"THAT'S WHAT I'D LIKE TO ASK," I snapped, my voice cutting through the air like drawn steel. "WOULD YOU LIKE TO TELL ME WHAT ARMED BRIONIAN SOLDIERS ARE DOING SO CLOSE TO MY CAMP?"
For a heartbeat, he only stared at me.
Then he laughed.
A short, ugly sound—full of mockery.
"SNICKER."
"IT'S OBVIOUSLY BECAUSE WE'VE RECEIVED ORDERS TO PUT DOWN SAVAGES LIKE YOU."
The word savages hit like poison.
I clenched my jaw, teeth grinding as my thoughts raced.
They wanted to avoid unnecessary bloodshed—or so they claimed. That had always been Brion's convenient lie.
Then my gaze dropped to the insignia etched into his armor. The crest. The authority.
And behind him, the soldiers straightened, rallying at his presence.
Wait—
That's…
Understanding slammed into place.
"So he's their new commander," I realized grimly. "That explains their hostility."
The King's idiocy had rippled outward faster than I anticipated. Replacing an experienced general with this brute had turned tension into open provocation.
A dry, humorless chuckle escaped my lips.
"YOU WANT TO PUT US DOWN?" I said softly. "DON'T BE RIDICULOUS."
The Captain's face twisted with fury.
He yanked his sword from its sheath and raised it high above his head, blade catching the light.
"EXTERMINATE THE SAVAGES!"
His voice cracked with zeal.
"IT'S TIME TO SHOW THEM WHO'S TRULY SUPERIOR!"
The soldiers roared as one.
"YAAAHAH!"
They surged forward, horses charging in unison, hooves tearing into the earth.
"CLIP CLOP, CLIP CLOP."
I tightened my grip on my weapon.
Power responded instantly.
Dark crimson and deep violet magic spiraled around my hand, heat and pressure thrumming beneath my skin. The final remnants of the blonde Queen's mask shattered completely, replaced by the ruthless focus of a warrior who had long since accepted blood as currency.
"I'M GOING TO SLAUGHTER YOU ALL RIGHT NOW," I said, my voice low, deadly, stripped of all pretense.
A presence moved beside me.
My companion reined in his horse, eyes wide as he took in the sheer number of enemies bearing down on us.
"THAT'S ENOUGH!" he shouted. "LOOK AT THEM—!"
I didn't argue.
This wasn't about pride.
It was about Lucina.
"I'LL HOLD THEM OFF," I ordered sharply, turning my head just enough to meet his gaze. "HEAD BACK TO THE CAMP AND INFORM THEM OF THE SITUATION IMMEDIATELY!"
He hesitated—only a second—but duty won.
"YES, YOUR MAJESTY!"
I watched him turn and ride hard in the opposite direction.
Only then did the irritation boil over.
"UGH… WHY DID THIS HAVE TO HAPPEN NOW…?" I muttered, teeth grinding together.
"GRIT."
The world narrowed.
The field blurred.
And I hurled myself forward into the oncoming knights.
Once my companion was safely retreating, restraint became pointless.
I let my power surge.
Magic flooded my limbs, violent and precise, sharpening my movements beyond mortal limits. My sword descended in a brutal arc, the impact exploding through the first knight's shield as if it were made of glass. Armor caved. The man was thrown backward, screaming.
Crimson light slashed through the battlefield.
Steel clashed. Horses reared. Men cried out—not in battle-hardened fury, but in shocked terror.
They weren't prepared for this.
They were trained for orderly formations, for commands barked across neat lines—not for facing a sorceress unbound by courtly rules, her power honed in real war.
One fell. Then another.
The Captain shouted orders, but panic drowned his voice.
The fight was brief.
Violent.
Utterly one-sided.
When it ended, the field was littered with groaning bodies and broken weapons. The only sound left was my own breath—ragged, heavy, steaming in the air.
"UGH… WHY DID THIS HAVE TO HAPPEN NOW…?" I growled again, forcing myself upright.
They had cost me time.
Precious time.
I moved quickly, gathering what mattered—supplies, insignias, and finally the Captain's sealed orders. One glance confirmed it: the King's foolish decree, clear as day.
So it's official.
I mounted my horse once more, urgency driving me forward as the image of my twin burned in my mind.
Everything I had done—the chaos in Brion, the lies, the blood—was for her. For our kingdom.
"I HOPE…" I whispered, gripping the reins tightly,
"…NOTHING HAPPENS TO YOU WHILE I'M GONE, LUCINA."
______
Lucina
Days later, I arrived.
My secondary residence in Tayar stood bathed in sunlight, open and warm—nothing like the suffocating shadows of the Brionian palace. The moment I stepped inside, the contrast hit me like a physical force.
And yet—
Unease crept in.
Before I could gather myself, hurried footsteps approached.
A young maid ran toward me—a dark-skinned girl with neat braids and earnest eyes.
"YOU HAVE A VISITOR, MY LADY."
"A visitor?" I asked, startled. "Who would come at a time like this?"
I hadn't announced my return.
She flushed, explaining quickly, "I BROUGHT THEM HERE BECAUSE I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT NOT FEEL WELL ENOUGH TO MOVE." Her voice wavered as she glanced over her shoulder. "IF IT MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, I CAN SHOW THEM TO THE RECEPTION INSTEAD."
I paused.
If the maids had brought them directly here instead of alerting me first…
…then they must be someone trustworthy.
I met her gaze and nodded. "NO. IT'S FINE. LET THEM IN."
The door opened.
Sunlight poured in—and with it, a tall, striking figure.
He stepped forward with effortless grace. Long blonde hair framed his face, his attire regal, immaculate. His smile was gentle, confident, far too familiar.
"IT'S BEEN A WHILE, LUCINA."
My heart stopped.
He called me Lucina.
And he was blonde.
That's—
The King of Brion's priest. His closest advisor. The one who looks just like him.
The maid stiffened beside me, eyes wide with reverence.
"YOUR EMINENCE?" she whispered.
The man's attention remained fixed on me.
"What brings you here today?" he asked softly. "May I take a look at your condition?"
Concern replaced his smile—real, unmistakable concern.
Cold spread through my veins.
Lucina—the gentle Queen in the palace—was my sister.
And I…
I was the one who had been infiltrating the enemy camp.