Cassian's POV
The golden blade sang to me like heaven itself.
*"Choose me," the Dawnbreaker whispered, its light washing over the Sanctum of Blades. "Be the hero you were born to be. Save your kingdom. Fulfill your destiny."
My hand stretched toward it—muscle memory from a life I'd already lived. In that timeline, I'd chosen this blade. Trusted it. Died screaming as it burned me from the inside out.
I pulled my hand back.
The crowd gasped.
"Prince Cassian?" High Priestess Morrigan's ancient voice cracked. "The Dawnbreaker calls to you. Surely you feel its pull?"
I felt it, alright. Felt it the same way prey feels the snake's hypnotic gaze before the strike.
"I feel many things," I said quietly.
Matthias stepped forward from the crowd of nobles, his smile perfect. The cut I'd given him last night was completely healed—not even a scar. Like it never happened.
Like I'd imagined the black blood. The too-sharp teeth. The inhuman thing wearing his face.
"My prince," he said smoothly, "the Dawnbreaker has waited generations for a wielder of your caliber. It would be... unwise to refuse such an honor."
The threat in his voice was subtle. Only I could hear it.
I looked past him to where Father sat on his throne, face pale and drawn. King Aldric stared at me with desperate eyes—and for just a moment, I saw him mouth two words: l'm sorry.
Sorry for what? For being controlled by Matthias for twenty years? For not warning me? For whatever was about to happen?
"I need to see all the weapons," I announced. "Before I decide."
Morrigan's wrinkled face went even paler. "My prince, that's... that's not how the ceremony—"
"I want to see them all." I walked away from the Dawnbreaker, ignoring how its golden light seemed to reach for me. "Every blade. Every weapon. Even the sealed ones."
The nobles erupted in whispers. This wasn't how Binding Ceremonies worked. You walked among the weapons, one called to you, and you bonded. Simple. Sacred. Controlled.
But I was done being controlled.
I passed the Stormcaller hammer—already bonded to some cousin I barely knew. The Frostbite bow with its ice-blue glow. The Truthseeker sword that supposedly revealed lies.
All beautiful. All powerful. All traps.
Seraphiel's voice whispered in my mind, stronger now that I was closer to her prison: "That's it. Keep walking. Past the pretty ones. Past the safe ones. All the way to the back where they keep the monsters."
"Prince Cassian, please!" Morrigan called out, real fear in her voice now. "Beyond that door lies only—"
"Only the truth," I finished.
The sealed vault door loomed before me. Iron chains crisscrossed its surface. Warning runes glowed red: CURSED. KINSLAYER. MADNESS. DEATH.
In my first life, I'd never even looked at this door. The Dawnbreaker's whispers had been too loud, drowning out everything else.
Now, I put my hand on the cold metal.
"Son, STOP!" Father's voice boomed across the Sanctum. Not a suggestion—a command. But underneath the authority, I heard pure terror.
I looked back. King Aldric was standing now, gripping his throne like it was the only thing keeping him upright. And his eyes—gods, his eyes were pleading.
Begging me not to do this.
Which meant it was exactly what I needed to do.
"I'm sorry, Father," I said.
Then I shoved the door open.
The chains shouldn't have broken. They were sealed with magic older than the kingdom itself. But the moment my binding cuff touched them, white light exploded outward. The locks shattered. The door swung open.
And I stepped into the darkness beyond.
The vault was tiny—barely bigger than a closet. A single pedestal sat in the center, and on it rested the most pathetic sword I'd ever seen.
Chipped blade. Rust stains. Worn leather grip. It looked like someone had found it in a garbage heap.
But underneath the damage, the steel gleamed silver. And the chains binding it to the pedestal—they weren't keeping something in.
They were keeping everyone else out.
"Everyone fears you," I whispered.
"Finally," Seraphiel's voice purred in my mind. "Someone with sense. Now break these chains and let me taste freedom, little prince."
Behind me, the Sanctum had gone absolutely silent.
Then Matthias spoke, and his perfect mask was cracking: "My prince, this is madness! The Kinslayer is cursed! You'll—"
"I'll what?" I spun to face him. "Go mad like Prince Daemon? Murder my family? Or maybe I'll just die screaming while everyone watches?"
His eyes flashed with something ancient and cold. "You don't know what you're doing."
"I know exactly what I'm doing." I turned back to the blade. "I'm choosing the weapon you don't control."
Guards rushed forward, but Father's hand shot up, stopping them. The king looked ten years older suddenly, his face gray with horror and something else.
Relief?
"The sacred bond cannot be broken," Morrigan said, her voice shaking. "Prince Daemon's law—no bonded heir can be denied their right, regardless of which blade they choose."
She was protecting me. Even though her hands were trembling, even though she looked like she might collapse, the old priestess was giving me a way out.
I grabbed the Kinslayer's hilt.
The world exploded.
Pain—white-hot, agonizing, absolute—flooded through every nerve. This wasn't the gentle warmth of a sacred bond. This was three hundred years of rage, betrayal, and fury slamming into my soul like a battering ram.
I screamed.
The chains binding the blade detonated outward, sending shrapnel flying. The Kinslayer's rust cracked away like a shell, revealing gleaming silver beneath. And power—gods, the power—poured into me until I thought I'd burst apart.
But through the pain, I felt something else.
Her.
Seraphiel's consciousness flooded into mine, sharp and furious and alive. For the first time in three centuries, she could move. Could act. Could fight.
The sword moved on its own, pulling me to my feet. My hand followed, barely holding on as she swung in a wide arc. Not to kill—to warn. Silver steel cut the air inches from the nearest guard's throat.
"Back off," she snarled through my voice, layered and wrong. "Or I'll remember why they call me the Kinslayer."
Guards scrambled backward. Nobles screamed. Someone fainted.
"Stand down!" Father's voice boomed with unexpected authority. "STAND DOWN!"
The guards froze.
I looked up, still on my knees, the Kinslayer blazing in my grip. Father stared at me with an expression I'd never seen—terror and relief and desperate hope all warring in his eyes.
"It's done," he whispered. "The binding is complete. My son has chosen the Kinslayer." He looked ancient suddenly. Lost. "May the gods have mercy on us all."
Matthias stepped forward, and his mask was completely gone now. What looked out through his eyes was something other. Something that had been pretending to be human for far too long.
"My king, this is unprecedented! The Kinslayer drove Prince Daemon mad! Prince Cassian must be declared unfit to rule—"
"The law is clear," Morrigan interrupted, and there was steel in her old voice. "The bond is sacred. It cannot be broken. The prince has made his choice."
In my head, Seraphiel's laughter was sharp and delighted: "Oh, I like this timeline better already. Your little advisor looks like he's swallowed poison. Speaking of which—that's the man who killed you, isn't it? Want me to gut him right now?"
"Not yet," I thought back, struggling to my feet. "I need to know why."
"Boring. But fine. We'll play the long game."Her presence settled into my mind like a caged tiger. "Just know that I've been trapped in a sword for three centuries watching idiots parade past me. My patience for subtlety is extremely limited."
Matthias's eyes met mine across the Sanctum. And in that moment, we both understood.
The game had changed. I'd broken his carefully laid plans. Chosen the one weapon he couldn't control.
And now, war was inevitable.
"Congratulations, Prince Cassian," Matthias said, his voice perfectly controlled again. But his smile was a threat. "May your bond with the Kinslayer be... everything you deserve."
The crowd parted as I walked out, sword in hand. Nobles whispered and pointed. Some looked horrified. Others fascinated.
But as I passed Father's throne, he reached out and grabbed my wrist. His grip was weak, trembling.
"You don't understand what you've done," he breathed, too quiet for anyone else to hear. "The Kinslayer isn't cursed, Cassian. She's the only one telling the truth. And they'll kill you for choosing her."
"They already killed me," I said. "Twice. I'm done dying."
Father's eyes widened. "You remember?"
Before I could answer, his whole body seized. His eyes rolled back, and when he looked at me again, something else stared out through his face.
"Three times," the thing wearing my father said in a voice layered with thousands of tones. "You've died three times, little prince. And you'll die three more before we're done with you."
Then Father collapsed.
Guards rushed forward. Chaos erupted. And in my head, Seraphiel whispered:
"Your father's possessed. Has been for twenty years. And whatever's controlling him?"
Her voice turned cold. "It just declared war."
I stood in the center of the Sanctum, the Kinslayer blazing in my hand, and watched my father convulse on the floor.
Six deaths total. Three down, three to go.
The game was just beginning.