The ride home is quiet. The kind of quiet that feels like it's bracing for a storm.
Cassian driver takes me home. Esther sits beside me in the car, her eyes flickering between me and the passing streets, her hands nervously twisting the hem of her skirt. When we pull up at the familiar gate, she leans toward me.
"Should I stay?"
I shake my head.
"No. Go back to the palace. Keep your ears open. I'll call when I need you."
She hesitates for a breath, then nods and gets back into the car as I enter through the front door alone.
Immediately I step in, my body seems to remember grief. My bones feel heavy. My throat tightens. My heart thuds unevenly like I'm mourning all over again.
Mama senses it instantly.
She steps out from the hallway, drying her hands with a kitchen towel, her eyes widening when she sees me.
"Princess… What is it? You don't look well."
I don't answer. My voice would betray me.
"Where's Papa?" I ask instead, my tone clipped.
She studies me, unsure whether to push further, then turns to call him.
I hear his footsteps before I see him.
Papa appears, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt. His eyes soften the moment he sees me, the last time he looked at me like that was when I lost my child.
"Celeste… You don't look well. What happened? Is everything okay?"
I sit slowly on the armrest of the nearest couch, take a breath, and say it; straight, sharp and without decoration.
"The Queen has been very sick. Nearly dying."
Their faces tighten.
"She needed a blood transfusion. Her type is rare. In the whole palace, maybe even in all of Matica, the only matching blood... was mine."
The silence that follows is thick.
"I gave her two pints," I add.
Mama's lips part in disbelief. Her voice comes out thin. "In just one breath?"
"Really?" Papa murmurs, brows drawn. "How could that be? Is she… is she recovering now?"
"She is," I nod. "She's reviving. But the ones who aren't…" I look up, my throat closing. "The ones not reviving… are Cassian and I. Our world has collapsed."
They freeze.
"What do you mean?" Papa's voice sharpens. "What's going on?"
I look between them, the people I've called my parents all my life and for a moment, I feel like a stranger in this house.
"Cassian and I just found out… we're not who we thought we were. We were swapped at birth."
Silence.
A crushing silence.
Then I drop the question that's been burning my tongue since the palace:
"When were you going to tell me I wasn't your child?"
Their faces shatter.
Mama stares at me like I've struck her. "You are our child!" she breathes out.
"You didn't give birth to me."
I say it coldly, because I need it to be real. Because I need to hear myself say it.
"You had a stillbirth. And then Oman, the midwife, gave me to you."
Mama's hand flies to her mouth. Her knees buckle slightly.
Papa steadies her.
"Yes," she whispers after a long pause. "Yes. That's true."
I stare.
"She told us you weren't wanted by your mother. That the woman refused to see you. And she handed you to us. That's all we knew, Celeste. That's all we were told."
Her voice trembles, her eyes swimming with tears.
"I held you in my arms… and I knew. I knew you were meant to be mine. You were my lost child, sent back to me. I didn't question it. I didn't care where you came from. I loved you. I raised you. I still do."
I break.
Something in me cracks, softens, and I sob.
"You didn't know… I was Morgana's child? Her twin child?"
They shake their heads, stunned.
"No," Mama says, barely audible. "We had no idea. Oman said your birth mother didn't want you. She never said who she was."
She reaches for my hand.
"You were a gift, Celeste. I never doubted it. Not even once. Then I named you Celeste, myself."
Her tears fall freely.
I weep too, quietly. Not because of betrayal, but because of the unbearable blend of truth and love. A mother who wasn't mine by blood but in every other way, she was.
Papa draws both of us into his arms.
And we sit like that, three hearts trying to make sense of something too big, too tangled, too sacred.
Even though I was born a Lucien, I was raised a Weylin.
And I will always be both.
***
I stay home for days.
Mama won't let me lift a finger. She makes everything herself; light broth in the morning, soft bread rolls in the afternoon, warm vegetable stew at night. I eat in silence, sometimes on the kitchen stool while she hums and stirs pots, other times in the living room as Papa reads the papers, stealing glances at me.
The blood I gave to Queen Morgana is slowly replenishing. But I still feel hollow. Not just physically. Somewhere deeper.
Mama brings me a cup of tea this evening; chamomile, with a hint of honey and sits beside me on the couch. She tucks her legs beneath her robe and watches me quietly, like she's waiting for the wave inside me to rise.
And it does.
"Shea is my half-sister," I say suddenly, as though the words have been aching to escape. "Can you believe that, Mama?"
She blinks, but says nothing. Just holds her cup tighter.
I sigh. "Did I tell you about her? About how she's the Queen's daughter. But not with the King. Her first pregnancy… before the marriage. She hid her, abandoned her, then brought her back into the palace years later, under everyone's noses. Like a servant. Like a ghost."
Mama inhales sharply but still doesn't interrupt. I keep going.
"I thought that was the biggest twist until..," I pause, my throat tightening. "Until it turns out I'm hers too. The second child from that night. The one she wanted gone."
The words scrape my chest like broken glass. But I say them.
"She asked the midwife to kill me."
A gasp escapes Mama's lips, and her hand instinctively reaches for mine. But I'm not done.
"She kept Shea. She hid her. But gave the order for me to be thrown away. If not for Oman's conscience or guilt, I wouldn't even be sitting here. She gave me to you instead."
I finally look at Mama. Her eyes are glassy, face pale.
"I don't understand, Mama. How can someone look their own child in the face and choose to discard them?"
"I don't know, baby." Her voice trembles. "Some people… they live by fear, not love."
I nod, but the ache remains.
"And Cassian," I whisper. "He was stolen from someone else. Raised under a false identity. Everything he believed about himself; his name, his birthright, even his blood, it was all a lie."
Mama closes her eyes as if praying for strength.
"He ran out of the palace after the truth came out. No one's seen him. Not even Esther. She called this morning and said he's still gone. It's been seven days."
"Seven?" she repeats, stunned.
I nod.
"He hasn't come back. Hasn't called me. He just vanished."
There's a silence that stretches between us. Then Mama speaks softly but firmly.
"Celeste… you can't carry all this at once. You need to breathe. You need to heal. That boy has his own demons to face, just like you do."
I nod again, slowly this time.
"You can't be strong for him until you're strong for yourself. Right now, let me be strong for you. Just stay. Rest. Eat. Let this house be your peace for a while."
Her voice anchors me.
I lean against her, resting my head on her shoulder, and for a brief moment, I let myself be someone's child again.