There's something sacred about preparation, especially when you're standing at the edge of a truth that could rewrite everything you've ever known.
Cassian and I are finally ready to leave for Aerithia. By air, it'll take about twelve hours. The royal airstrip has already cleared a slot for the polished and pristine Matican Royal Royal jet, marked with the twin lion crest of the Lucien House. But this time, we're not flying as nobles or dignitaries.
We're flying in search of bloodlines.
And for that, we need to carry more than our names.
The items chosen to represent Matica aren't just tokens. They're statements:
A signed Royal Letter of Diplomatic Introduction, sealed with Matica's sovereign crest;
Matica's Historical Scrolls tracing the royal bloodline, especially King Lucien's era, just in case we're challenged.
An Ancestral Crest Pendant from the Lucien vault, given only to direct descendants.
A chest of ceremonial spices and herbal oils, used in royal births and coronations for centuries.
An ancient Matica's blade, symbolic of both defense and legacy, to be offered as a token of peace.
We'll be accompanied by two senior envoys. Lord Darian—a statesman whose loyalty has never wavered. And Lady Anara, once an aide to the former Queen, now a quiet voice of wisdom and clarity. Trusted. Respected and neutral.
But before I leave, I have to tend to something closer than duty. My heart.
The sun is setting gently over the capital as I walk through the halls toward the suite that now belongs to my parents. The Queen's former chambers have been transformed into a sanctuary of warmth and simplicity. Gone are the relics of ambition and control. In their place: tea herbs, linen drapes, and the laughter of people who love without agenda.
Amira looks up the moment I step in. She doesn't need to ask.
"You're leaving," she says softly.
I nod. "At dawn."
Ronan sets his book aside. "Aerithia?"
"Yes. We found a name. A queen who gave birth the same day Cassian was taken. We believe… he might be her son."
Their eyes go wide open in shock. Wonder. And then something gentler, pride.
Amira walks over and takes my hands in hers. "Then go, Celeste. Stand beside him. Find the truth. Whatever it is."
I nod. "I will. I promise."
Later that night, I wander through the quieter halls to the chamber Cassian now shares with Ray. It's where Ray spends most nights now, nestled between stories and dreams, the way a child should be.
I find him curled up on the settee, coloring with fierce concentration. He looks up as I enter, his face brightening.
"Mama! Look! I drew the palace with dragons on the roof!"
I walk over, smiling as I kneel to admire his picture. "This is incredible. Dragons would make this place even cooler."
He giggles, then grows serious. "Esther said you're going on a trip."
I nod. "Just for a few days. Papa and I need to find something very important."
"Is it about where he came from?" Ray asks, voice soft and curious.
I blink. "Yes. You're very smart."
He leans in and wraps his arms around my neck. "Tell him not to be sad anymore. And come back soon. I wanna do another lemonade stand. Prince lemonade."
I laugh, even as my throat tightens. "We will. And I'll come back with stories."
That night, as I lie beside Cassian in the quiet, I hold him tighter than usual. His eyes are closed, his breath steady, but I know there's a storm just beneath the calm.
We aren't just flying to Aerithia tomorrow.
We're flying toward the mystery of his bloodline and maybe, toward a throne neither of us expected.
***
The gates of the Aerithian Royal Palace rise before us like something out of legend—tall and unyielding, carved from pale stone kissed by the sun. Banners ripple high above: deep navy marked with gold serpents coiled around a crown. This place hums with power and pride.
We don't arrive unnoticed.
Though the purpose of our visit has been cloaked in formality, the name Lucien still carries weight. And more than that, we bring the force of a legacy that refuses to be buried.
Two Aerithian envoys wait in the grand courtyard, dressed in ceremonial blue robes lined with silver thread. They bow low as we approach, their eyes scanning our small party and the chests carried behind us.
"Your Royal Highnesses," the elder envoy says, his tone reverent, "Prince Cassian and Princess Celeste of Matica. Welcome to Aerithia. The King awaits your audience."
Cassian nods politely. I say nothing. My heart thunders in my chest.
We're led through long corridors of marble and gold-veined stone. The air is thick with incense and pine. Every wall bears the likeness of kings and queens long gone, eyes, watchful, immortal in oil and frame.
Cassian brushes his fingers against mine.
"You ready?" he whispers.
"No," I whisper back. "But we go anyway."
At the end of the hall, the envoy halts before two grand doors.
"The Throne Room of Aerithia," he announces, then pushes them open.
We step inside… and freeze.
At the far end of the room, beneath a wash of light from towering stained-glass windows, sits King Halrion of Aerithia. Regal and sharp. With a face carved by diplomacy and iron.
But I barely see him.
Because standing to his right is a man in his early thirties. Tall. Composed. Familiar. The resemblance to Cassian is undeniable; same sharp jaw, same piercing eyes. Only, his expression is more guarded. His hair a shade darker.
And then I see her.
The woman to the King's left.
And I stop breathing.
She's me.
The same auburn-brown hair, parted the same. Wide hazel eyes, quiet but knowing. She even stands the way I do; still, alert and regal without effort. It's like looking into a mirror shaped by a different life.
Cassian stops moving.
So do I.
We stand at the threshold of the throne room, staring at what might be our own reflections.
Alive. Breathing.
Royal.