Cassian sits beside me in the grand throne room of Aerithia, dressed in the Matican royal tunic, still bearing the Lucien crest, even though we both know its meaning has long shifted. He looks composed, too handsome and regal, but I feel the tension vibrating beneath his skin. I slip my fingers into his under the table, and he gives me a grateful squeeze.
Across from us sit the Harlion siblings: Prince Gregory and Princess Christie. The resemblance is… unsettling. They look like us — not just in features, but in posture, grace, energy. It's like staring into alternate versions of ourselves, born into a different kingdom.
King Halrion sits on his gilded throne, commanding yet kind in his bearing. He studies us with intense curiosity. Three ministers sit a few feet away, angled toward the dais, their expressions unreadable.
Then the King speaks, his voice low and full of weight.
"Prince Cassian of Matica," he says. "The court of Aerithia welcomes you. You may speak."
Cassian rises slowly. I watch him, my chest swelling with pride as he bows.
"Your Majesty," he begins, his voice steady, "thank you for the gracious welcome and the honour of this audience. I do not come to you today as a man seeking position or glory… but as someone searching for truth and belonging."
The air in the room stills. Even the ministers lean in.
"I was raised in the royal palace of Matica, trained from birth to be its crown prince. I served King Lucien with all I had. Queen Morgana raised me as her child or so I believed. I married the woman seated beside me, Celeste, now crown princess of Matica and together, we have a son. Ray. He is nine."
He looks at me and I nod, silently urging him to keep going.
"Everything changed when Queen Morgana fell critically ill. Her blood type is rare — almost impossible to match. The entire palace was tested, even the wider kingdom. My blood didn't match. But Celeste's did."
Whispers echo across the chamber. Christie stiffens. Gregory narrows his eyes.
"That discovery forced us to pursue a deeper investigation. DNA tests revealed what no one expected: Celeste is Queen Morgana's biological daughter… and I have no biological connection to the royal house of Matica at all."
Gasps ripple around us. The king's face doesn't move, but his grip on the throne's arm tightens.
"Eventually, Queen Morgana confessed," Cassian continues. "She had twin daughters on the 4th of December, 1995, the same day I was born. On Queen Morgana's ruthless order, one of those twin babies, Celeste, was handed away to a grieving mother who had lost her child. The second twin was swapped with a newborn boy… me. A child born of another woman."
I feel the weight of every gaze in the room settle on me. But I raise my chin. I'm not hiding from any of it.
"It was a shocking revelation, your majesty but I couldn't rest. I needed to find my true biological root so my wife and I launched an intensive investigation. We traced the hospital records," Cassian says. "All clues pointed to a woman named Sarah, who gave birth that day and registered her place of residence as a royal guesthouse in Aerithia. That search led us here. To this palace."
His voice cracks slightly.
"Your Majesty… the trail of my true blood leads here — to Aerithia. And based on all we've uncovered, it is possible… that I was taken from a woman of your royal house. That you, or someone in this palace, may be my true blood."
Silence falls like a thick curtain. Cassian bows and returns to his seat. I take his hand again and feel it tremble slightly. My thumb brushes across his knuckles.
Christie breaks the silence first, her voice quiet, almost breathless.
"You sound like Gregory…"
She takes a slow step forward, her eyes glistening as she faces me,
"I've felt something missing my whole life… and now, looking at you, I finally know what it was."
Gregory steps forward. His gaze locks with Cassian's.
"And you look like me."
The King finally rises from his throne. He walks forward a step, studying Cassian as if seeing a ghost returned to flesh.
One of the ministers leans in toward the king.
"Your Majesty," he says, "with your permission, we recommend a formal DNA verification. If the prince's claims are true, Aerithia has found its long-lost child."
The King nods slowly.
"Approved. Let it be handled discreetly and swiftly."
He looks at Cassian again, his expression a mixture of awe and pain.
"Until then," he says, "Prince Cassian, Princess Celeste — you are our guests. You shall be treated with all the dignity due to blood and kin."
Cassian rises once more and bows low.
"Thank you… truly…your Majesty!"
He doesn't call him father. Not yet. But the way the King's eyes glisten as he returns to his throne tells me… he felt it anyway.
***
We are escorted to Aerithia's palace clinic — though "clinic" barely does it justice. It's a full-fledged medical center housed within royal grounds, gleaming with sterile luxury and lined with portraits of past monarchs who probably never needed so much as a bandage.
Cassian gives me a glance as the nurse swabs his arm. I nod at him, holding back the jittery nerves dancing in my belly. The blood draws are quick, professional, and quiet. No words are exchanged, just a heavy kind of anticipation thickening the air.
Afterward, we return to our chambers, walking silently until we're finally alone. Once the doors close, I collapse onto the couch.
"I saw the way Gregory looked at you," Cassian says with a grin.
I roll my eyes. "And I saw how you kept adjusting your collar whenever Christie glanced your way."
He chuckles. "Well, can you blame me? You're basically her reflection. I had to make sure I wasn't being unfaithful by accident."
We laugh, but the undertone of everything is still surreal.
Through the palace windows, I spot them again, Christie and Gregory, standing just beneath the corridor archway. They're trying not to look like they're watching us, but they are. I can feel it. Gregory's hands are clasped behind him like he's rehearsing a speech, and Christie keeps glancing at our window before quickly looking away.
"They want to talk to us," I say with a low voice.
"They're waiting for confirmation, just like we are," Cassian replies. "Protocol."
We fall silent again. The tension isn't uncomfortable but just dense with expectation. Whatever truth is coming, I know it won't break us.
Cassian lies back beside me, resting his head on my lap. "If they're our siblings, that means I'm now both your husband and your brother-in-law."
I smack his arm. "Please stop."
He grins, closes his eyes, and sighs. "I'm just trying to make history more interesting."
I laugh softly. Even here, on the edge of something that could change everything, I find peace because we're facing it together.
***
The dining hall of the Aerithian palace is bathed in soft amber lighting, warm and regal. The long table gleams under a chandelier shaped like cascading crystal vines. Golden plates sit atop rich, navy-blue linens, and the scent of roasted lamb, spiced rice, and fresh pastries dances through the air.
Cassian and I are seated across from Gregory and Christie. The King sits at the head of the table, dignified, calm, ever so composed. Conversation is polite but careful. It's like everyone's afraid to say the wrong thing and tip this entire room into something we can't undo.
I notice Cassian barely touches his food. He pokes at his roast, his brows drawn in quiet thought. I place a gentle hand on his.
"Eat," I whisper. "You need your strength."
He glances at me and manages a small smile, but then leans in. "We've been here almost two days," he murmurs. "Still no sign of her."
I know who he means. Sarah. The woman whose name sits on a birth record — the woman who could be his mother. His only link to a past he never had.
"She may be… gone," he adds softly, eyes lowered. "They haven't mentioned her once."
I tighten my fingers around his. "Then someone will. When the time is right. And if not, we'll ask."
He nods slowly but doesn't look convinced. "It would crush me, Celeste. To come all this way and find a grave."
I lean closer. "Then we'll mourn if we have to. But we'll do it together. And we'll still have answers. Isn't that why we came?"
His eyes lock on mine; searching, always searching and then he lets out a breath, the tension in his shoulders finally relaxing.
"Fine," he says, picking up his fork. "But if I faint mid-supper, you're carrying me out."
I stifle a laugh. "You'd love that kind of drama."
Across the table, Christie chuckles at something Gregory whispered to her. I notice again how alike Cassian and Gregory look — from their cheekbones to the crooked half-smile. And Christie… her eyes flick to me now and then, shy but curious. Like a mirror wondering if it's allowed to reflect back.
The King eventually speaks. "The feast may not be Matican, but I hope it pleases you."
"It's delightful, Your Majesty," I say warmly. "The spiced lentil stew reminded me of something my mother used to make."
"Then I shall send some to your quarters," he replies graciously.
Cassian lifts his wine glass slightly toward Gregory. "This blend… is it local?"
"It is," Gregory confirms. "Harvested from the southern valleys. Our best vintage."
"Of course it is," Cassian replies dryly. "Of course your country has perfect vineyards too."
We all laugh lightly, and the atmosphere softens further and it becomes easier to breathe. The initial tension, still present, now melts beneath polite smiles and cautious amusement.
I glance around the table. This could be the family Cassian never knew. It still feels surreal like we're living someone else's dream.
But for the first time since we arrived in Aerithia, I let myself hope:
Maybe it's not just answers we'll find here.
Maybe it's the roots.