The streets of South Bravenna were insane. People screamed. People cried. They threw flowers. They waved banners. They shouted her name.
Vasiliska.
The undefeated general. The red-haired warrior. The woman who had led armies, crushed enemies, and brought victory home.
Her blood-red hair caught the sunlight. Her silver eyes scanned the crowd. They were cheering for her. For her. Not the emperor. Not nobles. Not some gilded courtier. For her.
Her heart fluttered. A strange mix of pride and anticipation. She was coming home. Triumphant. Victorious. And Soreth… he would be waiting. He had to be. He had to.
"General Vasiliska! Our hero! The blade of South Bravenna!" a herald shouted.
She barely heard him. Her mind was on Soreth. His smile. His pride. That moment when he would take her hand, maybe bow to her, maybe whisper, "I couldn't have done this without you."
Her horse moved faster, carrying her closer to the palace. Her pulse raced. She could already hear the clapping, see the banners fluttering, feel the warmth of victory in her veins.
And then… she froze.
Her silver eyes locked onto the palace steps.
There she was.
Reyndis.
Her half-sister. Standing there. Flawless. Radiant. Silver hair cascading over her shoulders. Gown shimmering. Perfect posture. Perfect smile.
And Soreth. Beside her. Hand lightly resting near hers. Smiling back.
Vasiliska's breath caught.
No. No, this can't be happening. Not now. Not like this.
"W-what…?" she whispered. Her voice barely audible, trembling. "Why… why is she here?"
A soldier beside her noticed her faltering. "General… are you—?"
She shook her head, gripping the reins tighter. "No. I… I must be seeing things."
But no. She wasn't.
The crowd roared around her, but she couldn't hear them. The sound faded into static. Her world had narrowed to one impossible scene.
Her half-sister. With him.
Her stomach churned. Her hands trembled. Her chest… it hurt. Sharp. Raw. Confusing.
She had led armies. She had commanded respect. She had bled for him. She had died a thousand deaths on the battlefield for the empire. And now… this?
"Reyndis…" she whispered, teeth gritted. "Why… why are you with him?"
Reyndis smiled. Small. Polished. Deliberate. "Is that any way to greet your emperor, sister?" she said softly. Her voice was calm, almost teasing.
Vasiliska's chest heaved. "I… I thought… I thought he would be waiting for me. For us."
Soreth opened his mouth, and she wanted to run to him. To demand answers. To scream. To beg. "Vasiliska," he said, his voice hesitant, strained. "You've returned… safely. The city… the people—they—"
"Stop." She cut him off without thinking. Her voice cracked. Her silver eyes burned. "I returned for you! For recognition. For… for what I thought we were building together!"
The world seemed to freeze. People gasped. Soldiers froze mid-step. Mothers clutched their children.
Reyndis tilted her head. "Ah… so that's what you were expecting?" Her smile widened slightly, like a predator savoring the confusion. "I see."
Vasiliska's fists clenched. Her breath came in ragged pulls. Every muscle in her body screamed, fight, fight, fight. But this… this wasn't a battlefield she knew. No sword. No shield. Just betrayal. Just shock. Just… hurt.
"I… I don't understand!" she finally said, voice trembling. "We fought together. I… I bled for you. I brought you here. And now… now you are with her? Why?"
Soreth swallowed, his eyes flicking nervously between the two sisters. He wanted to answer. He had to answer. But she couldn't wait. Her heart was already breaking.
Reyndis's smile did not waver. "Perhaps," she said softly, deliberately, "some things are not meant for you, Vasiliska."
Vasiliska's silver eyes narrowed. She could feel the hurt radiating like fire in her chest. She wanted to scream. She wanted to fight. She wanted to demand the answers, demand her place, demand… anything.
Her legs trembled as she dismounted. She wanted to turn and flee. But no. She was the undefeated general. She had faced death. She had faced betrayal in battle. She would face this too.
Every heartbeat pounded in her ears. How could this happen? Why?
Her eyes never left Reyndis. Her gaze pierced her sister's flawless mask. I will understand. I will know why. And when I do…
The crowd's cheers blurred into the distance. The banners flapped uselessly in the wind. The sunlight seemed too bright, too cruel.
She was a warrior. She was victorious. She should feel triumphant. And yet… she felt hollow, wounded, confused.
Her chest ached. Her mind raced. And a single thought repeated itself over and over:
Why… why is this happening?
Vasiliska's boots struck the marble steps like thunder, her silver eyes burning as she demanded,
"Soreth! Answer me now! Why is she here?!"
The cheering of the crowd faltered. The soldiers shifted uneasily. But Soreth did not meet her gaze. Instead, his hand—his hand that once reached for her in the shadows of campfires, that she had dreamt of returning to—slid around Reyndis's waist as if it belonged there.
Vasiliska's heart stopped.
"You… what are you doing?" her voice cracked, raw and disbelieving. "Soreth…"
Finally, he looked at her. But there was no warmth in his eyes. No gratitude. No recognition of the years she had bled, fought, and killed to seat him on that very throne.
"Vasiliska," he said, tone flat, almost bored. "You're back. The victory is… acceptable."
Acceptable.
Her ears rang. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. "Acceptable?" she repeated, her voice trembling. "I gave you Bravenna. I broke the enemy lines. I—"
"You did your duty." His arm tightened around Reyndis, pulling her close, as though to prove the point. "And for that, the empire acknowledges you."
The crowd gasped softly. Whispers rippled through the nobles gathered at the base of the stairs.
Vasiliska staggered a step forward, her hands trembling. "Soreth… you promised… You swore—"
"Promises?" Reyndis's laughter cut her off, delicate and venomous. "Sister, did you really think a battlefield oath mattered in the palace?" She laid her hand upon Soreth's chest, her nails grazing the silk of his robes as if marking him. He did not push her away. He leaned into it.
Vasiliska's stomach twisted. Her chest ached, each breath a struggle. She could not tear her eyes from the sight—the man she had raised to power, the man she had once believed loved her, looking down at her with cold dismissal while another woman—her own blood—stood beside him in triumph.
"Why her?" Vasiliska's voice was hoarse, ragged, almost breaking. "Of all people, why her?"
Soreth's lips curved—not kindly, but cruelly. "Because she understands her place."
Her world shattered.
Reyndis smiled sweetly, resting her head against his shoulder, as if sealing the truth with her body pressed against his. "Poor sister," she murmured, eyes glittering with triumph. "Always so valiant, so loyal… yet so naïve."
The crowd erupted in hushed murmurs. Nobles leaned in closer, drinking in the scandal, the betrayal, the humiliation of the empire's undefeated general.
Vasiliska's throat tightened until she could barely speak. "After everything… after everything… you stand there with her?"
Soreth's expression hardened, his voice cold as steel. "I stand where I choose. And I choose Reyndis."
It felt as though a sword had pierced her chest.
Her vision blurred, not with tears—she refused to cry here, not before them—but with fury and disbelief. Her hand twitched at her side, aching for the weight of her blade, but she forced herself still. She had faced storms, armies, the jaws of death itself. Yet nothing had prepared her for this.
"Why?" she whispered, voice breaking despite her will. "Why her? Why betray me for her?"
Reyndis tilted her chin, pressing a kiss to Soreth's jaw as if in answer. The sight was worse than any wound Vasiliska had suffered on the battlefield.