ELARA'S POV
The throne room doors loom ahead of us like the gates of hell.
I can hear the crowd inside—hundreds of nobles gathered for my wedding. They're laughing, chatting, completely unaware that their queen is a murderer and their princess is a weapon.
"Last chance to run," Theron says beside me.
"I'm done running." I straighten my spine, trying to look like a queen instead of a terrified girl. "But Theron? Before we go in there—before everything changes—I need to know something."
"What?"
"Why?" I turn to face him fully. "Why are you doing this? Really? You could have walked away three years ago when I was first cursed. You could have saved yourself. Instead, you stayed. You investigated. You volunteered to marry me even though you knew I'd try to kill you. Why risk everything for someone who didn't even remember you?"
He's quiet for a long moment. Then he takes my hand.
"Because three years ago," he says softly, "you helped me. And I never got to thank you properly."
"Helped you how?"
"Do you remember the time-sight? My ability to see three seconds into the future?"
"Yes. You said it's why you're immune to most mind-magic."
"It's also why I was dying." His voice goes rough. "Three years ago, before your mother's death, the time-sight was getting worse. Instead of three seconds, I was seeing three minutes. Then three hours. Then three days. I was living my entire life out of order, experiencing the future before the present, and it was destroying my mind."
I stare at him. "I didn't know—"
"No one did. I hid it well. But you noticed something was wrong. You saw me having a seizure during our research session—I was experiencing my own death three days in the future, over and over. You should have been terrified. Should have reported me to the healers. Instead—"
He pulls out a small crystal from his pocket. It pulses with soft golden light.
"You made this for me. A temporal anchor. Using the same memory magic you developed for Project Memoria, but modified. This crystal locks my consciousness in the present moment. I still see three seconds ahead, but I don't get lost in the future anymore."
I take the crystal gently. It's warm to the touch and feels alive.
"I made this?"
"You spent two weeks working on it. Barely slept. Barely ate. You said—" His voice cracks. "—you said you couldn't imagine a world without me in it. That I was too important to lose."
Tears blur my vision. "And then I forgot you."
"And then you forgot me," he confirms. "But the crystal kept working. For three years, I've been alive because of your magic. Because of your brilliance. Because you cared enough to save me." He takes the crystal back, tucking it safely away. "So when you were cursed, when everyone else said you were too dangerous, too broken to save, I couldn't walk away. You didn't walk away from me. I wasn't going to walk away from you."
"That's not logic," I say through tears. "That's just... stubbornness."
"I learned it from you." He wipes my cheek gently. "You taught me that some people are worth the impossible. Worth the risk. Worth everything."
I want to kiss him. Want to hold him and never let go. Want to tell him that I'm falling in love with him all over again, memory by memory.
But there's no time.
The throne room doors swing open.
"Princess Elara Ashenmere," a guard announces loudly. "And Lord Theron Blackthorn. The wedding party has arrived."
We step inside.
The throne room is packed. Every noble house, every court official, every important person in the kingdom has gathered. They turn to stare as we enter, and I hear the whispers:
The Poison Bride.Six dead husbands.They say she doesn't even remember killing them.Poor Lord Theron.He won't survive the night.
I lift my chin and keep walking.
At the far end of the room, on her throne of black stone and silver, sits Queen Meridian. She's smiling that terrible smile, confident in her control, her power, her inevitable victory.
Beside her stands a priest—ready to conduct the ceremony.
And around the room, positioned at every exit: guards. Dozens of them. Armed and watching.
We're walking into a trap.
But we knew that.
Theron leans close as we approach the throne. "Remember the plan. You start the memory spell. I protect you while it's casting. Lyra witnesses everything."
"And if it goes wrong?"
"Then we improvise." He squeezes my hand. "We're good at that."
We reach the base of the throne. The Queen rises, spreading her arms in false welcome.
"My dear niece. My loyal spymaster. How wonderful that you've joined us for this blessed occasion." Her eyes glitter with malice. "Shall we proceed with the wedding? I'm eager to see how the night unfolds."
She knows. She knows we're planning something.
But she doesn't know what.
"Before the ceremony," I say clearly, my voice carrying through the room, "I have something to confess. To everyone."
The crowd murmurs. The Queen's smile tightens.
"A confession?" she says sweetly. "How dramatic. Very well. The bride wishes to speak before her vows. Let her speak."
This is it. The moment everything changes.
I step forward, looking at the assembled nobles. At the guards. At the people who've feared me for three years.
"My name," I say, "is not Calista Ravencross. It's Elara Ashenmere. I am the daughter of the late Queen Elara the First. I am the true heir to this throne."
Gasps. Shouts. Chaos erupts.
"SILENCE!" The Queen's voice booms with magical amplification. The room quiets instantly. She turns to me, fury barely contained beneath her composed mask. "You dare claim my sister's name? You dare pretend to be the princess who died three years ago?"
"I didn't die. You tried to kill me. You cursed me instead. Made me forget who I was. Turned me into a weapon to murder your enemies." I'm shaking but I don't stop. "And before that, you murdered my mother. Your own sister. To steal her throne."
"Lies," the Queen hisses. "Delusional lies from a cursed mind."
"Then let me prove it." I raise my hands, calling on every piece of magic I've recovered, every anchor, every fragment of power. "I call on the ancient right of Truth Revealing. Let my memories speak for themselves."
Golden light erupts from my palms.
The spell activates.
And suddenly, everyone in the room is experiencing my memories.
They see: My mother, Queen Elara, ruling with wisdom and kindness. The kingdom at peace.
They see: Meridian, bitter and ambitious, whispering poison into every ear.
They see: My mother's final dinner. The wine. And worst of all—they see me, a child, sleepwalking, pouring powder into the goblet.
The crowd gasps in horror.
"You see?" the Queen's voice cuts through the vision. "The princess herself admits it. She killed her own mother!"
"Keep watching," I grit out, pushing more power into the spell.
The memory continues: Young-me pouring the powder, tears streaming down my sleeping face. And behind me, invisible to child-me but visible to the memory spell: Queen Meridian, her hands glowing with blood-magic, controlling my movements like a puppet.
The truth snaps into focus.
The Queen made me do it.
"No!" Meridian screams. "Those are fabrications! Memory magic can be falsified!"
"Not when it's sealed with blood-truth." Theron steps forward, pulling out a document that glows with red magic. "This is Queen Elara the First's final letter. Written in her own blood. Impossible to forge. And it details everything—including how she discovered Meridian was planning to murder her and frame her own daughter."
He throws the letter into the air, and it unfurls, floating above the crowd. The words glow bright enough for everyone to read:
If you are reading this, I am dead. My sister Meridian has killed me. Protect my daughters. Avenge me. Do not let her keep the throne she stole.
The throne room explodes.
Nobles shouting. Guards drawing weapons—but not against us. Against each other. Some still loyal to Meridian. Others shocked by the revelation.
"ENOUGH!" The Queen stands, and her power fills the room—ancient, terrible, overwhelming. "You want to know the truth? Fine. I killed my weak, pathetic sister. I cursed her daughter. I murdered everyone who stood in my way. And I'd do it again. Because I saved this kingdom. Elara was driving us to ruin with her mercy and peace. I made us strong!"
"You made yourself a tyrant," I counter.
"I made myself a queen." She descends from her throne, magic crackling around her. "And you, little broken princess, will never take that from me. You're too damaged. Too tainted. You killed your own mother—even if I made you do it, the blood is still on your hands. Who would follow a queen like that?"
She's right. I can see it in the nobles' faces. Horror. Doubt. Even those who hate Meridian are looking at me with uncertainty.
I killed my mother. Even under a curse. That truth will follow me forever.
"You're right," I say quietly. "I can never undo what I did. But I can make sure you never hurt anyone else."
I pour everything I have into the modified memory spell. Not just broadcasting truth now. Trapping. Imprisoning.
The Queen realizes too late what I'm doing.
"No—"
The golden light wraps around her like chains. She screams, clawing at her own mind as I force her to experience every murder she's committed. Every betrayal. Every cruelty. Not just once, but over and over, in an endless loop.
She collapses, still screaming.
"What have you done?" someone in the crowd whispers.
"Trapped her inside her own guilt," I say. "She's alive. But she'll spend the rest of her days experiencing the pain she caused. That's her punishment."
"That's torture," a noble objects.
"That's justice."
The Queen lies on the floor, eyes open but unseeing, lost in the nightmare I've created for her.
I've won.
But I don't feel victorious.
I feel empty.
Theron touches my arm. "Elara? Are you alright?"
Before I can answer, Lyra screams.
I turn—
And the Queen's body is glowing. Red light, pulsing with her heartbeat.
No.
The failsafe.
If she dies—if her mind is gone—does the spell count that as death?
"Everyone with Ashenmere blood is going to die!" Lyra cries. "The failsafe is activating!"
The light spreads from the Queen's body, racing across the floor toward me and Lyra like wildfire.
We have seconds.
Theron grabs me. "Break the spell! Let her go!"
"If I let her go, she'll recover and kill us all!"
"If you don't, you and Lyra die!"
The red light is almost upon us.
I look at my sister—sixteen years old, terrified, about to die because of me.
I look at Theron—the man who saved me, who I'm just starting to love again.
I look at the Queen—trapped in the hell I created, but still dangerous.
Three seconds to choose.
I make my decision.
I throw myself at the red light—
And absorb it.
All of it. The failsafe. The death magic. The curse meant to kill everyone with Ashenmere blood.
I pull it into myself, and it's agony. Like swallowing fire and ice and darkness all at once.
I'm dying.
But Lyra isn't.
"ELARA!" Theron catches me as I fall.
Everything's getting dark. Cold.
"Did it work?" I whisper. "Is she safe?"
"Yes. You did it. You saved her." He's crying. "But you're dying. Elara, please—"
"Tell Lyra—" I cough. Blood. "Tell her to be a better queen than I could have been."
"You're not dying! Stay with me! ELARA!"
But I'm already slipping away.
The last thing I see is Theron's face.
The last thing I think is: At least I saved someone this time.
Then—
Nothing.
I wake up.
Which is impossible.
I'm lying in a bed. Soft sheets. Sunlight streaming through windows.
I sit up, confused. My body feels fine. No pain. No failsafe magic eating me alive.
"You're awake."
I turn.
A woman sits beside my bed. She looks exactly like me, but older. Maybe fifty. Wearing royal robes and a crown.
My mother.
Queen Elara the First.
"Mom?" I whisper.
"Hello, my star." She smiles, and it's warm and real and everything I've missed for three years. "We need to talk. Because you're not dead. Not quite. You're trapped between life and death, and you have a choice to make."
"What choice?"
Her expression grows serious.
"You absorbed the failsafe. Death magic powerful enough to kill an entire bloodline. It's inside you now. You can let it consume you—accept death, and finally rest. Or—"
"Or?"
"Or you can take that magic and transform it. Death magic can become life magic if you're strong enough. If you're willing to pay the price."
"What price?"
My mother takes my hand.
"If you return to life, you'll carry that death magic forever. It will mark you. Change you. You'll never be fully human again. Part of you will always belong to death. And you'll see things—terrible things—that no one should see. The dead. Their pain. Their regrets."
"But I'll live? Lyra will have her sister?"
"Yes."
"And Theron?"
My mother smiles sadly. "You'll have your love. But know this, Elara—the path back is harder than the path forward. Death is easy. Life is the real curse."
I think about everything I've lost. Everything I've done. The blood on my hands and the guilt in my heart.
Then I think about Lyra's smile. Theron's laugh. The kingdom that needs healing.
"I choose life," I say. "Whatever it costs."
My mother kisses my forehead.
"Then wake up, my brave girl. And finish what you started."