Vincenzo's POV
"Don't you dare die on me!"
I'm screaming at Sera's unconscious face, my hands slippery with her blood. So much blood. It pools around us on the marble floor, spreading like dark wine. Her skin is turning gray. Her breathing is shallow and wet-sounding.
She's dying because of me. Because she pushed me out of the way. Because I couldn't see the assassin coming.
"WHERE IS THE DOCTOR?" I roar at the chaos around us. Guards are running everywhere, nobles are screaming, and King Aldric is collapsed on his throne again. Nobody knows what to do.
In my old life, I saw men die. I ordered deaths. I caused deaths. But watching Sera bleed out in my arms feels different. Wrong. Like the universe is punishing me for every terrible thing I've ever done by taking the one person brave enough to save me.
An old woman pushes through the crowd—a real physician this time, I hope. She has kind eyes and hands that move with confidence. She kneels beside me, examining Sera's wound.
"The blade missed her vital organs," the physician says, "but she's losing blood fast. We need to get her to the medical wing immediately."
"Then MOVE!" I try to lift Sera, but the physician stops me.
"You're injured too, Your Highness. You're bleeding from at least three wounds."
I look down. She's right. My arm is slashed open. My side is bleeding. I didn't even feel them during the fight. Adrenaline made me ignore the pain.
"I don't care about me." I gather Sera into my arms anyway. She's lighter than I expected, and even unconscious, her hand instinctively grips her sword. A warrior to her core. "Which way to the medical wing?"
The physician leads me through hallways that feel like they stretch forever. Every step makes Sera's blood drip onto the floor. Every breath she takes sounds weaker than the last.
"Stay with me, Scarred Lady," I whisper. Only she can't hear the nickname anymore. Can't stab me for using it. "You don't get to die before you keep your promise to kill me yourself."
We burst into a large room filled with beds and medical supplies. The physician directs me to lay Sera down on a table. Other healers rush over, cutting away her armor, cleaning the wound, working with urgent precision.
I step back, giving them space, but I can't make myself leave. My hands are shaking. Covered in her blood.
In my mafia life, I never shook. Not when I killed my first man at sixteen. Not when I watched enemies beg for mercy. Not even when Marco shot me.
But Sera dying for me? That makes me shake.
"Your Highness." A young healer approaches nervously. "We need to treat your wounds too."
"After her."
"But you're—"
"AFTER. HER." My voice comes out harsh, dangerous. The healer backs away quickly.
I watch them work on Sera. Stitching. Bandaging. Giving her medicine. She's so still. Too still.
"Will she live?" I ask the old physician.
"I don't know." Her honesty cuts deeper than any blade. "The next few hours will tell. If she survives the night, her chances improve. But right now..." She shakes her head sadly.
Fifty-fifty. Sera has a fifty-fifty chance because she saved me.
The door slams open. King Aldric stumbles in, supported by two guards. He looks worse than before—the poison is eating him alive from the inside. But his eyes are clear and sharp.
"Cassian." His voice is weak but commanding. "We need to talk. Now."
"I'm not leaving her."
"It wasn't a request." The King's tone hardens. "Your brother is in the dungeon confessing to crimes that could destroy this kingdom. The nobles are panicking. The guards don't know who to follow. And you—" He looks me up and down. "You're bleeding all over my medical wing. We need to discuss what happens next."
"What happens next is Adrian faces justice for treason, attempted murder, and poisoning his own father." I don't take my eyes off Sera's pale face. "Then we find everyone who helped him and make them pay."
"And who's going to do all that?" King Aldric asks quietly. "You? The wastrel prince everyone thinks is a drunk and a failure?"
The question hits like a slap. He's right. Even after exposing Adrian, even after fighting off twenty guards, the kingdom still sees me as Cassian the disappointment. One good day doesn't erase twenty-six years of being a drunk fool.
"I'll do whatever it takes." I finally turn to face my father. "I failed this kingdom before. I won't fail it again."
King Aldric studies me with an expression I can't read. "You're different. The servants say you've been different since you woke up three days ago. They say you move differently, talk differently, even look at people differently." He steps closer despite his weakness. "So tell me, Cassian—what changed?"
Everything. I died and stole your son's body. I'm a mafia boss pretending to be a prince. I'm a murderer trying to be a hero.
But I can't say any of that.
"I almost died," I say instead, which is technically true. "When you almost die, you either learn to live differently, or you don't deserve the second chance."
The King is quiet for a long moment. Then: "Adrian confessed to poisoning me. The palace physician confirmed there's poison in my blood. A slow-acting toxin that's been destroying my organs for months." His voice breaks slightly. "My own son was killing me."
"I'm sorry." And surprisingly, I mean it. Even though I barely know this man, even though he's not really my father, the pain in his voice is real.
"Don't be sorry. Be better." King Aldric straightens his shoulders, looking every bit the king he used to be. "I'm dying, Cassian. The physicians say I have perhaps three months left, maybe less. The poison's damage is irreversible."
Three months. This kingdom's king has three months to live, and his heir is a traitor in the dungeon.
"The Northern Territories," King Aldric continues. "They're starving because Adrian was diverting their food supplies and selling them to enemy kingdoms. Thousands are dying. The nobles there are corrupt. The military garrison is falling apart." He meets my eyes. "I'm sending you north to fix it. You have six months to turn the situation around. If you succeed, you prove you can rule. If you fail..."
"Adrian wins even from a cell," I finish. "Because the kingdom will demand a strong leader, and I'll still look like a failure."
"Exactly." The King's expression is grim. "This is your test, Cassian. Your chance to prove you've really changed. To prove you can save a dying territory when your own brother was destroying it."
A test. Of course it is. Even now, even after everything, I have to prove I'm worthy.
But he's not wrong. Words are cheap. Actions matter. In my mafia life, I built an empire by taking broken territories and making them profitable. The North is just another broken territory.
"I'll do it," I say. "But I need resources. Money for food supplies. Authority to remove corrupt nobles. And—" I glance at Sera on the medical table. "I need her."
"Lady Sera?" King Aldric looks surprised. "Why her?"
"Because she spent six months investigating Adrian while everyone thought she was just crying about a broken engagement. She's smart, strategic, and the only person in this palace who might actually trust me after today." I cross my arms. "Plus, she promised to kill me if I betray her. That's the kind of motivator I need."
The King almost smiles. "You really have changed." Then his face turns serious. "Very well. You'll leave for the North in three days. Take whatever resources you need. Take Lady Sera if she survives and agrees to go. But understand this, Cassian—if you fail, I'll name one of your cousins as heir before I die. You'll have nothing. No crown, no power, no future."
"Understood."
"Good." The King turns to leave, then pauses. "And Cassian? Whatever happened to you three days ago when you almost died—whatever made you different—hold onto it. That version of you is what this kingdom needs."
He leaves, supported by his guards, a dying king trying to save his dying kingdom.
I turn back to Sera. The healers have finished their work. She's bandaged, medicated, and breathing more steadily. But she still hasn't woken up.
The old physician approaches. "We've done all we can, Your Highness. Now we wait. If she wakes in the next twelve hours, she'll likely recover. If not..." She doesn't finish. She doesn't need to.
"Can I stay with her?"
"You should let us treat your wounds first."
"Then treat them here." I pull a chair next to Sera's bed and sit. "I'm not leaving."
The physician sighs but doesn't argue. She cleans and stitches my cuts while I watch Sera's chest rise and fall. Each breath is a small victory.
Hours pass. Night falls outside the windows. Healers come and go, checking Sera's vital signs, giving her medicine through a tube. I sit in the chair, refusing to sleep, watching her like if I look away even once, she'll slip away into death.
Around midnight, a guard enters. "Your Highness, Prince Adrian is requesting to see you."
"Tell him no."
"He says it's urgent. He has information about other conspirators—people who helped him. He'll only tell you."
It's probably a trap. Adrian trying to manipulate me one last time. But if there really are other conspirators, I need to know who they are before they strike again.
I look at Sera. Still unconscious. Still fighting.
"Fine." I stand, my body protesting every movement. "But I'm bringing guards. Lots of guards."
The guard leads me down to the dungeons. The stone corridors are cold and damp, lit by flickering torches. We pass cells filled with prisoners who watch me with hollow eyes.
Adrian's cell is at the end—the special one reserved for high-ranking traitors. Two guards stand outside. They unlock the heavy door, and I step inside.
Adrian sits on a stone bench, still wearing his blood-stained royal clothes. His wrist is twisted at an odd angle where I broke it. But he's smiling.
"Hello, little brother."
"You have five minutes." I keep my distance from the bars. "Talk."
"Straight to business. You really have changed." Adrian stands, walking to the bars. "I'll tell you about the other conspirators. But first, answer one question: Who are you really?"
My blood runs cold. "What?"
"You're not Cassian. Not the real Cassian." Adrian's eyes are too sharp, too knowing. "I watched you fight today. Watched you move, talk, strategize. That wasn't the drunk fool I've known for twenty-six years. That was someone else." He leans closer. "So who are you? What did you do with my pathetic little brother?"
My mind races. He can't know. It's impossible. Unless—
"I'm Cassian," I say firmly. "Just sober for once."
"Liar." Adrian's smile widens. "But I'll play along. For now. Here's what you need to know: I didn't work alone. There are five nobles in the court who helped me steal from the treasury. Three generals in the military who took bribes. And—" His voice drops to a whisper. "There's someone in the palace who's been poisoning Lady Sera for the past six months. Small doses. Making her sick, weak, easier to control."
"What?" Rage explodes through me. "Who?"
"That's the question, isn't it?" Adrian laughs. "Someone wanted the Blackthorn military alliance destroyed. Wanted Sera broken and helpless. It wasn't me—I had nothing to gain from it. So who benefits from the Blackthorn family losing power?"
My mind whirls through possibilities. Rival families. Enemy kingdoms. Political opponents.
"You're lying."
"Am I?" Adrian shrugs. "Check Sera's medical records. Ask the physicians why she's been mysteriously ill for months. Why she's been weaker than a trained warrior should be. Someone's been killing her slowly, Cassian. And when she wakes up—if she wakes up—whoever it is will probably try again."
Before I can respond, a bell starts ringing throughout the palace. Loud. Urgent. The alarm bell used for emergencies.
The guards outside Adrian's cell start shouting. Running footsteps echo through the corridors.
"FIRE!" someone screams. "FIRE IN THE MEDICAL WING!"
My heart stops.
Sera.
I run. My wounds tear open, bleeding again, but I don't care. I sprint through the dungeons, up the stairs, through hallways. Behind me, I hear Adrian's laughter echoing from his cell.
"Too late, brother! Too late!"
I burst into the medical wing and freeze.
The entire section where they moved Sera is engulfed in flames. Healers are evacuating patients, dragging them to safety. Smoke fills the air, choking and thick.
"WHERE IS LADY SERA?" I scream at a passing healer.
"Still inside! We couldn't reach her! The fire started right next to her room!"
No. No, no, no.
I grab a wet cloth, cover my face, and run straight into the burning corridor. The heat is incredible. The smoke makes my eyes water. I can barely see three feet ahead.
"SERA!" I shout, coughing. "SERA, WHERE ARE YOU?"
Through the smoke, I see her room. The door is blocked by fallen, burning beams. I can't get through.
But then I hear it—a weak cough from inside.
She's alive. Trapped in a burning room, but alive.
I grab one of the burning beams, ignoring the pain as it burns my hands. I pull with everything I have. The beam shifts. Another pull. It falls aside.
I kick open the door.
Sera is still on her bed, unconscious and helpless. The fire hasn't reached her yet, but smoke fills the room. In minutes, she'll suffocate.
I scoop her into my arms and turn back toward the exit—
And freeze.
Standing in the doorway, blocking my escape, is a figure in dark robes. Their face is covered by a hood. In their hand is a torch.
"Prince Cassian," the figure says in a distorted voice. "You should have stayed dead three days ago."
They throw the torch directly at me.