Chapter 42

The Sister Who Stayed Behind

Seraphine found her just after midnight.

The eastern palace gardens had gone quiet hours ago beneath heavy snowfall and silver lantern light. Most nobles remained trapped inside council chambers arguing over kingdoms, bloodlines, and whether Lyra now qualified as political catastrophe or divine inheritance.

Lyra no longer cared.

At least not tonight.

She stood alone beside the frozen reflecting pool near the southern garden arches, wrapped in a dark cloak while snow drifted softly across moonlit stone paths.

The silence felt necessary after the council session.

After Rowan kneeling.

After realizing revenge didn’t heal nearly as much as loneliness promised it would.

“You didn’t even look at me in there.”

Seraphine’s voice carried quietly through the snow.

Lyra closed her eyes briefly.

Of course this conversation finally arrived now.

She turned slowly.

Seraphine stood several feet away beneath the lantern glow wearing pale winter silks completely unsuited for the cold. Her blonde hair had partially fallen loose from its pins sometime during the evening, and exhaustion shadowed her expression hard enough to make her look younger suddenly.

Not softer.

Just tired.

“What exactly was I supposed to say to you?”

The question came calmer than Lyra expected.

That seemed to upset Seraphine more.

“I tried to help you.”

There it was.

The sentence that always arrived after betrayal.

Lyra laughed softly beneath her breath.

Not cruelly.

Just tired.

“You handed me back to the people who wanted to cage me.”

“They promised they wouldn’t hurt you.”

“You believed politicians.”

Seraphine flinched slightly.

Fair.

Snow settled quietly along the garden walls while distant wolves moved somewhere beyond the eastern palace grounds.

The bond pulsed faintly in Lyra’s chest.

Kael.

Far enough away to grant privacy.

Close enough to remain aware.

Seraphine crossed her arms tightly against the cold.

“You think this was easy for me?”

The bitterness beneath her voice caught Lyra off guard.

“All my life,” Seraphine continued quietly, “everything in the Vale pack revolved around you.”

Lyra stared at her in disbelief.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

The answer came instantly.

Emotionally.

Like something long buried had finally cracked open.

“You were the cursed daughter. The tragic one. The sacrifice.” Seraphine’s voice roughened slightly. “Everyone watched you constantly.”

“That wasn’t love.”

“No,” Seraphine whispered. “But it was attention.”

The honesty of it stunned the garden silent.

Lyra looked at her sister carefully then.

Really looked.

And for the first time—

she noticed the exhaustion.

The resentment.

The years of standing beside someone broken while quietly disappearing herself.

Seraphine laughed once shakily beneath her breath.

“You know what the worst part is?”

The snow continued falling softly around them.

“You still got the love story.”

The words landed harder than shouting would have.

Lyra’s chest tightened painfully.

Because suddenly she understood.

Not agreed with.

Understood.

“You think Kael fixes everything?”

Seraphine looked away.

“He looks at you like you’re the center of the world.”

The grief in her voice felt raw enough to touch.

Lyra thought of Kael kneeling in snow beneath silver firelight.

The prison ruins.

The way he crossed entire kingdoms for her without hesitation.

The terrible overwhelming devotion constantly pouring through the bond now no matter how hard he tried hiding it.

And suddenly—

she understood exactly why her sister envied it.

“I spent years trying to be easy to love,” Seraphine admitted quietly.

The vulnerability of the confession settled heavily between them.

“I smiled correctly. Said the right things. Played politics. Stayed useful.” Her eyes glistened faintly beneath the lantern light now. “And somehow you were still the one someone burned kingdoms for.”

Lyra’s breath caught softly.

Because beneath all the betrayal and bitterness—

that was the real wound.

Not power.

Not prophecy.

Love.

For one dangerous moment, sympathy almost softened her.

Then she remembered the silver shackles burning into her wrists.

The prison.

Kael tearing through soldiers in the snow trying to reach her before she disappeared forever.

“You still betrayed me.”

The sentence came quietly.

Final.

Seraphine’s face crumpled slightly at that.

Not dramatically.

Worse because she tried so hard to hide it.

“I know.”

No excuses this time.

No political explanations.

Just grief.

The garden remained silent afterward except for wind brushing softly through frozen trees.

Eventually Seraphine whispered:

“I thought if I controlled the situation first, maybe I’d matter for once.”

That hurt.

Because Lyra believed her.

But believing pain did not erase consequence.

Through the bond, Kael’s concern stirred faintly somewhere deeper inside the palace.

He felt her sadness.

Always now.

Lyra stepped backward slowly.

Distance returning carefully between them.

Seraphine looked suddenly panicked.

“Lyra—”

But Lyra shook her head gently.

Not angry anymore.

That was the worst part.

“I spent my whole childhood begging people to choose me,” she said softly. “I’m too tired to keep doing that with family too.”

The words broke something visibly inside Seraphine.

Snow gathered along the shoulders of Lyra’s dark cloak while silver marks glowed faintly beneath her skin like distant moonlight trapped under flesh.

For one brief second, she looked less like the lonely girl from the Vale territory and more like the ancient queen kingdoms now feared.

Untouchable.

Seraphine’s eyes filled finally.

“You’re really leaving me behind.”

Lyra held her gaze quietly across the snow-covered garden.

And for the first time in her life—

she didn’t rush to comfort someone who hurt her.

Instead, she turned away.

Cold winter air swept softly through the palace gardens while distant wolves howled somewhere beyond the eastern walls.

And Seraphine remained standing alone beneath the lantern light watching the sister she betrayed walk away without looking back.