Author's Preface
Snow had been falling over Gildan for hours. Atop a steep hill crowned by a frozen waterfall stood the palace. Its porcelain walls gleamed faintly under the storm, lavender domes rising pale against the darkening sky. Inside, it was quiet. Too quiet. Only the hushed shuffle of maids and the tense stillness of knights broke the silence. All other sound came from the farthest reaches of the palace. Behind a set of heavy wooden doors, the young empress labored.
Jamila sat in a steaming spring, clad only in a thin shift. The wet fabric clung coolly to her skin despite the heat surrounding her. Her short white waves clung damply to her face and neck. Sweat covered her body as she fought wave after wave of pain. A groan escaped her lips, her lavender eyes filling with tears as her body strained. Nimue dabbed the sweat from Jamila’s brow with a cloth. Jamila was sure she had given the older woman more gray hairs in her lovely butterscotch blonde hair.
Nimue’s pale blue eyes watched her with concern, but she made no move to help beyond wiping the sweat from her brow. Jamila tried not to let it hurt. Thankfully, everything else hurt more.
“You are doing well, Your Majesty,” Nimue murmured, offering a soft, steady smile. Jamila let out a shaky breath that might have been a laugh if she had the strength for it. Every inch of her burned and ached. The smell of blood clung in the warm damp air. Even just breathing took effort. And this was well?
“ᚠᚢᚲᚴ.” (Fuck.) she whimpered, the Sullivian curse slipping out before she could stop it. Nimue frowned, but she ignored the scolding look.
The word unlocked memories she had been desperately trying not to think about. A towering stone wall, the hush of trees swaying in the wind, the smell of dirt, grass and dried herbs. Finally, a man with ruby eyes and deep brown skin, warm undertones catching the light. He was more beautiful than any jewel she had ever seen.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as the memory sharpened. If he were here, he would be holding her hand, his eyes anxious like a lost puppy’s… before barking questions at Nimue. He would be swearing too, tapping his foot. But he would also be praising her, comforting her, running a hand through her damp hair and brushing his fingers over her rounded ears.
But he wasn’t here. She was on her own.
“I… I don’t know if I can do this, Nimue…” Jamila sobbed, exhaustion dragging heavily at her limbs. Nimue’s lips pressed into a thin line. She took Jamila’s hand for the first time and gave it a firm, grounding squeeze.
“You are strong enough, stronger than you believe,” she said quietly. “You will not break here.”
Jamila opened her mouth to say something, but another contraction crashed against her, stealing whatever reply she wanted to give. The contractions came and went until time itself seemed to lose meaning. She bet even Myrios, God of time, would lose track of it in her place. By the time night fully claimed the sky, Jamila’s cries had begun to fade, replaced instead by the thin, fragile wail of a small, new life. Relief swept through the chamber like a held breath finally released.
Jamila barely noticed. She stared down at the child in her arms, dazed and almost disbelieving.
“Are… are all babies usually this wrinkly?” she asked hoarsely, glancing up at Nimue.
A small smile touched Nimue’s lips, though there was something strangely sad about it. “Sometimes.”
Against Jamila’s porcelain skin, the child’s was deeper, richer in tone. Her ears, small and delicate, tapered to soft points rather than the rounded curve of a Gildan’s. Her hair was platinum, touched faintly with blush. The most unmistakable trace of her mother was the lavender of her eyes.
Jamila frowned slightly at her daughter’s eyes. She had been hoping they would be ruby. The disappointment lasted only a moment before her smile returned.
“You look so much like your father…” Her voice cracked as she traced each tiny finger, each perfect toe, committing them to memory. For a moment, the world beyond that small, warm weight in her arms ceased to exist. With her pinky, she carefully traced the delicate point of one tiny ear.
A soft clearing of the throat shattered the illusion. Jamila looked up. Nimue stood before her, holding a delicate band of clear crystal. The smile vanished from Jamila’s face.
“Do… do we really nee—”
“It is for both your safety… unless you want to be burned as a witch,” Nimue said in her matter-of-fact tone. For a moment, Jamila didn’t move. Every part of her hated it. But she couldn’t risk her child’s life. Or her own. She sighed before reaching for the bracelet.
“I’m so sorry…” she whispered.
Nimue pricked Jamila’s finger with a safety pin. Jamila smeared the bead of blood along the inside of the bracelet. The crystal pulsed faintly. Then with careful hands, she slipped the bangle around her daughter’s ankle. The change was immediate.
The child’s skin lightened. The soft points of her ears rounded, smoothing into something safer. Something the kingdom would accept. Jamila’s expression tightened as she reached out, gently brushing her daughter’s ear once more. Beneath her touch, she could still feel the faint shape of what had been hidden.
At least that remained.
A sudden commotion echoed from beyond the chamber doors, raised voices, hurried footsteps, someone shouting her name. Jamila’s eyes widened as she heard an eerily familiar voice. She looked to Nimue, her heart thundering in her chest.
“You said he wasn’t due home for another week.” Her lips quivered. Nimue simply sighed.
“Change of plans, I suppose.”
Jamila shook her head. He sounded so angry. She wasn’t ready. She was tired. Cold. How could she possibly face him now? Nimue grabbed her face and forced Jamila to meet her eyes.
“You decided this… you must see it through.”
Nimue released her and Jamila stared blankly ahead for a moment. Then, she closed her eyes briefly, exhaustion weighing heavily on her limbs. She allowed that exhaustion for a heartbeat before steeling her expression.
She nodded toward Nimue. “Take her…” Jamila said weakly.
Nimue gathered the child without question, but a flicker of repulsion crossed her face. Jamila pretended not to notice. Nimue would love her eventually. Or… at least accept her.
Jamila took a deep breath. Nimue was right. She had chosen this path. She understood the risks. She was no longer a child. She was nineteen now. An adult. And she could manage him, at the very least.
At least, that’s what she had to tell herself.
She rose from the spring, aided by waiting hands, and made her way to a nearby stone bench. Her legs trembled beneath her weight, and her abdomen burned with every step, but she forced herself onward. Sitting did little to ease the pain, but it would have to do.
A robe was wrapped around her shoulders. It didn’t help much. She still felt cold and exposed. Then the door crashed open.
Jamila’s breath caught.
Jaziel stood in the doorway, panting heavily. His military garb was coated in mud and darkened with melted snow. His white hair lay damp and flat against his head, and small scratches marked his face and hands.
Then his lavender eyes met hers. Jamila’s stomach dropped.
Oh… he’s mad mad…
The last time she’d seen him this angry was when she’d snuck out of the palace after forgetting she’d promised to watch his sparring match.
Jaziel sighed and ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to make it appear neater. The movement gave Jamila a moment to really look at him. Ten months had changed him more than she expected. He was still unmistakably her twin, with the same white hair and lavender eyes, but his jaw had sharpened and his frame had grown noticeably stronger since he’d left.
He looked calmer now, but Jamila could still see the flames behind his eyes.
Jaziel started toward her, but froze only a few steps inside the room. His eyes widened in shock as he took her in, his nose scrunching slightly at the scent of blood. Jamila wanted to cover herself. Instead, she squared her shoulders, ignoring her body’s protest at the movement.
She smiled shakily and gripped the bench, trying to will the pain into the stone instead.
“Welcome home, Jaz,” she said quietly. Concern flickered across his features for a heartbeat before the perfect shell slipped back into place. Their father’s face.
“Home?” His voice came out rough, uneven. “Am I even allowed to still call it that?”
“What else would it be?” The confusion slipped into her voice before she could hide it. Jaziel’s jaw tightened. Whatever calm he’d managed to gather shattered.
“How could you…” His voice trembled now. His gaze swept over her again, this time stopping at her incredibly short hair. His hands curled into fists, trembling at his sides.
“Empress?” he scoffed, the title bitter on his tongue. Jamila nearly flinched.
“Father…” Jamila paused briefly, struggling to steady her breathing. “Father gave the kingdom to me while you were gone.”
She lied.
Jaziel’s eyes darkened. “You pretended to be me,” he hissed.
“And if I did? I have lavender eyes just as you do! I have as much right to the throne as you!” Her voice rose, and Jaziel stared at her for a moment. Then a disbelieving laugh escaped him.
He closed the distance between them quickly. He stopped barely a breath away and reached toward her face. Jamila fought the urge to flinch, forcing herself to glare back at him instead. He grabbed a strand of her short hair and twirled it between his fingers.
“A right, you say…” His voice was low as he examined the strand between his fingers.
“Yet you had to cut our hair and pretend to be me to gain that right?” His eyes finally met hers as he cocked his head. Jamila slapped his hand away. Pain shot through her at the movement, but she refused to let herself react.
Then she felt something warm slip down her cheek.
Jaziel stumbled back slightly. Jamila’s eyes widened at the sensation on her cheek.
Am I crying?
No. She would not wipe at them. She needed to continue. To explain.
“Firstly, it’s my hair. I may do with it as I wish.” Her gaze was level as she took her brother in. Jaziel gritted his teeth and opened his mouth to retort, but Jamila pressed a hand to his chest.
“Secondly, I did what I needed to.” Her voice was calmer than she felt. She didn’t want any of this. She didn’t care if Jaziel was emperor. But everything had changed the moment she discovered she was pregnant.
Too much of their father’s hatred had already taken root in Jaziel. She couldn’t tell him, couldn’t explain back then. So she did the only thing she could think of.
She took the decision away from him completely.
By then, their father’s sight had almost completely abandoned him. It hadn’t been difficult to fool him, especially with Nimue whispering in his ear. She turned her gaze away from Jaziel. No matter what she told herself, the memory still tasted sour. Jaziel pushed against her hand, forcing it away from his chest, and glared down at her once more.
“You will return it to me,” Jaziel said, his voice cold despite the emotion burning behind it. Jamila lifted her gaze to meet his. For most of her life, Jaziel had been the only person she could trust completely. The one person she had always believed in.
Her older twin.
She smiled up at him and pulled the dagger from his belt.
“Then kill me,” she said, shoving the handle into his chest.
Jaziel’s eyes widened as his fingers slowly wrapped around the leather hilt. Jamila raised her chin, exposing her throat. A small, pained grunt escaped her at the movement. Nimue gasped quietly but froze when Jamila shot her a warning glance.
Jaziel clenched his teeth. The dagger trembled as he brought it to her pale throat. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The blade trembled against her throat as Jamila stared back at him without moving. Then, slowly, she closed her eyes. The blade nicked her throat.
A single crimson trail slipped down her neck.
Jamila’s heart raced as she willed her hands to stop trembling, to no avail. She stole a peek at Jaziel from beneath her white lashes. His face had gone pale. He seemed frozen in place. When his eyes met hers, horror crossed his features.
Jaziel let out a sharp, frustrated scream and hurled the dagger away from both of them. Metal clattered violently across the stone floor. He panted for a moment, his whole body shaking as tears streamed down his face.
“Gods damn it, Jam! Fight back, scream, cry! Don’t just stand there and let me put a blade to your throat!” He ran a trembling hand through his hair. Jamila lowered her chin but flinched at the sharp pain of the scratch. She reached up in a daze and touched her throat.
There was more blood than she expected.
He pulled off his jacket and threw it to the ground before removing his ascot. With shaking hands, he wrapped it around her neck. The pale material quickly stained red. Once he finished, his eyes remained fixed on the blood staining the fabric.
“I… I almost killed you.” He stumbled back a step before collapsing to his knees, his eyes wide with horror. His hands gripped her shift as more tears fell.
Jamila bit her lip but couldn’t bring herself to say anything. What right did she have to comfort him when she’d put him in this position in the first place? Then, like the last of his strength had finally given out, he lowered his head into her lap.
Jamila let out a quiet, shaking breath she had not realized she’d been holding.
“Why…” he choked out. “Why would you do this to me?”
Jamila’s body stiffened for only a moment. Then, slowly, carefully, she lifted a trembling hand and ran her fingers through his hair, just as she had when they were children. The movement sent pain through her body. But she refused to stop.
Not yet.
“I would have given you anything else,” he murmured. “I would have torn the world apart for you…” His voice trembled. He kept his face buried against her lap.
“I know… I couldn’t let you do that…” The words came quietly. He glanced up at her, confusion written across his face, before closing his eyes again.
Silence settled heavily between them.
Until a small, fragile whimper cut through it.
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