CROWN OF THORNS

Zina didn't sleep.

Not because she couldn't—but because she shouldn't.

She sat by the fire until dawn, reading the scroll again and again until the ink no longer sat on the page—it shimmered beneath her skin. Lines from the ritual curled faintly across her palm like a secret branding, whispering in a language older than the house itself.

Outside, the palace didn't just breathe—it tensed, as if waiting to see what she'd become by morning.

And when morning came?

The house began to hum.

Not like a warning.

Like a summoning.

She wore black.

Not mourning black, but war black. No lace. No gold.

The kind of black that said, "I know what you've buried here. And I'm not afraid to dig."

When she stepped into the courtyard, the wind changed.

Kain stood alone, his cloak discarded.

For the first time, he didn't look like a king.

He looked like a man waiting to be judged by a woman who'd finally remembered how powerful she was.

> "You found the scroll," he said.

Not a question.

A sentence already passed.

Zina didn't slow.

> "You put it there."

Kain exhaled. "The house did."

> "But you didn't stop it."

A beat.

> "No."

He led her in silence through the West Wing, past corridors she'd never walked. Behind the Hall of Brides was a door she hadn't noticed before.

No guards.

No locks.

Just a crown carved into the stone—cracked down the middle.

Inside was a chamber of floating swords.

Hundreds.

All made of glass.

Some clear. Some crimson. Some obsidian.

They hovered midair like spirits caught mid-thought.

Each blade was etched with a name.

Zina stepped closer. Her breath fogged the glass near one.

> Esi.

Mei.

Tariro.

Eléna.

> "Your brides," she murmured.

> "These were the ones who tried to end me," Kain said. "Each one took the ritual further than the last."

> "And the house immortalized their failure."

She turned to him. "What happens if I don't fail?"

He didn't answer.

Memory of Fire

He reached for one sword—its hilt wrapped in obsidian vines—and touched the glass.

It flared.

And Zina was no longer in the room.

She was in a courtyard ringed with mirrors, red silk banners burning in the wind.

A woman stood at the center.

Zina recognized her instantly.

Eronna.

Drenched in crimson. Eyes gold. Hands lifted in fury.

She wasn't pleading.

She was casting.

> "May every mirror that watched us break," Eronna cried.

"May every name the house erased return!"

"By flame, by blood, by breath—I call you home."

The sky split open. Glass rained down like divine punishment.

And Kain—young, terrified—stood at the edge, sword drawn.

> "Please," he begged.

"Don't do this."

> "You chose the house," she whispered.

> "So I'll let the house choose you."

The memory shattered.

Zina staggered back in the chamber, gasping.

The sword dropped to the ground.

Kain didn't move.

> "She almost won," he said.

Zina turned. Her voice cracked.

> "And?"

Kain's voice was quiet. Broken.

> "I killed her."

Her silence was louder than any scream.

Kain looked at her then—not with power, but penance.

> "The house made me choose. She or the throne. She or the kingdom. I chose wrong."

> "I chose survival."

> "And I lost her anyway."

Zina's eyes filled, but she didn't let the tears fall.

> "That's not survival," she said.

"That's surrender dressed in royal robes."

The Mirror Storm Begins

Zina walked into the center of the chamber.

The sigils on her skin pulsed once—then ignited.

Light burst from her hand.

Every sword turned toward her.

Not dropped.

Turned.

As if they'd been waiting.

Glass shimmered. Names glowed. The air thickened.

> "You're not ready," Kain said.

> "That's the difference between me and them," Zina replied.

"They wanted to survive you.

I want to end you."

She lifted her hand.

The scroll's final lines burned through her bones:

> "To awaken the throne forgotten, she must command the storm."

Wind rose in a spiral.

The swords began to crack—first one.

Then five.

Then all.

Shattering in midair, raining stardust and blood-light around her.

Kain shielded his eyes.

Zina didn't flinch.

Her gown billowed, black against light.

She wasn't a bride anymore.

She was something older.

Something Eronna had once begun to become.

The chamber shook.

A voice whispered from the walls:

> "She rises again."

> "The weapon. The wound. The mirror."

Zina turned to Kain.

> "The house made you choose once," she said.

> "Now I'll give it a choice."

> "Release the queens… or break."

Kain took a step forward.

But the ground beneath him cracked.

The house trembled.

Zina smiled faintly.

> "Looks like it's already begun."