The royal castle was quiet at night dangerously so.
Not the peace of rest, but the silence of monsters holding their breath. The kind of hush that made your bones tighten and your heartbeat feel too loud. Gailia moved through it like smoke, barefoot and silent, a servant's dress hanging off her too thin frame. Her once golden hair was braided tight, tucked beneath a plain scarf. Her hands trembled from more than the chill.
She had just watched the ritual.
From behind a cracked wall panel near the throne room's dungeon steps, she'd crouched in darkness as Queen Lorelei screamed with joy and the Bone Seer painted ancient runes in blood. Gailia had clutched the tiny crystal embedded in her necklace, her lifeline, her signal, her hidden eye.
It had caught everything.
The virgin sacrifices. The cursed heart. The spell. The flash of Rhiannan's body mid transport. The way Lorelei had shrieked like a demon in heat. The rage when it all failed.
She had filmed it all.
And when the circle fizzled, she'd fled into the tunnels, slipping through back servant halls known only to those beaten into knowing them. She uploaded the footage to the encrypted crystal transmitter hidden beneath the floorboard of the old stable cellar. She whispered her passcode.
And she prayed it reached Zaiya Bloodrage.
Hours later, huddled in the hidden kitchen with three other rebellion-aligned servants, Gailia bit into a hunk of warm bread and actually smiled. The baker's wife, Mira patted her arm. Old Thom, the gardener, passed her a stolen apple, his gnarled hands gentle.
"We saw it," Mira said. "The footage. Zaiya sends her thanks."
Gailia's throat clenched. "She's okay?"
"She is," Thom nodded. "And she knows what you've done."
For the first time in weeks, Gailia exhaled without fear.
Together, the little group toasted with mugs of watered wine and stale cheese. They whispered of freedom. Of rebellion. Of hope.
But later, when the others were asleep and the hidden pantry door was bolted tight behind her, Gailia curled up beneath the old flour sacks and broke.
Silently. Fiercely.
She didn't sob....she'd learned not to. But tears slid down her cheeks and pooled against the stone floor. Her body ached in places that had never fully healed. Her mind whispered all the names they used to call her. Whore. Monster. Useless. Weak.
She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked.
"I'm not weak," she whispered.
But gods, she was so lonely.
Every night, she dreamed of her sister's voice. Rhiannan...wild and powerful and unapologetically free. And every morning, Gailia woke up to chains on her soul. She missed touch. She missed laughter. She missed being seen.
She missed the idea of being loved for more than the shape of her body.
When the stars began to fade into dawn, Gailia crawled to the broken window and dropped to her knees. Her skin was cold. Her hope was frayed.
But she prayed anyway.
"Please, Goddess Nythera," she whispered, "bring her here. Let her come. Let her burn this fucking place to the ground."
She pressed her forehead to the stone.
"I'm still here. I'm still helping. But I don't know how much longer I can take this."
A wind moved through the tower window. Soft. Cool. Like fingers on her face.
She didn't imagine it.
And in that sacred silence, Gailia smiled through her tears and whispered,
"Come for us, sister. We're waiting."
Zaiya Bloodrage didn't flinch when the footage started.
She stood tall in the war room beneath headquarters, arms crossed, one boot up on the edge of the map table as the crystal projector cast the ritual into the air like a living nightmare.
The screams echoed. The runes burned. The Siren Queen danced in blood and madness while the Bone Seer smeared a still beating heart across the circle like it was goddamn paint.
And then....Rhiannan. Her form flickering through the veil, mid summoning, ripped from the spell at the last second by a wave of divine force so violent, it cracked the projection.
A god's hand.
Nythera had interfered.
But this time, Zaiya didn't curse the goddess for meddling. No...she bowed her fucking head in respect.
Because that act? That one moment? It lit a fire across the world.
"She sent it," Barrik said from beside her, voice low, gruff. "The Princess, Gailia."
Zaiya nodded, jaw clenched. "She's still in the belly of the beast."
"She's got bigger balls than most men I've ever met," Barrik muttered, folding his arms.
Zaiya just smiled.
"Send it," she said. "Everywhere."
By morning, Faenet was on fire.
The footage hit every major scroll feed. Pirate channels. Black market data threads. Magical network loops embedded in runes and song and whispered code.
đź’¬THE ROYAL FAMILY PERFORMED BLOOD MAGIC.
đź’¬VIRGINS SLAUGHTERED. A CURSED FAE HEART.
đź’¬THEY TRIED TO ABDUCT THE PROPHECY BEARER.
đź’¬AND FAILED.
The people didn't riot.
Not yet.
But in marketplaces, whispers began.
In taverns, drunkards stopped laughing.
In brothels and schools and war camps and forest communes, heads turned toward the rebellion.
Toward Zaiya.
Back in the rebel command chamber, maps were shifting. Flags pinned. Numbers growing.
Ten thousand. Then twenty. Then thirty.
Dwarves. Outcast fae. Exiled shifters. Magic-born who'd lost their homes. Pirates tired of licking royal boots. Mothers whose sons never came home from "volunteer service."
And still, Zaiya didn't smile.
Not yet.
She knelt at the map's edge and pressed a dagger into the center of the royal territory.
"She's coming," she said, barely above a whisper.
Barrik grunted behind her. "Rhiannan?"
"She'll burn the fucking castle down. But we'll be there to pick the bones clean."
Outside, soldiers trained in silence. Spells were tested. New recruits whispered oaths into the dirt.
The rebellion wasn't loud.
It didn't shout.
It sharpened its blades in the dark.
And when the gods gave the signal...
It would bleed the crown dry.