The crown is heavier than I expected. Gold and sapphires press against my temples as the High Priest lifts it above my head. Three thousand faces watch from the cathedral below. Candles flicker against stained glass windows, casting colored light across marble floors. This is everything I've worked for. Three years of training. Three years of proving myself worthy. Three years of becoming the princess this kingdom deserves. "Princess Elara Moonstone," the High Priest announces, his voice echoing through the vaulted ceiling. "Do you swear to protect the realm of Valdoria with your life, your honor, and your sacred blood?" "I do," I say. My voice doesn't shake. I've practiced this moment a thousand times. The crown descends toward my head. Then the cathedral doors explode inward. Wood splinters. Stone cracks. Screams erupt from the crowd as guards rush forward, swords drawn. A figure stands in the doorway. Tall. Cloaked in black. Face hidden behind a silver mask that catches the candlelight like a blade. "Stop," the stranger says. His voice cuts through the chaos. Deep. Commanding. Familiar in a way that makes my chest tighten. The guards hesitate. The High Priest freezes, crown still hovering above my head. "That woman is not Princess Elara Moonstone," the stranger says, walking down the center aisle. "She's not even from Valdoria." My heart stops. "Seize him!" Lord Chancellor Vex shouts from his seat beside the throne. But the stranger doesn't run. He walks straight toward me, past guards who seem suddenly uncertain. Past nobles who whisper behind jeweled fans. He stops at the base of the dais. "Tell me, Princess," he says, and there's something cruel in how he says the word. "Do you remember your seventh birthday?" "I—" My mouth goes dry. "I don't—" "Your mother's name. Say it." I open my mouth. Close it. The answer should be there. Queen Isadora. Everyone knows that. But when I reach for the memory, there's only fog. "Your childhood home," he continues, climbing the steps. "The color of your bedroom walls. Your first pet's name. Your father's laugh." Each question is a knife. Each answer is missing. "Guards!" Vex screams. But the stranger is already beside me. Close enough that I can see my reflection in his silver mask. Close enough to smell leather and smoke and something else. Something that makes my head spin. "They erased your memories three years ago," he says quietly. "They took a girl with no past, no family, no one to miss her. They filled your head with lies and sold you to this throne." "That's insane," I whisper. But my hands are shaking. "Is it?" He reaches into his cloak. "Then explain this." He pulls out a letter. The paper is old, yellowed. But the handwriting— My handwriting. I know it like I know my own face. The loops of the letters. The way the ink smudges on certain words. "Read it," he says. My hands move without permission. I take the letter. Unfold it. *If you're reading this, they've already taken your memories. Don't trust the court. Don't trust Vex. Don't trust anyone who tells you you're a princess. Your real name is—* The letter ends there. Torn. "No," I breathe. "Guards, now!" Vex is on his feet, face purple with rage. The stranger grabs my wrist. His touch sends electricity up my arm. "You wrote yourself that letter the night before they wiped your mind," he says. "You knew what they were going to do. You tried to warn yourself." "This is a trick," I say, but my voice cracks. "Look at your left shoulder blade," he says. "There's a scar. Three inches long. Shaped like a crescent moon." My blood turns to ice. No one knows about that scar. I've never told anyone. It's hidden beneath my gowns, private, mine. "How do you—" "Because I was there when you got it," he says. "We were children. You fell from a tree trying to steal apples. I carried you home while you cried." The guards are closing in. Swords raised. Faces grim. "Come with me now," the stranger says, "or spend the rest of your life as their puppet." "I don't even know who you are!" He reaches up. Removes the mask. The face beneath steals my breath. Sharp cheekbones. Dark eyes. A scar running through his left eyebrow. And I know him. I don't know how. I don't know why. But every cell in my body recognizes this man. "My name is Kael," he says. "And three years ago, you were my wife."