Chapter 5

Seraphina's lying on a chaise in her private chamber. Half a dozen healers are on their knees in front of her.

She's propped up on one elbow, exhaustion carved into every line of her face, patience clearly gone. "Well? Am I pregnant or not?"

"Without question, Your Majesty. Every sign points to a healthy pregnancy."

They say it in unison. Like a chorus.

Seraphina shoots upright. Her eyes go glassy. "Really?"

Her voice is shaking. Tiny. Careful — like she's holding something so fragile that breathing wrong would break it.

And I think — huh. So even someone like her can look this small.

She turns to me, remembering my words. "And? Is it stable?"

"Strong and steady, Your Majesty. Nothing to worry about."

She smiles. For one second, it's genuine. Then she looks at me and the smile turns to murder.

"Now that I'm carrying the King's heir, I really shouldn't have blood on my hands."

Pause.

"But God, you make me want to."

She snaps her fingers. Her men lunge at me, fingers digging into my arms.

I twitch one finger.

Seraphina doubles over screaming, clutching her stomach.

The healers rush in. Check her pulse. One by one, their faces drain white. They hit the floor.

"Your Majesty — please — we're losing the baby —"

She goes dead pale. She just found out she's pregnant. How can she already be losing it?

She looks at me. All the venom's gone. All the cruelty's gone. What's left is raw, naked terror.

“Do something! Now!”

"If you lose this baby — I'll kill everyone you love."

My nails are buried in my palms.

Everyone I've ever loved. That's the funniest thing she's ever said.

They're dead. All of them. She killed them.

I'm the only one who crawled out of that grave. And I crawled out for her.

I step forward. Dab a tincture on her wrists. Her color slowly comes back.

The healer checks again. Stable. Crisis over.

Here's the truth: I don't know the first thing about medicine. And Seraphina isn't pregnant.

The night she tried to burn me alive, I slipped a Mindworm inside her. A special one. It mimics every sign of pregnancy — fools every healer, even produces kicks in the later months.

But it also feeds. Day and night. Draining the host from the inside out.

And it answers to me. If I want her dead, she dies. One thought. That's all it takes.

But just Seraphina? That's not enough.

The men who actually butchered my people — they were her father and brother.

Her brother. Duke Seraph. Those thick, greasy hands of his running up and down my sister's tail. Ripping off scales like he was shucking corn. Scales and blood raining down while Caelia's face twisted in silent agony.

She never screamed. Not once. She clenched her jaw so hard she cracked her own teeth.

By the time she died, they were shattered.

I look at Seraphina's happy, hopeful face and feel something cold settle in my chest.

Every second of pain my sister felt — you're going to pay back a hundred times over.