The plan was set for us before we ever learned how to walk.

We barely know each other, and yet since birth we’ve been told we are the ruin of the other’s existence.

I am Prince Cassiel Viremont. Son of King Soren Viremont and Queen Elyra of Valmireth.

Our kingdom has been divided for centuries.

On one side, the Aethryns — those blessed with dominion over the tangible world. The elements. The sky. The sea. Stone. Flame. Storm. Power you can see. Power that bends nature itself.

Those like me.

On the other side, the Noctyra — those who command what cannot be touched. The mind. Perception. Illusion. Manipulation. Fear. Power that seeps beneath your skin and makes you question what is real.

Those like her.

I was powerful young. Too young. Father realised quickly that my gift was not simply control.

I could project.

I could take the abilities of any Aethryn around me and wield them as if they were my own. Multiply them. Amplify them.

It made me one of the strongest our kingdom had ever seen.

Then there was her.

She is my mirror — but of the unseen. She can project the powers of the Noctyra the same way I do the Aethryns.

Which makes her just as dangerous.

“They are not to be trusted,” Father always said.

Ultimately, we were raised with one expectation.

Be stronger. Be ruthless. Survive.

From childhood we were forced into the Trials — annual triads where gifted children proved their strength. We saw each other once a year. And every time, we were made to fight.

I fought to win.

She fought like she was furious at the world for making her.

She was two years younger than me. Which meant when I was conscripted at sixteen into Atheris School of War — the institution that shapes Valmireth’s elite warriors — she was still a child.

Atheris does not show mercy.

You train. You bleed. You either become exquisite weapons…

Or you die.

By eighteen, I had been there two years when she arrived.

Now I’ve survived four.

Two hundred and eighty-nine of us began in my year.

Twenty-two remain.

The rest are dead. Because weakness “endangers the kingdom.”

Before one of us can graduate as an official warrior of Valmireth, there is one final expectation.

One must prove supremacy.

By killing the other.

My final Trial. Father’s final demand.

I bear the scar from her dagger across my chest from when we were children — a reminder that she has never been weak.

I am told I am beautiful. Dirty dandelion-blonde hair. Storm-dark blue eyes. Tanned skin. Built from years of relentless training. A charming smile that masks calculation.

None of it matters.

Because when I watch her fight, it is fucking breathtaking.

And when I fight her, it is the only time I feel fully alive.

She does not crave the crown. She does not want power. She wants safety — something neither of us has ever been given.

I was raised to hate her.

The kingdom screams it.

The court expects it.

My father demands it.

And yet—

Tonight, we are not at war.

Tonight is the Atheris Masquerade Ball. Hosted by my parents. A rare night where we pretend we are not being shaped into executioners.

Masks everywhere.

How fitting.

I look around the ballroom.

Two hundred and sixty-six dead.

All for “strength.”

And then I see her.

White silk clings to her frame, sharp and elegant, not a trace of weakness in sight.

And all I can think is—

One day the world will demand I kill her.

And worse than that…

I don’t think I can.

For now, I take a glass of champagne and walk toward her, smooth and composed as I have been trained to be.

I hand it to her, leaning close enough that only she can hear me.

“Dance with me,” I murmur softly. “Just this once. Let’s pretend they don’t exist tonight.”