“Through reason, dominion!”
The Emberkeep legion thundered from their ranks, the chant rolling like a storm through the stands.
I knew that vow too well, it had been etched into me since childhood, murmured in the Solenhart court, stitched into the crest I once wore with pride. It was more than words. It was a legacy. Expectation. A promise I no longer wished to keep.
One by one, the Moonveil and Sunheart students stepped forward to offer their blood to the Siren, each sent to their destined legion. Some walked with confidence, faces lifted toward the sigils glowing above the arena. Others faltered, trembling beneath the weight of hundreds of eyes. The air was thick with magic and nerves, every drop of blood stirring ripples across the pond’s surface.
The red-haired twins I had seen chuckling in the courtyard were the first students called to the Dragontail legion. They whooped and chanted with their new legion, their joy echoing through the arena.
“Strength above fear!”
“Strength above fear!”
“Strength above fear!”
I saw the spark in Shakari’s eyes as she squeezed my hand once, excitement shimmering like firelight.
The line moved quickly, and with every name called, the weight of being last pressed harder against my chest. Shakari still stood beside me; her fingers laced through mine. Her turn would come just before mine, but she didn’t seem nervous, only eager.
Time passed, seeming like hours, and then…
“Shakari Puig.”
She let my hand go gently and turned with a confident smile that made her seem carved from sunlight itself. There was never any doubt where she belonged. I didn’t need sight to know she was destined to thrive in Dragontail.
Without hesitation, Shakari picked up the blade and drew it across her palm, holding her hand above the Siren’s pond so her blood fell into the water. The reaction was instant. The Dragontail sigil ignited behind her in a blaze.
The legion roared to their feet, voices colliding in thunder:
“Strength above fear!”
Repeatedly, until the arena seemed to vibrate with it, less a chant, more a war cry.
I clapped for her, pride swelling in my chest. But before I could even breathe in her victory, the next name shattered the air.
“Thea Solenhart.”
My heart lurched. My hands went cold.
Each step toward the arena’s center grew heavier, eyes and expectations pressing against me. The Siren waited, ancient, scaled and utterly still. Her eyes were deeper than any sea, seeing not just me but everything within me. Every flicker of fear. Every buried memory. Every fracture in the mask I wore.
I reached for the dagger on the pedestal, my fingers trembling as I wrapped them around the hilt, trying to hide how badly my hand was shaking but I knew it showed. I lifted the dagger; the metal was cool against my palm.
I was about to do what I’d been taught—to make the neat little cut along the fingertip, precise and restrained, the way all Solenhart royals and hopeful Emberkeep nobles were trained to. That was the lesson drilled into me at the Glass Castle:
Intention begins with the offering. The wound must be controlled. The blood must be measured. A princess must never spill more than she intends. A performance of control and discipline masquerading as honor. But something inside me shifted, cracked opened.
What if my father and Shakari were right?
What if the Siren could rewrite what tradition insisted was already sealed? What if my intention did matter, even as a royal?
What if there was a future where I fought for the island, not presided over it? A life where magic wasn’t rationed, wasn’t political, wasn’t bound to a throne. A life where Thea Solenhart didn’t have to be a princess at all.
The world around me seemed to hold its breath.
And in that suspended moment, I made a choice.
Not the choice for which I was bred.