The stars drip from above me.
Atop my horse, with the night sky stretched vast and endless, time does not feel real.
Out here, I do not feel the weight on my shoulders, not the crown, not the title.
When I am alone with Smoke beneath me, I almost remember what it feels like just to be me.
I stare into the heavens, wishing for more time, more moments where I am not an Empress, not fate’s puppet.
Just a woman breathing beneath the constellations.
The stars draw the same lines I see every day, the ones that bind everything together.
Every soul, every breath, every choice, all connected by threads that thrum with untapped power.
Each line hums the same truth: every person can do great things if only they choose to believe it.
Smoke shifts beneath me, muscles tensing.
Something in the air changes, too still, too sharp.
My body moves before my mind does.
I turn just in time to see the arrow slicing through the darkness.
I drop back in the saddle and swing down from Smoke’s side, boots sinking into the damp earth.
“Danthi,” I whisper, and my sword materializes in my hand, its edge catching the moonlight.
“I promise, I enjoy a fight more than you do.”
A man drops from the trees above, his form a shadow against starlight.
“Leave this forest, royal,” he warns. “This isn’t the place for you. I won’t miss again.”
His voice does not shake, but the weight behind it tells me the truth.
He does not mean it.
I sheath my sword slowly. “I am not the type of royal you think.”
His bow remains drawn, muscles taut, control absolute.
“All royals are the same.”
“Tell me,” I murmur, stepping closer, “if you truly believed that, would I not be dead by now?”
He hesitates. Just enough.
“Well?” I press, meeting his eyes, the arrow a breath away from my face.
“What makes you decide so quickly to hate every royal?”
“All royals would rather watch blood spill, as long as it is not theirs.”
“I do not want bloodshed,” I whisper. “Unless it is my own.”
He falters. “What?”
“The only blood that should be shed is mine,” I say, steady as stone. “If you would like to do that tonight, I will allow it.”
His bow lowers slightly. “Who are you?”
I reach out my hand. “Kathera.”
The moment our skin touches, I feel it, the electric pulse I thought would never be mine.
The connection threads through me like starlight.
I do not speak.
I send the word to his mind. Kathera.
His answer comes the same way, steady, sure, and terrifyingly familiar.
I am Lyrian.