The first thing I knew was that something was wrong with the ceiling.
I stared at it.
Dark timber.
Black stone.
A narrow seam running diagonally above the bed where I'd thrown a knife when I was sixteen and missed the target entirely.
I hadn't missed since.
My stomach dropped.
I knew this ceiling.
I knew this room.
I knew the faint smell of ash that never completely left the palace walls no matter how often servants scrubbed them.
Fire Kingdom.
My old chambers.
I sat up too quickly.
Pain struck behind my eyes.
"Fuck."
I pressed a hand against my temple.
The room tilted.
For a few seconds, I simply breathed.
Then memory came back.
Not cleanly.
Pieces.
Earth.
Emerald light.
Lyra's hand reaching for the relic at the exact same moment as mine.
Power splitting between us.
The Earth Goddess.
Mortimer returning.
Lyra.
Her hand in mine.
The fire behind her.
Her arms around me.
We'll make new memories.
My chest tightened.
Her lips.
Soft.
Warm.
Mine.
Then—
Nothing.
I opened my eyes.
No mountain.
No camp.
No Willow.
No Revik.
No Lyra.
Fire Kingdom.
I looked toward the window.
Morning light cut across the floor.
My boots sat neatly beneath a chair.
My coat hung over the back of it.
Not the coat I'd been wearing.
I stared.
Different clasp.
Black leather rather than travel-worn grey.
One of my palace coats.
I swung my legs from the bed.
My body felt...
normal.
Tired.
But normal.
No wounds.
No restraints.
No evidence I'd been dragged halfway across the continent unconscious.
I stood.
The floor was cold beneath my feet.
My sword rested against the wall.
Clean.
Oiled.
Exactly where I used to leave it.
I crossed the room slowly.
Someone had undressed me.
Changed me.
Put me into my own bed.
That wasn't impossible.
If I'd collapsed after the mountain, there would be more commotion.
Except—
Why?
How long had I been unconscious?
I reached instinctively inward.
Mortimer.
Nothing.
Not absence.
I knew the difference now.
Silence.
The bastard was there.
Somewhere.
I could feel the faint pressure of him behind everything.
Watching.
I gritted my teeth.
"Mortimer."
No answer.
Of course.
I dressed quickly.
Every movement sharpened my unease.
The shirt laid out for me was clean.
My belt already held the correct knives.
Someone had placed fresh gloves beside the wash basin.
There was water in the basin.
I touched it.
Warm.
Recently filled.
I looked toward the door.
No sounds from outside except the familiar rhythm of armored guards shifting position.
I opened it.
Two men immediately straightened.
"Your Highness."
They didn't look surprised.
That bothered me.
"Morning."
The guard on the right nodded.
"Good morning, Prince."
His tone was ordinary.
Too ordinary.
I studied him.
Older man.
Scar across his chin.
Fourth Palace Guard.
I knew him.
Kellan.
He had served my father longer than I'd been alive.
"How long was I asleep?"
The question came casually.
Or I hoped it did.
Kellan blinked.
"Forgive me?"
I kept my expression blank.
"Last night ran longer than expected."
Something eased in his face.
"Ah. Yes, Your Highness."
He almost smiled.
"You dismissed the last officers shortly after midnight."
Everything inside me went still.
I did not.
I leaned one shoulder against the doorway.
"Did I?"
Kellan's smile vanished as though he'd realized this might be some sort of test.
"Yes, Prince."
"Which officers?"
"Commanders Varek and Solren. Captain Hale as well."
I knew all three.
Military command.
Not men who visited my chambers for casual conversation.
"What did they want?"
Kellan hesitated.
"I wasn't inside, Your Highness."
Good answer.
I let silence sit between us.
He shifted.
"But Captain Hale mentioned the new patrol orders before they left."
New patrol orders.
I nodded once.
As though that meant something to me.
"Of course."
Kellan relaxed.
I stepped into the corridor.
"Breakfast."
"Your Highness?"
I glanced back.
"Have something sent to my study."
"Yes, Prince."
I walked away.
Slowly.
Measured.
Every instinct screamed at me to turn around and demand exactly what had happened.
I didn't.
Because if I didn't know what I'd done...
I needed to know who else did before anyone realized that.
The palace looked exactly as I remembered.
Black stone.
Red banners.
Morning light spilling through narrow windows.
Servants bowed when I passed.
Soldiers saluted.
No one stared.
No one whispered.
No one reacted as though the prince had just returned after being missing.
A maid stepped aside with a tray.
"Your Highness."
I passed her.
Then stopped.
"How long have I been back?"
Her face went pale.
Wrong question.
I corrected immediately.
"From the western grounds."
Confusion softened.
"Three days, Prince."
Three.
My heartbeat stumbled.
"Of course."
I kept walking.
Three days.
I remembered none of them.
No.
That wasn't possible.
Perhaps she'd misunderstood.
Perhaps I had been unconscious.
Perhaps—
"Your Highness?"
I turned.
The maid was still standing there.
"Yes?"
"Will you still be taking the evening meal in the eastern hall?"
I stared at her.
"Why wouldn't I?"
"You said yesterday that you might dine in your study instead."
Yesterday.
I smiled faintly.
"Plans change."
"Yes, Prince."
She hurried away.
I waited until she turned the corner.
Then I entered the nearest empty room and shut the door.
Three days.
I stood in darkness.
My pulse pounded behind my ears.
Mortimer.
Nothing.
"You bastard."
Silence.
I reached for the bond.
Lyra.
The instinct was immediate.
As natural now as breathing.
Something inside me stretched toward her.
Then I stopped.
My hand tightened around the door handle.
What could Mortimer feel?
What could he access?
If I reached for her...
could he follow?
Could he feel what I felt through the bond?
Could he use it?
The thought made my stomach turn.
I let the connection rest.
For now.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
I didn't know whether she could feel that.
Perhaps it was better if she couldn't.
My study answered more questions.
None of them were comforting.
Paperwork covered the desk.
Not neglected paperwork.
Completed paperwork.
Reports reviewed.
Requests approved.
Supply figures corrected.
Three petitions rejected with notes written in the margin.
My notes.
My handwriting.
I picked one up.
A quartermaster had requested additional cavalry grain allocations.
Written beneath it:
Denied. Current eastern stores exceed projected consumption by eleven percent. Reassess after winter rotation.
I stared at the sentence.
That was exactly what I would have written.
Not close.
Not an imitation.
Me.
I checked the figures.
Eleven percent.
Correct.
My skin prickled.
The next document concerned troop rotation along the southern roads.
Approved.
My signature.
My seal.
Another.
Transfer of twenty-seven men from palace reserves to the southwestern watch.
Another.
Replacement armor.
Another.
Travel restrictions on a merchant route.
Everything was reasonable.
That made it worse.
If the orders had been obviously wrong, someone would have questioned them.
They weren't.
They were disciplined.
Strategic.
Boring.
The kind of decisions a prince made every day without anyone remembering them afterward.
I reached the bottom of the stack.
One page caught my attention.
A deployment order.
Three companies repositioned closer to the western Fire border.
Not an attack.
Not even technically a mobilization.
Training rotation.
Supply-road security.
Reinforcement of two old garrisons.
Perfectly defensible.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
Something bothered me.
Not the order itself.
The pattern.
The garrisons sat near Water territory.
Close enough to matter.
Far enough apart that no single movement looked aggressive.
I reached for a map.
Laid it flat.
Marked the positions mentally.
One.
Two.
Three.
A shallow arc.
"Why?"
No answer.
I searched the supporting reports.
Bandit activity.
Border theft.
Smuggling concerns.
Thin justifications.
Not false.
Simply insufficient.
I would not move three companies for this.
At least—
I didn't think I would.
That thought frightened me.
I placed the order down.
Maybe I had.
Maybe Mortimer's presence was changing me in ways more subtle than control.
Maybe—
No.
I needed facts.
Not fear.
So I began keeping track.
The first gap I caught lasted nine minutes.
I knew because I'd decided to count.
Every hour, I wrote the time on a scrap of paper and folded it into my left pocket.
Ridiculous.
Useful.
At ten past noon, I left my study for the training courtyard.
I remembered reaching the eastern staircase.
I remembered two guards passing me.
I remembered thinking one man's armor strap was loose.
Then—
I was standing in the armory.
My hand rested on a rack of swords.
A weapon lay across my palm.
I stared at it.
The armorer stood several feet away.
"...as you requested, Prince."
I looked at him.
He looked back.
Waiting.
My mouth went dry.
"Remind me."
The words came cold enough to sound irritated rather than confused.
He straightened.
"The balance, Your Highness."
I glanced down.
The sword.
"Of course."
I tested it.
Perfectly balanced.
"Too light."
The armorer nodded immediately.
"That was my concern as well."
I handed it back.
"Fix it."
"Yes, Prince."
I left.
My stride didn't change until the armory door shut behind me.
Then I pulled the paper from my pocket.
Twelve ten.
I looked toward the nearest clock.
Twelve nineteen.
Nine minutes.
Gone.
I had spoken to the armorer.
Requested a sword.
Apparently discussed its balance.
I remembered none of it.
Mortimer laughed.
Softly.
Inside my skull.
I stopped walking.
There you are.
Something amusing?
His voice sounded lazy.
I kept moving.
No.
A lie.
His amusement deepened.
I refused to engage.
The second gap happened the following morning.
Four minutes.
I was shaving.
Then I was at the window.
Blood ran down the side of my thumb.
A small cut.
Nothing serious.
I stared at it.
The razor sat beside the basin.
Clean.
No blood.
I checked the room.
Nothing disturbed.
Except one drawer.
Open.
Inside it, an old signet chain I'd left untouched for years rested on top of a stack of letters.
I hadn't opened that drawer.
I knew I hadn't.
I closed it.
Locked it.
Put the key in my pocket.
When I checked an hour later—
still locked.
By evening—
still locked.
The next morning it was open again.
The key remained in my pocket.
I said nothing.
On the third day, Captain Hale greeted me in the corridor.
"Prince."
"Hale."
He fell into step beside me.
"The southern riders left before dawn."
I didn't look at him.
"Good."
"Should reach the first staging post by tomorrow evening."
Staging post.
I kept my expression neutral.
"Any delays?"
"None reported."
"And numbers?"
"One hundred and forty mounted. The rest follow with the supply train."
My pulse slowed.
The way it always did before violence.
"Excellent."
Hale hesitated.
"You changed your mind about the archers?"
I looked at him.
He immediately continued.
"Last night you said forty would be sufficient. Originally, you requested eighty."
"I remember."
I did not.
"I reconsidered."
"Of course."
He saluted and peeled away.
I kept walking.
Forty archers.
One hundred forty mounted.
Supply train.
This was no longer a patrol.
Not really.
I entered my study and locked the door.
Pulled the map out.
Marked Hale's staging post.
My stomach tightened.
Another piece.
Still not enough to see the whole strategy.
But enough to prove one existed.
I reached inside.
Mortimer.
Silence.
"Stop hiding."
I'm not hiding.
The voice arrived immediately.
I turned toward the empty room as though he might somehow be standing behind me.
"How long?"
How long what?
"How long have you been able to do it?"
No answer.
I gripped the edge of the desk.
"Take my body."
A pause.
Then—
Such an ugly way to phrase it.
Cold moved through me.
"So I'm right."
You usually are eventually.
My fist slammed into the desk.
Wood cracked beneath my knuckles.
"How long?"
Mortimer sighed.
As if I were boring him.
Long enough.
"Three days?"
On and off.
My skin went cold.
"Where am I?"
Here.
"Don't play games."
But you're so good at them.
I closed my eyes.
Counted once.
Twice.
I needed information.
Anger later.
"When you're in control, where am I?"
Mortimer went quiet.
That silence answered more than words would have.
I thought of Lyra.
Resting.
The word came from nowhere.
Not memory.
Something deeper.
A sensation I couldn't place.
I frowned.
"What did you do?"
Mortimer's presence shifted.
Nothing you couldn't survive.
Rage sparked beneath my skin.
Red-black lightning snapped between my fingers.
"That isn't an answer."
It wasn't meant to be.
I pushed inward.
Toward him.
Toward the darkness.
Earth answered beneath it.
Stone.
Weight.
Foundation.
For a second, Mortimer's presence pulled back.
Interesting.
I pressed harder.
"How long can you hold it?"
Silence.
There.
A hesitation.
Tiny.
But real.
I smiled without humor.
"Not long."
Don't sound so pleased.
"Minutes."
Nothing.
"An hour?"
Darkness curled.
I had him.
"Longer?"
You mistake limitation for weakness.
My smile vanished.
"So there is a limit."
Everything has limits.
"Yours ends."
Eventually.
Not good enough.
"How long?"
He laughed.
I hated that laugh.
Wouldn't you like to know.
The pressure vanished.
Not Mortimer.
Just his attention.
Conversation finished.
I stood alone.
Eventually.
That was the problem.
If his control ended eventually...
then he still lost it.
For now.
But limits changed.
Power grew.
Mine had.
Lyra's had.
Mortimer's could too.
Today he took nine minutes.
Tomorrow?
An hour.
A day.
A week.
How long before the world stopped noticing a difference?
How long before I became nothing but a body he wore?
My stomach twisted.
Lyra.
I reached instinctively for the bond again.
Stopped.
The memory of her came anyway.
White hair threaded through my fingers.
Violet eyes.
Her mouth against mine.
The last thing I remembered before three days disappeared.
And Mortimer's strange attention whenever her name surfaced.
He knew.
He knew what she was to me now.
He'd felt my reactions.
My thoughts.
My need to keep her safe.
Which meant Lyra wasn't simply someone Mortimer could threaten.
She was leverage.
Worse—
I remembered the way Mortimer had spoken about her before.
Not hatred.
Not exactly.
Interest.
Something I couldn't name.
My chest tightened.
Could he use my body to approach her?
Would she know?
Of course she would.
The bond—
But would she know immediately?
What if she didn't?
The thought sickened me.
What if Mortimer smiled with my mouth?
Touched her with my hands?
What if he—
I shut the thought down so hard lightning burst across the desk.
"No."
Possessive.
Mortimer's voice purred from the darkness.
"Stay away from her."
Silence.
Then—
Or what?
I had no answer.
That was what terrified me.
Mortimer knew it.
He laughed.
I became meticulous after that.
I moved one glass on my bedside table exactly two fingers from the edge.
Each morning, I checked it.
I tied a thin black thread around the inside latch of my study door.
If someone entered while I was gone, it broke.
I kept written times.
I changed the location of my knives.
I memorized which buttons on my coat were fastened.
I started leaving myself questions in places no servant would touch.
What time is it?
Where were you last?
Who did you speak to?
I never wrote Mortimer's name.
I couldn't risk him deciding to answer.
The gaps continued.
Six minutes.
Eleven.
Twenty-three.
Once, nearly an hour.
That one ended with me standing on a palace balcony overlooking the military courtyard.
Ash drifted through the air.
Below, soldiers loaded wagons.
I didn't know how long I'd been watching them.
Commander Varek stood beside me.
"...should keep the route clear."
I turned my head.
He waited.
I forced my mind to move.
"Which route?"
Varek frowned.
I added immediately:
"The secondary one."
Recognition.
"Ah. South through Ravel Pass."
I nodded.
"Good."
"Though I still don't understand why we're avoiding the main road."
I looked over the courtyard.
Wagons.
Food.
Arrows.
Medical crates.
Too many.
"Visibility."
The answer came instinctively.
Varek nodded slowly.
"Exactly what you said yesterday."
My blood cooled.
Of course it was.
He saluted.
"Anything else, Prince?"
"No."
He left.
I remained on the balcony.
Ravel Pass.
I knew it.
Old route.
Narrow.
Difficult.
But concealed from Water scouts for most of its length.
I went directly to my study.
Map.
Positions.
Troops.
Supply trains.
Archers.
Mounted units.
Ravel Pass.
I connected the pieces.
The pattern finally emerged.
Not complete.
But close.
Everything angled toward a small portion of the border.
I traced the line with one finger.
There were no major fortresses there.
No strategically important ports.
No valuable mines.
No reason to commit this many troops.
Unless—
I pulled another map.
Water territory.
Villages.
Trade roads.
One small walled city sat nearest the convergence.
I knew it only vaguely.
Too small to matter to Fire strategy.
Large enough to hold civilians.
Close enough that Water would have to respond.
I stared at it.
"This makes no sense."
Doesn't it?
Mortimer.
I didn't move.
"What do you want there?"
Who said I want anything?
"Three companies. Cavalry. Archers. Supplies routed through concealed roads."
Silence.
I looked at the map.
"You've been using my seal."
It is your seal.
"My name."
Also yours.
"My soldiers."
Mortimer laughed softly.
Are they?
Lightning crawled over my hands.
"What are you planning?"
No answer.
"That city has no strategic value."
Still nothing.
I leaned over the desk.
And then I noticed something.
A sealed dispatch beneath the edge of the map.
Fresh wax.
My crest.
Prepared for delivery.
I hadn't written it.
I broke the seal.
Read.
Once.
Twice.
The order was concise.
A final company
was to move before dawn.
Not toward the city.
Past it.
To the northern road.
Cutting off retreat.
My breath stopped.
This wasn't reinforcement.
It was encirclement.
Small enough not to alarm the entire Water Kingdom.
Large enough to make escape difficult once fighting began.
And brilliantly—
horribly—
the deployment looked like mine.
Every route.
Every timing adjustment.
Every supply calculation.
It was exactly how I would have prepared an attack.
Mortimer wasn't merely wearing my face.
He was using my mind.
Or knew it well enough that the distinction no longer mattered.
I crushed the dispatch in my fist.
"Why?"
For several seconds there was nothing.
Then Mortimer spoke.
Quietly.
Almost thoughtfully.
Some things come when called.
I went still.
The words meant nothing.
They should have meant nothing.
Yet something cold settled beneath my ribs.
"Who are you calling?"
Mortimer didn't answer.
I reached for him.
Darkness retreated.
"Mortimer."
Nothing.
"Who?"
Only silence.
I looked back down at the map.
At the insignificant Water city.
At the roads closing around it.
At the orders written in my hand.
Stamped with my seal.
Issued by my authority.
Already moving soldiers I hadn't commanded.
Somewhere inside my chest, the bond toward Lyra seemed suddenly impossibly fragile.
I wanted to reach for her.
Warn her.
Tell her not to trust anything carrying my name.
Not my letters.
Not my orders.
Not even—
My face.
I closed my eyes.
Before I could decide whether the risk was worth it, a knock sounded at the door.
"Enter."
A young officer stepped inside.
He bowed.
"Your Highness."
"What?"
"The first units have crossed the southern staging line."
My fingers tightened around the crushed dispatch.
"When?"
"An hour ago."
Too late to simply stop them without questions.
Too late to pretend nothing had begun.
The officer continued.
"Commander Solren also asked whether he should proceed with the next phase at sunset, as you ordered."
I stared at him.
He shifted beneath my gaze.
"Prince?"
I forced my hand to unclench.
"What exactly did I tell him?"
Confusion flickered.
Then he answered.
"That once the road is closed..."
My blood went cold.
"...we wait for the Water Kingdom to notice."
The room became very still.
Somewhere deep inside me—
Mortimer smiled.