There are two in you.
Chief Halai's words clung to me like smoke that refused to fade.
I'd bathed. I'd changed. I'd stared into the fire for what felt like hours. But no matter what I did, I couldn't silence her voice.
There are two in you.
I told myself it wasn't a curse. Not exactly. But it didn't feel like a blessing either. It felt… wrong. Heavy. Like the world had placed a blade on my neck and was simply waiting to see which soul would fall first—mine or Lyara's.
And now, here I was. Riding through the golden morning light, surrounded by soldiers who thought they knew me. A brother who eyed me like I was a stranger wrapped in silk. A prince who couldn't stop watching me like I was a dream slipping through his fingers.
And none of them knew.
I told myself it was better that way.
Let them think I'd recovered from my fever. Let them think the princess had simply grown sharper, stronger, braver after nearly dying. People liked stories of miraculous awakenings—especially when they didn't have to question what had truly been awakened.
But every hour in this body felt like walking a tightrope between two worlds.
Sometimes I felt like I was stealing. Other times... like I was being used.
There were moments I caught myself smiling when I shouldn't, speaking in tones that were too rough, too blunt for Lyara. I could see it reflected in the way the soldiers looked at me—confused. Respectful. But distant. Like I was a painting they half-remembered but couldn't place.
Arven hadn't said anything, but I could feel it in the way he moved around me now—measured, cautious. As if waiting to see which version of me would speak next.
But Ronan?
Ronan wasn't watching me like a soldier. Or a noble. Or a brother.
He watched me like a man who didn't believe in ghosts... but had seen one anyway.
And gods help me, I hated that my heart still fluttered when I caught him looking.
It wasn't fair.
He hadn't chosen this.
He hadn't asked to see Adelaine's laughter in Lyara's voice.
He hadn't asked to fall for a girl who wasn't supposed to exist anymore.
And yet—every time our eyes met, something in me cracked.
Because he didn't know who I was. Not really.
But part of him already recognized me.
Not with facts. Not with logic.
But with instinct. With memory.
With the way his jaw clenched when I laughed like her. The way his gaze lingered when I gripped the reins like a soldier, not a princess. The way he kept finding reasons to stay near—close enough to protect, close enough to feel.
I told myself I couldn't let it matter.
But that was a lie too.
Because deep down, some broken piece of me wanted to reach across that distance and say it out loud.
"I'm still here."
"I never really left."
Even if it would destroy us both.
—------
The road stretched before us—endless sand, the occasional thornbush, the long curve of the southern hills.
For a while, we rode in silence.
Just wind. And hooves. And questions that refused to die.
—------
Shira nudged her horse a little closer, pulling her hood back. Her copper braids glinted in the sun.
"You're quiet," she said. "More than usual."
I managed a faint smile. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"It is when it means you're thinking too much." She leaned slightly toward me. "Is it about the fire?"
Of course it was.
But I just shrugged. "The fire. The temple. The whispers. The fact that everyone around me keeps expecting me to be someone I'm not."
"You mean Lyara?" she asked, too casually.
I didn't answer.
Shira's eyes softened. "You're doing better than you think."
"Am I?"
She gave a slight nod toward the front of the caravan. "He keeps looking back at you, you know."
I didn't need to ask who.
Ronan.
I didn't look at him. I didn't have to. I could feel his gaze. Warm. Heavy. Confused.
And somehow… kind.
It was dangerous.
Because kindness, when you were made of secrets, could unravel everything.
—------
We stopped near midday for water. The sun was brutal—blazing down like it had something to prove.
I sat beneath a withered tree, peeling off my gloves. My palm still bore the faint outline of the shard I'd held in the obsidian chamber. The mark had faded… but the weight of it hadn't.
Ronan approached before I noticed him. A shadow, quiet and certain.
He crouched beside me, passing a flask. "Drink."
I hesitated. Then took it.
The water was cool, bitter from herbs.
"You've barely spoken all day," he said.
"I'm conserving energy," I replied.
He huffed a laugh. "That's not the Lyara I remember."
"I'm not the girl you remember."
The words slipped out too fast.
His eyes flicked to mine. Not angry. Not offended. Just… searching.
"I know," he said. "That's what makes this harder."
I frowned. "What does?"
He looked away. "Trying to forget someone who's already gone, while staring into a face that keeps reminding me she might not be."
My throat went dry.
Before I could speak, one of the scouts rode up fast—dust trailing behind his mount like a warning.
"Movement in the rocks," he barked. "Fast. Too fast for merchants."
Ronan was on his feet instantly. "Weapons up. Shields out."
I rose too. Heart thundering.
Shira met my gaze across the clearing.
Ambush.
—------
The rebels came down like sand-touched lightning.
No war horns. No chants. Just the hiss of arrows and the ring of steel.
Screams tore the quiet desert wide open.
I reached for my blade. Too fast. My side pulled—still sore from the fire ritual—but I moved anyway.
A man came at me, face masked, sword swinging low. I parried. His strength jarred through my arms, but I didn't yield.
My feet moved on instinct. Not Lyara's. Mine. Adelaine's.
Every strike. Every breath. Every drop of blood I fought for.
But I didn't see the second attacker.
Not until it was too late.
An arrow grazed my ribs. I cried out, stumbling back.
And then—
He caught me.
Ronan.
His arms were around me in an instant, shield raised as he took a blow meant for me.
"Are you hit?" he barked.
"Just a scratch," I gritted.
He glanced down. Saw the blood.
"Liar."
He pulled me toward cover, every movement efficient, practiced.
"You should've stayed back," he growled, dragging me behind a fallen boulder.
"I've survived worse," I hissed.
He didn't answer.
Just pressed his hand hard to the wound, tearing a strip from his cloak.
"Hold still."
I did.
Because for a moment, the war faded.
And it was just him. Me. His hand against my skin. His breath close.
And that look in his eyes.
The same look I remembered in the final seconds before I died.
The same look he'd given Adelaine.
Me.
Now.
—------
When the battle ended, the rebels scattered like ghosts. A few were caught. Most vanished into the dunes.
But I barely noticed.
Because Ronan hadn't left my side.
He stayed with me as Arven organized the wounded. He helped me off the ground with a gentleness that didn't belong on a battlefield.
And when he looked at me…
He didn't see Lyara.
He saw something else.
Someone else.
Maybe he didn't realize it yet.
But he was starting to feel it.
And gods help me...
So was I.
—------
That night, under a blanket of stars, I sat beside the fire, bandages tight around my ribs. The camp buzzed with quiet tension. Ronan sat across from me, sharpening his blade, silent. But his eyes never left me.
Shira handed me a steaming cup of broth. "You scared him today," she whispered.
"I scare myself," I replied.
She smiled faintly, squeezing my shoulder. "That means you're still human."
I stared into the fire.
And wondered what it meant to be human when your soul didn't match your skin.
And someone who used to love you might be falling for you all over again…
Without knowing he already had.
—------