Lena didn't get an answer to her question.
Instead, Kael started laughing.
A sharp, echoing sound that bounced off stone and shadows. His white hair fell into his face as he doubled over, the chains around his wrists rattling with each breath. But when he looked up again, all humor had drained from his expression. His eyes—those deadly, siren eyes she'd once written as beautiful and brutal—were locked on her.
Lena felt her knees threatening to give way due to her his stare had made her even more aroused, but she stood firmly.
"You think we're fools?" he said, voice colder now. "You've drained us dry, broken us down, used us until there was nothing left—and now that you're weak, now that you've lost whatever power you clung to, you show up like this. Like some innocent thing in borrowed skin."
He took a step forward, chains scraping the ground.
"The lights flickered because the tower still answers to you and you only. So don't think you can fool us, Selene."
Before Lena could respond, Ronan's voice cut through the tension.
"Wait."
She turned to him, pulse spiking. His stare had sharpened—not just curious, but focused, intent. The kind of stare that hunted truth like prey. His chains groaned as he shifted.
"She's not wearing the crown," he said quietly. "No staff. Selene never appeared without it. Not even when she strutted around in nothing but lace."
A beat of silence. Taut. Waiting.
Elias stepped forward quietly. He didn't speak. His eyes just scanned her—head to toe—taking in every ripped seam, every dried bloodstain, every bruise she hadn't even noticed yet.
They all watched her like predators—calculating, silent, impossible to fool. Not just driven by instinct, but by memory. And gods, she regretted giving them minds sharp enough to see through anything. Regretted crafting them to be this observant. This inhumanly perceptive. Capable of cutting through someone's soul with a glance.
Except Selene.
Selene had always been the one thing they couldn't read. The one lie they could never untangle.
Which was why what came next made Lena's breath catch.
"She's not lying," Ronan said, flat and final. His nostrils flared slightly, like he could scent truth in the air. "Whatever this is… it's real."
"That's not possible," Kael snapped, no longer amused. "We know her. We feel her. That aura—it's hers."
"But it's not whole," Elias murmured. "Not fully."
"She smells like her," Dante muttered, eyes narrowing. "Feels like her. But her aura is… off. Less…"
"Less venom," Ronan said.
"Less bite," Dante added.
"Less bitch," Kael whispered, finally realizing that indeed… she was off. The Selene they knew was never less.
Lena blinked.
Her jaw dropped a fraction before she caught herself. "Wow. Okay. Rude."
She brushed dust off her sleeve like it might salvage a shred of dignity. "Also—bit rich coming from four grown men in chains."
Kael let out a short, sharp laugh. "There's the Selene I remember. Mouth full of poison."
"She's rattled," Dante noted, though he sounded more cautious than convinced. "Not like her."
"She lost," Kael said. "The whole kingdom turned against her. People are out there dancing on her grave. If she's here to manipulate us, she must be desperate. Maybe trying to use the mate bond one last time."
"Why?" Ronan asked. "To what end? The tower's hidden. Only she could access it. And yet she came alone."
"And unarmed," Dante added. "No staff. No power humming at her fingertips. No glamour to make herself untouchable."
"She's also… limping," Elias pointed out, brows furrowed now. "I thought it was for dramatic flair, but—"
Lena cut in. "Sorry I couldn't give you all a grand entrance. But I did mention I was busy being chased by angry villagers with torches and pitchforks. They didn't exactly give me time to coordinate a runway look."
Her eyes flicked over them, daring them to argue. "And frankly, I find it a little insulting. You'd think they'd at least send a thank-you basket—considering I'm the reason they're out there dancing and celebrating in the first place."
They stared at her, unblinking.
No one spoke. Not even Kael, and he usually couldn't resist a good jab.
Lena offered a brittle smile. "What? I did end the villain. Technically. Kind of. In a roundabout way. Look, it was a group effort—if the group was just me and a lot of poor life choices."
Silence.
She cleared her throat. "Anyway. You're welcome."
There it was again—that thrumming pull of the mate bond, like a storm building just beneath her skin. It wanted honesty. Truth. And this, as close as it was, wasn't a lie. Not entirely.
A white truth, she told herself. Like a… polite deception. A fib with good intentions and just enough exasperation to sell it.
She saw Kael's head tilt, just slightly, like he was trying to decide if this was lunacy or strategy.
Ronan's voice wasn't loud—but it didn't need to be.
"Turn."
It cut through the air like a blade, steady and cold, leaving no room for argument.
Lena didn't move.
Her shoulders stiffened, heart kicking hard in her chest. She didn't trust him—didn't trust any of them. And turning her back on four beings she had once written as weapons? That felt like asking to die.
She stayed rooted.
"I said turn around," Ronan repeated, lower this time. Not a threat, not quite. But close.
She glanced at his chains. Still bolted. Still intact.
They can't reach you. You made sure they couldn't.
Or rather—Selene had.
Still, her fingers curled tight as she forced herself to pivot. Slowly.
Step by step, she turned her body, scanning the chamber as she did.
It was… unsettling. The room should've been cold, damp, reeking of rot and decay. But it wasn't. It was carved stone and old magic, yes, but something in the way the light flickered, how the air moved—there was stillness here. A strange sort of reverence.
Even with the chains, even in captivity, it looked like somewhere one could live. Maybe not thrive—but survive.
And then her eyes caught it.
The mirror.
It stood quietly against the far wall. Not flashy. Not showy. Just there.
Iron-framed. Darkly elegant. Waiting.
Lena swallowed hard.
That was it.
That was her moment.
Hit the nail on the head, her inner voice said. Go for the kill.
She took a step toward it. Then another.
She didn't need to fake the weight in her legs or the tremble building in her chest. It wasn't acting anymore.
Her reflection met her halfway.
And there it was—Selene.
Powerful. Worn. Bloodied. Bruised. Crownless.
Lena recoiled like she'd been struck.
"Holy shit," she whispered, stumbling a step back.
Her heart climbed to her throat as she looked from the mirror to them, and then back again.
"No, no, no…" she whispered, stepping closer again. Her fingers twitched, hovering near the edge of the glass like touching it might snap her back. But it didn't.
She could feel them behind her. Watching. Waiting.
She turned, slowly.
Her voice cracked as the words tumbled out. "She's me. I'm… I don't—what is this?"
For a long second, none of them spoke.
Then Ronan's voice, quiet and hard. "She's not lying."
"What do you mean I'm not lying—that's—this is not me!" Lena whispered, panic creeping into her tone.
"The queen never panics like that—even in the face of danger." Elias's words held a cold edge, an accusation hanging in the air.
Damn right, Lena wanted to affirm. But she stuck to her act, forcing her voice to remain steady. "I'm not her," she said too quickly. "I'm not…" Her words faltered, her eyes flicking back to the mirror.
"No wonder they were chasing me," she muttered under her breath, but loud enough for them to hear. The words slipped from her lips intentionally, like a quiet revelation. "They didn't believe she was dead. They thought I was her."
She turned back to the men. "I initially planned to rescue you after some days. But I don't know how… I ended up here." Lena was referring to how she ended up in her damn book. But it was a good reference to make them see she was telling the truth.
No one looked convinced.
And yet… none of them were calling her a liar.
But Lena didn't stop. "Did she do some alchemy spell to switch our souls?" she thought aloud, letting the question hang in the air, though it wasn't meant to elicit an answer.
She raised her hand, as though trying to change something about her appearance, anything that would prove she wasn't the woman they all thought she was. But nothing happened. The air seemed to thrum with a strange, charged energy, and the lights flickered, growing brighter, more intense.
Chains scraped the stone floor, and Lena snapped her gaze toward the men.
It was Elias, the human, who spoke next. His tone was calm, almost too calm.
"Since you're in her body—and you're the hero… maybe the heavens did this to use you to help fix all that's been broken."
Lena's heart sank at the word hero. She wasn't the hero. Not in this body. Not even in her real life.
"How am I supposed to do that when everyone wants me dead?" she muttered. "You all included."
"We can help you," Ronan said, his voice quieter, hesitant, like he wasn't sure if he truly meant it.
Lena wanted to punch the air and shout a triumphant Yes! But she held herself back, clinging to the last threads of the mask she'd been forcing herself to wear.
But Ronan wasn't finished. "First," he said, his eyes burning with a mix of hope and demand, "you have to release us. From this prison."
She opened her mouth to ask how, but the words died on her tongue.
A sudden weight crashed into her chest—an invisible force. Her knees wobbled. She staggered, gripping the nearest wall.
What the hell…
It wasn't magic. Not hers. Not Selene's.
It was them.
Their presence had shifted—deepened. They weren't just watching her anymore. They were reaching, clawing into something inside her. Willing her to move. To obey.
And in that moment, she knew.
They were compelling her.
The way Selene had once compelled them. They were going to use the mate bond against her knowing she wasn't Selene and couldn't resist them.
Lena's breath hitched.
Her knees threatened to buckle, ready to crawl toward the very men who'd once been at Selene's mercy. But she held herself firm, digging her nails into her palm to anchor herself.
"What's happening to me?" she hissed, voice cracking. Her eyes darted between them, accusing. "What are you doing?"
"Don't fight it," Dante said smoothly, too smoothly. "Letting us dominate you is the only way you can help free us."
Dominate?
Lena's vision swam, her heart thundering in her chest. That word lit a fuse.
She'd come here bruised, exhausted, risking everything. She had offered a mutual exchange. She had come in peace.
And now they were trying to control her.
Lena felt something split inside her. Not break—unleash.
The torches along the walls flickered, one by one—then flared with blinding light before abruptly snuffing out, plunging the chamber into darkness. Magic sparked under her skin like static lightning, unfamiliar and raw.
"What are you doing?" Kael's voice called, but this time, it sounded… afraid.
Lena wasn't sure. Her hands were trembling, but not with fear. Power surged through her veins—untamed, ancient, and angry.
"I didn't come here to hurt you," she whispered, low and dangerous. "Yet you didn't hesitate to manipulate me the moment I let my guard down. Maybe you all deserve her wrath. Maybe you all deserve to die here."
The chains rattled violently as if the men were trying to intervene, to stop what was happening—whatever she was becoming.
But Lena… Lena wasn't in control anymore.
The ground trembled.
She barely had time to gasp before her legs gave out completely and the world tilted sideways.
Her body hit the stone floor with a thud.
And just before everything went black, she heard something.
Not a voice, but something deeper. Older.
A whisper not meant for her ears alone.
The Bond remembers.