Chapter 1: The Hidden Dawn

Snow had been falling over Gildan for hours. Atop a steep hill crowned by a frozen waterfall, stood the palace. Its porcelain walls gleamed faintly under the storm, lavender domes rising pale against the darkening sky.

Inside, it was quiet. Too quiet. Only the hushed shuffle of maids and the tense stillness of knights broke the silence. All other sound came from the farthest reaches of the palace. Behind a set of heavy wooden doors, the young empress labored.

Jamila sat in a steaming spring, clad only in a thin shift. Her short white hair clung damply to her face and neck as she fought through another wave of pain. A groan escaped her lips, her lavender eyes filling with tears as her body strained. A maid dabbed the sweat from her brow, fingers gentle as they brushed her hair back.

“You are doing well, Your Majesty,” the older woman murmured, offering a soft, steady smile.

Jamila let out a shaky breath that might have been a laugh if she had the strength for it. Every inch of her burned and ached. The smell of blood clung in the warm damp air. Even just breathing took effort.

“ᚠᚢᚲᚴ,”(Fuck) she whimpered, the Sullivian curse slipping out before she could stop it.

The word pulled memories to the surface: towering stone walls, the hush of tall trees swaying in the wind, and a man with ruby eyes and deep brown skin, warm undertones catching the light, more beautiful than any treasure.

If he were here, he would be holding her hand, his eyes would be anxious like a lost puppy… before barking some questions at the nurse. He would be swearing too, tapping his foot. But he would also be praising her, acknowledging her strength. He would be running a hand through her damp hair. 

But he wasn’t here. She was on her own.

“I… I don’t know if I can do this, Nimue…” Jamila sobbed, her purple eyes dulling as exhaustion swept over her.

Nimue’s lips pressed into a thin line. She took Jamila’s hand and gave it a firm, grounding squeeze.

“You are the moon of this empire,” she said quietly. “You will endure.”

Another contraction struck, stealing whatever reply Jamila might have made.

The contractions came and went until time itself seemed to lose meaning. By the time night fully claimed the sky, Jamila’s cries had begun to fade, replaced instead by the thin, fragile wail of a small, new life. Relief swept through the chamber like a held breath finally released.

Jamila barely noticed. She stared down at the child in her arms, her expression dazed, almost disbelieving.

“Are… are all babies usually this wrinkly?” she asked hoarsely, glancing up at Nimue. Her eyes were confused and very concerned.

A small smile touched Nimue’s lips. “Sometimes.”

Against Jamila’s porcelain skin, the child’s was deeper, richer in tone. Her ears, small and delicate, tapered to soft points rather than the rounded curve of a Gildan’s. Her hair was platinum, touched faintly with blush. The only traces of her mother were the unmistakable lavender of her eyes.

A slow, fragile smile formed on Jamila’s lips.

“You look so much like your father…” Her voice cracked as she traced each tiny finger, each perfect toe, committing them to memory. For a moment, the world beyond that small, warm weight in her arms ceased to exist.

A soft clearing of the throat shattered the illusion. Jamila looked up. Nimue stood before her, holding a delicate band of clear crystal. The smile vanished from Jamila’s face. For a moment, she didn’t move. Then, with a quiet exhale, she reached out and took it.

“I’m so sorry…” she whispered.

With careful hands, she slipped the bangle around her daughter’s ankle.

The change was immediate. The child’s skin lightened. The soft points of her ears rounded, smoothing into something safer. Something the kingdom would accept. 

Jamila’s expression tightened as she reached out, gently brushing her daughter’s ear. Beneath her touch, she could still feel the faint shape of what had been hidden.

At least that remained.

A sudden commotion echoed from beyond the chamber doors, raised voices, hurried footsteps, someone shouting her name. Jamila closed her eyes briefly, exhaustion weighing heavily on her limbs. Then she nodded toward Nimue.

“Take her…” Jamila said weakly.

Nimue gathered the child without question.

Jamila knew what was coming. She forced her features into the mask of an empress standing before a roaring ice storm, not the frightened nineteen-year-old sister she truly was. She rose from the spring, aided by waiting hands, and made her way to a nearby stone bench. Her legs trembled beneath her weight, and her abdomen burned with every step, but she forced herself onward.

A robe was wrapped around her shoulders only moments before the doors burst open.

A man stood in the doorway clad in military garb. Dirt clung to his tunic, dark against the fabric, yet his face remained eerily untouched save for the dark circles under his eyes. White hair. Lavender eyes. A mirror of Jamila, if not for the masculine lines of his face.

His expression remained carefully blank, but the strain behind it was unmistakable. 

He froze for a brief moment as he took in her condition. She sat slumped slightly forward, one arm wrapped around her stomach while sweat clung to her skin. Exhaustion hollowed her features. Then the metallic scent of blood caught his attention. 

Jamila steadied herself against the edge of the bench before forcing her expression smooth.

“Welcome home, Jaziel,” she said quietly.

For just a second, concern flickered in his eyes. Then her words settled over him, and whatever softness had surfaced vanished, leaving only an ember behind. A bitter laugh escaped him.

“Home?” His voice came out rough, uneven. “Am I even allowed to still call it that?”

Jamila squinted at him. Her eyes were confused.

“What else would it be?”

No remorse crossed her face. No regret. If anything, she seemed genuinely bewildered by his anger. Her confusion only fanned his anger. 

His composure cracked.

“How could you…” His voice trembled now. His gaze swept over her again, her shortened hair, the exhaustion written plainly across her body, the unmistakable signs of what she had done.

“Empress?” he scoffed, the title bitter on his tongue.

Jamila nearly flinched.

“Father…” Jamila paused briefly, struggling to steady her breathing. “Father gave the kingdom to me while you were gone.”

She lied.

Jaziel’s eyes darkened.

“You pretended to be me,” he hissed. 

Their father had been fading for years, first his sight, then his strength, until the once powerful, prejudiced king had become little more than a ghost trapped within his own body.

The crown had always been meant for Jaziel. She would have let him have it. But... everything changed the day she realized she was with child. Their father’s claws had dug too deeply into Jaziel. She would not force him to choose, so she had chosen for him.

Jamila's jaw tightened. Her gaze slipped away from her brother's for the briefest moment.  He noticed.

Jaziel crossed the room in a few quick strides, fury radiating from him. The knights shifted uneasily, but Jamila raised a trembling hand, They stilled immediately. Her head spun with the motion.

Jaziel stopped before her, towering over her. His eyes pierced straight into hers.

“You will return it to me,” Jaziel said, his voice cold despite the emotion burning behind it.

Jamila lifted her gaze to meet his. Her brother. Her closest friend. The one person she had once believed would always stand beside her.

But she could not falter now.

“Then kill me,” she said softly.

Jaziel's eyes widened as Jamila raised her chin, exposing her throat. A small, pained grunt escaped her at the movement. Nimue gasped quietly, but froze when Jamila shot her a warning glance.

Jaziel clenched his teeth and shakily drew his sword.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Jaziel stood frozen before her, the blade shaking ever so slightly as he held it against her throat. Jamila stared back at him without moving. 

Then, slowly, she closed her eyes. The sharp blade nicked her throat. A single crimson trail slipped down her pale neck. 

Something inside him broke.

Jaziel let out a sharp, frustrated scream and hurled the sword away from both of them. Metal clattered violently across the stone floor.

He stumbled back a step before collapsing to his knees before her, eyes wide with horror as the realization finally crashed into him.

“I…” His voice cracked. “I can’t do it…”

The anger in his expression wavered, something raw and frightened breaking through beneath it. His breathing grew ragged as he fought to pull himself back together... and failed. 

Then, like the last of his strength had finally given out, he lowered his head into her lap.

Jamila let out a quiet, shaking breath she had not realized she’d been holding.

“Why…” he choked out. “Why would you do this to me?”

Jamila’s body stiffened, only for a moment. Then slowly, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal, she lifted a trembling hand and ran her fingers through his hair just as she had when they were children.

The movement sent pain through her body. She barely felt it. Her heart hurt more. 

“I would have given you anything else,” he murmured. “I would have torn the world apart for you…” His voice trembled. He could not even lift his head to look at her.

“I’m sorry, Jaziel…” she whispered, pulling him closer as tears slipped silently into his hair.

“I had to.” The words came quietly. His eyes glanced up at her confused, before he once more closed them and allowed the tears to fall. The smell of blood was stronger now, but he ignored it.

Silence settled heavily between them.

Until a small, fragile whimper cut through it.

Jaziel’s head snapped upward. His gaze shifted to Nimue, to the bundle in her arms, then back to Jamila as the truth began unfolding slowly, terribly, before him.

“What is that?” His voice came out tight, carefully controlled.

“It’s your niece,” Jamila answered softly.

She motioned weakly toward Nimue. The older woman hesitated only briefly before placing the child carefully into Jamila’s arms.

Niece?

The word struck something cold deep within his chest. Jamila was nineteen. Unmarried. She had dismissed every noble and diplomat their father had paraded before her. 

Then an old memory surfaced. Faint. Distant. From before he had left.

“The flu…” he muttered under his breath as the pieces finally began fitting together.

Jamila smiled faintly despite her exhaustion. Her head was pounding more and more with each passing moment.

“Jaziel… meet Shani.” She said weakly.

“Shani?” he spat. A Sullivian name.

His gaze dropped toward the infant. Pale skin. Lavender eyes. White hair.

She looked so much like his sister.

Perfect.

"The father?" he asked, his voice clipped. Sharp and more direct than he meant. She was far too exhausted to care.

“A good and honorable man,” she answered quietly, her attention never leaving the child in her arms.

Jaziel scoffed.

Good and honorable? His sister had given birth with only a maid beside her. If he had known sooner…

He froze.

His gaze caught the pale tuft atop the infant’s head once more.

No… not white. Beneath the pale strands, a faint blush of color threaded through her hair. And that name…

Then he saw the bangle.

In one swift motion, he tore it free. The illusion shattered instantly. A sharp gasp rippled through the room as the illusion shattered. The child cried out.  A sharp gasp rippled through the room from the gathered onlookers. Jaziel stared openly, disgust twisting across his face.

“You…” he hissed, surging to his feet as he turned on Jamila. “The throne wasn’t enough? You had to taint our bloodline with Thornbloods?”

Jamila bristled instantly, exhaustion forgotten, pain burried beneath the fury rushing through her. Her brows furrowed sharply as heat flooded her face. Gone was the gentle sister. Gone was the patient empress. Only a furious mother remained.

“She is a princess… and your niece!” she snapped.

The force behind the words stole the breath from her almost immediately. She pressed a hand against her abdomen, struggling to steady her breathing as pain burned through her body.

Concern flickered through Jaziel’s expression despite himself. He reached out towards Jamila but froze.

“Everything about her is perfect.”

Jamila silently took the bangle from his hand and fastened it back around Shani's ankle. 

“Shhh… you’re alright,” she whispered softly, rocking the crying infant against her chest. “Uncle is just shocked.”

Jaziel stood frozen, uncertain what to do for perhaps the first time in his life.

“Her name is Shani,” Jamila continued once the crying finally softened. “It means Beloved Dawn.” Her voice softened further, all of her attention returning to the child in her arms.

Jaziel watched silently. The image of the child’s true appearance lingered in his mind like a wound, yet his gaze drifted back to her eyes.

Lavender. Just like his sister’s eyes.

Kind. Bright. Innocent.

Something inside him shifted. Not softened, but unsettled. He had never seen his sister look at anyone the way she looked at this child. With the bangle in place, she looked... passable. 

“I needed to protect her…” Jamila said quietly, reaching for Jaziel's hand. “But I need you too.”

Her grip tightened weakly around his fingers.

“I can’t give you the throne,” she admitted softly. “But I can seat you beside me.”

Her hand slipped from his. Jaziel caught it before it could fall. An affectionate smile crossed her lips.

“I could use your help.” Her eyes looked painfully tired now, though she still managed to squeeze his hand once more.

Jaziel bit the inside of his lip and looked toward her, then toward the child, before finally meeting his sister’s gaze once more. She looked barely there at the moment… He wasn’t sure how much longer she could last.

He exhaled slowly and dragged a free hand through his hair. If he refused, someone else would step into his place. Someone crueler. Someone less trustworthy.

His gaze dropped again as he noticed Jamila’s shoulders beginning to tremble beneath the thin robe wrapped around her.

After a long silence, he pulled his hand from hers. Then, in one smooth motion, he removed his cape and wrapped it carefully around her shoulders before pulling her and the child into her arms.

“I will try.”

Jamila looked up at him, her smile weary but warm despite everything. Jaziel returned it faintly, strained and fleeting. 

“Thank you… Jaz…” She mumbled as she leaned her head on her brother's shoulder. Her eyes closing, her breathing slow but steady. He watched her for a long moment before carrying her toward her chambers. 

Deep in the back of his mind, another voice whispered relentlessly. Cold. Familiar. Far too much like their father.

Abomination.
Ruined.
Betrayer.

His jaw tightened sharply. He forced the voice back down into the dark corners of himself where it belonged.

He would protect his sister.

He would protect the child she held so fiercely.

Even if he had to tear the world apart and build it anew for them.