Chapter 39

Blood is a lie.

The file sat open on my desk, its contents impossible to ignore.

Gabriel Durate. Alive.

The last true-born male of the Durate line. My mother’s younger brother.

Presumed dead after the uprising that burned half of Edenfall’s inner court. But Lara’s intel confirmed otherwise. Gabriel didn’t die.

He vanished and re-emerged as a ghost leading a rogue faction called the Ash Circle.

And he wasn’t alone.

He has the backing of exiled nobles, fallen mercenaries…and the black syndicate.

Worse, the file hinted at something called the project resign.

And I didn’t need details spelled out. Gabriel isn’t coming for a negotiation.

He was coming for my throne.

Tell me everything. I demanded the next morning, addressing Lara and Alec in the war chamber.

Varek stood at my side, grim as ever. Damian leaned against the far wall. Arms folded, jaws tight.

Lara pulled out a single photo.

Fuzzy. Grainy. Taken from a drone at night. But unmistakable.

Gabriel Duarte. Silver-streaked hair. Same sharp cheekbones as my mother’s. Same Duarte jawline. Except colder. Emptier.

“He’s been hiding in the shadow vale for over a decade,” Lara said. “Rebuilding the failed first Court from the ashes.”

My throat went dry. Why now?

Alec answered, voice cool. “Because you’ve done what no one else could do. You united the throne, exposed the watcher, and ignited loyalty in people.”

Damian growled. “And now he wants to steal it.”

I nodded. He thinks I’ve warmed the seat for him.

“He doesn’t just want the throne,” Lara added. “He wants to rewrite history. To make the Durate name his again.”

I dismissed the others. Leaving only Damian. He stood in silence as I stared out at the burning sky.

Do you think I’m ready? I asked.

He approached me slowly. “You’ve bled for this throne. Killed for it. You didn’t inherit power, Claire. You survived it.”

I looked at him with shadows in my eyes. He has my blood, Damian.

“You have her fire,” he replied. “And mine.”

I stepped into his arms, resting my cheek against his chest.

For a moment, we didn’t speak.

Then I whispered, if it comes to it…If he takes the throne.

“He won’t.”

But if he does…

His voice hardened. “Then I’ll burn Edenfall to the ground before I let him sit on it.”

That night, Alec slipped through the palace like a shadow and found what I couldn’t.

The name of the traitor.

It came from a source in the syndicate, paid in blood and favors. He handed the files to me at dawn.

I read the name. And froze. Then read it again.

Marquis Rael.

The most vocal supporter on the council. The man who voted to execute the watcher. The man who had helped build my new reign. The man who stood beside me at the coronation.

My voice went icy. How long?

Alec shrugged. “At least four months. Maybe longer.”

Damian slammed his fist into the marble column. “I told you he was too eager to fall in line.”

I didn’t speak for some moments. Then turned.

Bring him to me.

Rael was dragged into the throne room by midnight.

No ceremony. No mask. No dignity.

Just a man who had bet on me for survival. Until someone offered him a better hand.

He didn’t bother to beg.

“I did what was necessary,” he said. “You think you’re the future, Claire, but you’re a flicker. Gabriel is the flame.”

I’m the one holding the dagger, I replied coldly.

“You think blood makes you strong?” Rael hissed. “Your mother died because she thought blood would save her.”

I stepped forward, the crown casting long shadows.

Wrong. My mother died because she didn’t kill you first.

I turned to Damian. One warning.

He drew his pistol and fired once into Rael’s kneecap.

He growled, collapsing.

You’ll write down every name, every meeting, every code word you ever received. I said.

He spat blood. “And what if I don’t?” I knelt beside him.

You will.

His eyes flickered. Because I’m not Maria.

And then whispered so only he could hear. I’m worse.

Later, I sat alone in my mother’s study. I opened the second half of the file that Alec gave to me.

There was one more document.

A medical report. My breath stopped. It was…my birth record.

Name: Claire Duarte. Mother: Maria Duarte. Father: classified project Phoenix. DNA: strand 17B.

I stared. Project Phoenix.

I heard it before, but never understood what it meant.

Until now. The last line of the report made my blood run cold.

This subject is not Maria’s biological child. She is the first successful fusion of Phoenix DNA and synthetic Duarte blood. Viable. Experimental. Controlled.

I dropped the file. The world tilted. I wasn’t just born. I was engineered.

Created as part of the project Maria had fought to destroy.

That means…

Maria raised me not because I was her daughter. But because she chose to protect me.

Even knowing what I was. Even knowing that I wasn’t born. I was made.

I stood at the windows of my private chamber hours later, unable to feel the night wind or the fire in my chest.

Just the emptiness. Damian found me there. I didn’t turn.

I’m not who I thought I was. “You’re still you.”

I’m not even Maria’s real daughter. He came closer.

“Blood doesn’t make someone your mother. Fire does.”

And finally, I turned to him, face pale.

What if I’m not human, Damian?

He stepped close, held my face in his hands.

“Then I’ll love you in whatever language your blood speaks.”