“Peace, Lily,” the Crowned King said, his voice still tinged with concern. “Take your time. We must examine your senses first.”

“We’ve just removed a strong mental compulsion,” one of the oathholders—the woman—added, stepping away from me and stretching. “A loyalty effect, we believe. How long has it been there?”

“Ask not the girl,” said King Edward. “She likely knows not.”

“Whatever it was, it was powerful,” the other oathholder said. “It took the two of us near an hour to identify where it was and how to remove it. It was not a particularly complex one, but it was deeply ingrained.”

An hour? It hadn’t felt like I was out for nearly that long, but then my recollections of the last bit did feel pretty fuzzy. I remembered the faces of these oathholders, the on-and-off nature of my consciousness,

“I think I might know what it was,” I realized grimly. “If I’m right, then it’s been going for near eight years now.”

“Eight—“ the Crowned King paused, his brow furrowing into a frown. “I know the House Byron name. Lily, are you not nine years of age?”

“I am, majesty,” I said, remembering the manners I was supposed to have through the thick haze of hatred enveloping me. “Nine years and two months.”

“Merciful gods,” the man of the oathholders said. “No wonder it was so deeply embedded.”

“The oathholder who placed that must have been extremely powerful, consistent, or both,” the other said, shaking her head. “We’ve been doing this our whole lives, and so we’re both sitting around class fifteen or sixteen, and still…”

“Most compulsions of this type, we can do in a minute or two,” the man supplied. “She holds an oath to Ditas, I to Nacea, and together we—wait, you do know what I’m talking about, yes?”

My head felt heavy. It wasn’t a sensation like I was drugged or just waking up, more of one where the emotion flooding it was too damned heavy to ignore.

Whatever they’d removed had been a full-on dam. An entire’s life worth of memories was being reflected upon, meanings reassigned and added, and almost none of them were changed for the better.

House Byron deserved to burn.

“Lily?” the Nacea oathholder asked. “Are you with us?”

I blinked, not realizing until he’d asked that I was breathing shallow and fast. I forced myself to still, drawing on lessons that my father had overseen, and—

Agh. Even the slightest association with Lord Byron was tainting the direction of my thoughts. The lessons came to mind, but they came to mind with brand new caveats. You learned this, but you did it under the wing of the murderer who shaped you in his image.

I pushed the unbidden thoughts to the back of my mind, and though I could feel them enroaching upon me even as I did so, I used the breathing exercise anyway. Even if this had an association to my father, most everything did. It wasn’t like I could just drop dead right now. I had to get myself functional.

My heart was pounding in my ears, each beat like a drum beating inside my head. It was awfully distracting, but I needed to focus. I closed my eyes.

Deep breath in.

Murderer.

Hold it.

Sycophant.

Exhale.

A killer’s tool.

And let the tensions within me flow out, balling them up and breathing them out.

I opened my eyes again, not feeling much better, but I was sharp enough to hold conversation and that was all that mattered right now.

“…yes,” I managed to say. “I know how oaths work. I read my texts.”

“Stay with us,” the Crowned King said softly. “Can you walk?”

I rose to my feet, the blood in my ears still pounding with every passing moment. My chest was being crushed, an inexorable hand gripping my heart and squeezing.

I would be fine physically. This was just a slight variation on the battle-rush that many of the Byron-trained berserkers often felt, right? This wasn’t going to cause any long-lasting harm.

To my body, at least.

“I can walk,” I said. “Should we be?”

“To a more comfortable location,” the Crowned King said, his tone a mix between suggestion and order. I had no reason to disobey, so I followed him.

As we started walking, I realized that I was still gripping paper in my hands, my fists having not unclenched since I’d woken up.

A cursory glance back at the place where I’d been lying revealed why even as servants came seemingly out of nowhere to clean up the mess I’d made.

Books lay strewn across the floor, tossed aside to make a space large enough to treat me in. My recollection of what had happened wasn’t entirely there, but from the looks of it I’d struggled shortly after the almost unreal spike of pain had hit me. I guessed I must have knocked them down from the shelves, because I didn’t recall opening any of them in particular.

One title did, however, catch my eye, and I looked closer at it as we made our way away.

A Treatise on Oaths Deemed Heretical During the Continental War. The book I’d triggered this compulsion over.

It was open, faceup on the ground right next to where I’d been.

And it was no longer intact.

Two or three pages had been ripped out of it. I recognized the pages on the left side, ones about a crocodile-god that had become obsolete with the extinction of the animal during the continental war, but not the ones on the right.

It didn’t take a genius to see what had happened. I’d ripped the pages out, crumpled them up into balls of paper small enough to fit in my fists, and fallen.

That meant that the family-killing oath was in my hands right now.

I looked away from the book, suddenly irrationally worried that one of the three people escorting me would look at me and realize I was up to something.

We left through a different door than the one we’d come in through. If I could trust my addled mind, then this gate led to a residential wing of the castle.

“Where are we going, majesty?” I asked, pitching my voice higher once again trying to sell the “innocent grieving child” image. It had seemed to stick earlier, but there wasn’t any harm in reinforcing it more now.

Still trying to manipulate others even when the compulstion is gone. What did that mean for me? That, magic or no magic, I had always been someone like this? A hidden killer, one who never showed their true face to the world around them?

I… as much as I wanted to deal with that right now, it had to wait. There were too many more pertinent things that I had to think about at the moment.

What was my plan of action for the next couple of hours?

The Crowned King had been unnaturally friendly to me tonight, and the thought passed my mind that I could absolutely kill him here. Knock out one of the oathholders, nick a knife from a nearby guard, and go for the neck.

“We make haste towards a sitting room,” the King rumbled. “You need refreshment and rest, and then we can speak about what you wish.”

Did I want to do that? The Crowned King wasn’t the sole proprietor of the Crown—his role was to protect the land from external threats, while the Crown Prince dealt with issues domestically. If I killed him, I might further my push for the Crown, but it would throw the kingdom into disarray. Leave us weak for the nations around us. Sure, Yelian was friendly, but if there was a power vacuum at the very top? Who knew what would happen.

Also, I realized, it wasn’t even my push for the Crown. It was Lord and Lady Byron’s.

And did I want to give them anything?

As we walked, I noticed that the the oathholders beside me were apparently more concerned about our surroundings than what I was doing, checking every corner like there might be someone with a hidden gun or blade behind it.

“Is something the matter, majesty?” I asked. “The healers seem worried.”

The Crowned King turned his head towards me, his stride still a fair bit in front of mine. “Nothing is the matter, Lily. They simply seek to keep you safe from those who sought to breach our castle walls tonight. To the best of the Crown’s knowledge, we remain safe.”

“Yep,” the woman replied, not bothering to look at me when she spoke. “Just lookin’ out for you, is all.”

Keeping myself safe from my own invasion. I had to suppress a smile at that.

We kept walking, and while their heads were turned away from me, I slowly moved my hands towards my pants. I’d worn a sturdy pair today, knowing that I might have to risk running after the nobles I’d followed here, and they had a rather handy set of expansive pockets.

Ensuring that I didn’t make any noise, I passed the balled-up papers from my hands into my pockets. I could examine them later if I needed to. Doing it now was too high a risk. Sure, they might have seen it and not had an issue with it earlier, but that had been when I was in actual risk of harm. Would they still be okay with me taking secret research out of the library now that the situation had calmed down?

“Oh, right,” the Ditas oathholder said at length, glancing towards me. “Need you to agree to not to talk about the research. We got wrapped up in healing, I almost forgot to do that.”

“Works with me,” I said, taking my hands out of my pockets as inconspicuously as I could.

I really did have no issue with that. Not being able to report on what I read didn’t mean I wasn’t going to be able to use it, so what did it actually mean?

It meant that House Byron wouldn’t get the information, and to the disapproving image of my father in my mind I said: fuck House Byron.

The living piece of trash who had helped birth me had molded me into a blade. Aimed me at innocents, children and adults alike.

And he’d been controlling me this entire time.

As I started thinking on it, memories flooded my mind. Landing on the subject had unlocked the dam, it appeared, and now I was going to have to deal with my own thoughts. I’d planned on dealing with this later, but there wasn’t going to be any undoing of the deluge inside my head.

The pain when I’d considering betraying the House. The hesitant but unwavering loyalty to House Byron. My willingness to continue on, even when my family members dropped like flies around me. The soldiers’ willingness to continue on into the fire even as they burned one by one.

Had any of it ever been real?

Or had it all just been a godsdamned fantasy, instilled into my mind by one Lord Wilson Byron and his veil-lady cloaked in white?

I hated this. The sensation of knowing that what I’d done, the people I killed… that hadn’t quite been me, but it hadn’t not been either, and I didn’t know where the line had been drawn.

I hadn’t been in control of my actions, but I had been. I didn’t know if there was any of the compulsion left in me, some way that the Lord Byron could continue to influence, but I wanted it gone, to scrub myself clean and clear myself of any trace of the man.

People were supposed to make their way in life, choose their paths, and Lord Byron had violated that, in the process shaving off the bits of me that might have recoiled when told to murder a former playmate.

I would never forgive him.

Ugly emotion balled in my throat, threatening to spill over into a hateful shout.

No. I brought myself back down to earth, breathing in deeply once more. There would be time for more anger at my House later.

Now, though…

“We’re here,” the woman-oathholder announced. “It’s a tea room.”

“There are guards inside,” the Crowned King noted, “But I would prefer the two of you remain with us. Should Lily encounter any further issues, she may be in need of your continued services.”

“Yes, majesty,” they responded, their responses slightly off sync.

The carved wooden door opened before we even got there, the guards on the inside hearing or detecting the Crowned King somehow.

Inside was a quaint little sitting room, soft white couches with Tayan purple cushions surrounding a few central tables. A perfect place to greet diplomats, I assumed.

We took seats at opposing couches, and though I felt a little awkward at having an entire couch to myself, it was nice to actually be respected for once.

I took a look around before speaking, scanning the room. There had been a pair guards standing by the door before we’d gotten here, and they were there again. A casual display of power, I was pretty sure, and maybe not even an intentional one. The disparity couldn’t be more clear. While House Byron hemorrhaged people, losing soldiers and staff in our complex plots, the Crown still had enough that an out-of-the-way sitting room could be fully manned.

A side door that I hadn’t noticed on our way in opened, and a servant poked his head in.

“Welcome, majesty,” the servant greeted the Crowned King, placing a fist over his heart. “Would you like the usual?”

“Please,” Crowned King Edward replied. “And add some sweets for the little Byron, will you?”

“Of course, majesty,” the servant said, bowing deeply and briefly before closing the side door.

“Let us wait for refreshments,” the King told me, a tired smile playing over his lips. “I am sure you are spent.”

I didn’t want to wait. There were words ready to spill forth from my mouth, sentiments that had been bubbling beneath the surface for years, my own thoughts hidden from me by the efforts of my father.

Still, this was the Crowned King. One did not simply walk into a sitting room with him and disrespect the man who led Tayan’s armed forces.

Only a minute or two after the servant had left, he returned, walking through the same door with a massive tiered platter of refreshments on one arm and drinks in the other. He made it to the table that the Crowned King and I sat by gracefully, an ease in his movements that I’d never really seen in the Byron servants.

“Let me know if you need more, majesty,” he said, bowing again. “You know how to call me.”

“Thank you,” the Crowned King said, sincerity in his voice.

The platter had three tiers on it, accompanied by glasses of lemon water on the side. Each platter had a variety of snacks that I had passing familiarity with, but the top layer had what looked to be sweet frosted cookies. I took one and started eating it, savoring the airy, creamy sweetness of the fluffy pastry.

Gods, I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.

After finishing a cookie as well as a small savory dish and washing it all down with a sip of water, I was ready to speak.

“House Byron is turning traitor,” I said, getting to straight to the point. There was no point in building up the point, couching it in nicer terms. I had to convince the King. I was, after all, still only a child.

But I was going to make the Lord Byron regret ever changing me, and I’d be damned if I left this impromptu meeting without doing so.

For the first time tonight, my words caught the Crowned King off guard. I saw it in his face, the way it morphed from confusion to alarm to disbelief and then back to a blank mask in the matter of less than a second.

“You accuse your own family,” he said, his voice grave. Nothing like the kind, fair man I’d seen just moments ago. “A serious accusation, at that.”

“I accuse true,” I said, slipping into the formal manner of courtspeak that I’d been schooled in.

That House Byron had schooled me in. That thought brought more pressure to my chest, crushing in on my heart, but I pushed through it. My thoughts were free and they were mine and I was never going to let the man who dared call himself my father take that away again.

“You understand that you accuse grave enough to warrant death to the last,” the Crowned King said, steepling his fingers under his chin. “Death of your own family.”

“I accuse with this intent,” I acknowledged. “Lord Byron orchestrated the killings of the Crown Princes.”

That took even more out of him, the lights fading in his eyes. When he opened his mouth to speak again, it was with the steel that he’d had at the formal ball I’d last seen him at.

“The poisonings, the killings—“

“House Byron’s initiative,” I said, pouring the messy mix of anger and hatred into my words. “I was under mental compulsion, yes?”

“You were,” the Ditas oathholder supplied from the next couch over. I looked towards her and found both of the oathholders standing at guard, the tension in their bodies betraying how they felt about this situation. “A strong loyalty effect.”

“To Lord Wilson Byron,” I said. “My father.”

I couldn’t forget myself in this. If I condemned my family to the axe and forgot to save myself from it, that was as much of a loss for me as letting the control continue would have been.

“That excuses much,” the Crowned King said, “But it does not absolve you of charge. Nor does it prove your truth.”

“Crown Prince Monus Tayan was killed by my mother’s poison,” I said, meeting his tone. “Crown Prince Verlin by my now-dead brother’s blade. Crown Prince Rene perished when Lord Byron snuck into this very castle cloaked by his oath and slit his throat.”

“We had yet to reveal this. You tell true.” Not a hint of humor was left in the Crowned King, his posture cold and calculating like he was determining whether he should seize me right now.

“Rosemary of House Ther,” I said. “Rose of House Tempet. Both dead by my hand, guided by my father’s.”

“The deaths that began the conflict.”

“Undermining the Tempet grip on Klon. Destroying patches of the western farmland. Hostile activities against the Church.”

“You claim this to be House Byron’s effort.”

“Every night,” I snarled, “I dine with my family to hear the next phase of their plan to seize the Crown.”

The Crowned King stared at me for a solid ten seconds, not saying a word, then turned his head to the woman with the Ditas oath.

“Yes, majesty,” she said unprompted, making her way over to me.

I recoiled away, remembering all too well what she’d been able to clear from my mind less than an hour ago. If she could remove, she could replace.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said patiently, poorly hiding the strain in her voice. “I just need to ensure you’re telling the truth.”

I eyed her cautiously, then leaned back in. If the Crowned King wanted me dead or changed, it was going to happen no matter what I did. I would have to trust him.

I felt magic flood my body, the feeling a simultaneously familiar and alien one. Much more than I’d ever managed at one time.

“Do you promise that you have spoken the truth for the past five minutes and will continue to for the next fifteen?” she asked, her eyes glowing with power.

A Truthtelling spell. I recognized the effects of it, though I didn’t see where she’d drawn a pattern. Maybe she’d been proficient enough to not even need a diagram.

That was besides the point.

“Yes,” I agreed, and the power within me solidified. It was an odd feeling and while it was not one I was totally unfamiliar with, this had been cast at a far greater intensity than I was used to.

“Fuck,” the Crowned King said, letting his head hang. “I had believed House Byron an ally.”

“Lord Byron is bloodthirsty,” I said. I could barely even feel the effect, the words tumbling forth less a result of the magic and more my own feelings finally detonating. “As I grew up, he knocked me down and beat me and broke me until I was nothing more than another blade for him. He sought to kill as many as he could and is likely to kill more.”

“Gods above,” the Nacea oathholder whispered. “Lord Byron? Why?”

“I know not why,” I replied. “But he will not stop until the Crown is dead or he is.”

“You speak true,” the Crowned King said, no longer looking at me. “I thank you for your honesty.”

“You must kill him,” I said, surprising even myself with the fury in my voice. “You must kill all of them.”

“I assume you would wish to survive,” the Crowned King said, as if killing House Byron to the last was a granted.

“Yes,” I said. “I would.”

“Lily of House Byron cannot survive,” he told me, his voice still steely but his eyes soft and sad. “I am deeply sorry, but you may no longer have your noble title.”

“I care not,” I said. “So long as I survive and they do not.”

“You will be exiled,” he warned. “Far away from here, so that you may not be recognized. You may never be recognized lest the Crown’s name be tarnished for an incomplete job.”

“Very well,” I said. It wasn’t the optimal case, but I shouldn’t have expected anything better.

“I will draft a full contract at a later point,” the King said. “Let this be known: Lily of House Byron may no longer exist. You will enter a village, and you will remain hidden from the court until the name of Byron has been forgotten.”

“Then let us stamp the name out ourselves,” I said.

I returned to the Byron manor with significantly more people than I’d left with.

Just about a Crowned King and four Strike Teams more, to be exact.

When we returned, the guards couldn’t stop us. A brief explanation that we were here for a routine investigation along with the sight of my face was more than enough for them to accept us in.

Lord and Lady Byron were having dinner when we arrived forty men strong.

They never stood a chance.

Before they could stand from their seats, they were immobilized, captured and ready to be imprisoned.

When I left the Byron manor, it was devoid of nobles.

The papers I’d ripped out of that oathbook back in the library had the script of the oathtongue inscribed on them. They were instructions, for the most part. The way to initiate the ritual to form an oath once the requirements were met.

I gazed at the papers again, practicing my pronunciation.

A noise rose from beneath the tower of the royal castle I was residing in. I peered out of the window of my glorified cell, watching as the crowd of nobles and commoners alike gathered in front of the castle grounds. At least two hundred strong, they must have been, all of them gathered to watch two people.

I’d watched enough executions in my time. Given enough of them.

I knew what the words they said were going to be.

“Thus ends House Byron,” I whispered.

“You stole my birthright from me, Father.”

The words came unbidden from my lips, soft and sharp all at once. It wasn’t sinking in yet, but I knew it would soon. No more tutors. No more servants. No more… any of this, all thanks to my father.

Deep within me, I felt something resonate as the cheers of the crowds grew and the executioner’s axe fell. Twin splashes of red marked the stage outside, and the only thought I could muster up was I wish they hadn’t made it so easy.

I turned my eyes to the papers in my hand, and I started reciting the words. My pronunciation wasn’t quite perfect, but it was more than good enough.

I’d killed my parents. My family was dead.

I finished speaking the words, hoping beyond hope that what I’d done had been enough.

“I need power,” I muttered. “As much as I can, or I’ll never mend my family’s idiocy.”

I had wanted to become the Byron matriarch. To become powerful, just like the bodies cooling beneath me had once been.

A presence appeared in my mind.

I reached out towards it, and a broken god reached back.