Ashes of the crown

POV: Prince Ruvan ❄️👑🕯️

She collapsed.

The flameglass shimmered with her image — on her knees, face in her hands, the fire in her mark dimmed for the first time in weeks.

Ruvan stood perfectly still, arms behind his back, eyes unblinking.

Not triumphant.

Not cruel.

Just… precise.

"It worked," Corven said beside him. "The illusion held. For a few minutes, she truly believed it was her mother."

Ruvan didn't look away. "Grief is the first door. Open it gently… and everything else slips through."

He turned away from the mirror at last and walked toward the frost-forged balcony that overlooked his kingdom. Ice spread beneath his boots, crisp and controlled — the way he liked it.

"She's weakening," Corven said, following. "Emotionally frayed. Doubt creeping in. Should we press the next memory?"

Ruvan didn't answer right away.

Instead, he looked up at the night sky — stars so sharp they seemed to hum.

"Not yet."

"Why wait?" Corven asked, frowning. "She's vulnerable. You could break her fully. Shatter what's left and—"

"And she'll hate me so much, she'll stop listening altogether," Ruvan cut in, his voice ice.

He turned sharply, the frost on the stone railing splintering under his grip.

"The trick is not just to break her. It's to reshape her."

"Into what?"

"Into someone who sees me… not as the villain," he said softly, "but as the only one who understands her."

Corven fell silent.

Because even he could see the change in Ruvan's eyes.

It wasn't just strategy anymore.

It was personal.

Ruvan returned to the memory chamber deep within the citadel — a vault of his own, full of sealed flameglass shards and relics from Project Ember. At its center, a crystal floated — one tied to Eira.

The girl who came before Ariya.

The girl who trusted him.

The girl he couldn't save.

He stared at the crystal, lips tight.

"You looked like her," he murmured. "But not quite."

He closed his eyes.

A vision returned — Eira standing at the altar, a flame in her chest, whispering his name like it meant something.

"You're not Eira," he muttered. "You're Ariya."

He hated how her name tasted different in his mouth.

Less like a threat. More like… a question.

He pressed a hand against the ice-sealed mirror beside the crystal. Ariya's image flared back to life — this time, not from today, but from memory.

The rooftop.

The moment she fell into his arms.

The way her eyes flared with power, anger… and something else.

He could still feel the heat on his chest where her mark brushed his armor.

He'd told himself it was just coincidence. That his plan — to lure her close, to use her own fire against her — was flawless.

But that damn mark.

The same one Eira had.

Only now it pulsed with both fire and frost.

A balance he no longer believed was possible… and yet, here she was.

"You're dangerous," he whispered to the mirror. "But not because of your power."

"It's because I'm not sure what you are turning me into."

Corven entered again, this time more cautious.

"If I may ask, my prince… what happens if she resists? If she chooses herself instead of the path you've prepared?"

Ruvan looked up slowly.

"Then I make her choose me anyway."

Corven's eyes flickered. "By force?"

"Yes," Ruvan said. "If needed."

He stepped past Corven toward the war room, cloak sweeping like a shadow behind him.

"Let her grieve. Let her question. Then… send the flameglass shard."

"The one from the Ember chamber?" Corven asked.

"Yes." Ruvan's voice turned quiet. "Let her see what was done to her… and who was too weak to stop it."

He didn't say the name.

He didn't have to.

Because he meant himself.