The Ring That Felt Like a Lie

Natalia 

The simple act of getting out of bed this morning was an exercise in torture. A symphony of agony played through my feet with every shift of weight, and I winced with each hesitant movement. Viktor, I thought with a venomous scowl, I despise you. I truly, deeply despise you.

After what felt like an eternity of careful, painful movements, I finally managed to dress and made my slow, agonizing way to the dining room for breakfast. Viktor was already there, seated at the table, engaged in conversation with a striking woman who stood beside him. To my surprise, he rose the moment I entered, a smile gracing his lips. Well, well, I mused, someone's feeling chivalrous today. Could it be guilt over my feet? The thought was so absurd I almost snorted aloud. Right. And pigs might fly. Viktor pulled out my chair for me, and only after I was seated did he return to his own.

“Natalia, this is Seamstress Amara,” Viktor said, his gesture indicating the woman beside him. “She will be creating your gown for the ball.”

My eyes fell upon Amara, a truly stunning woman with long, reddish-brown hair and captivating blue-green eyes. A natural warmth seemed to radiate from her, an infectious friendliness. And she was the one making my dress? A wave of unease washed over me in her presence. Still, I supposed it could be worse. At least Amara seemed lovely. Viktor could have hired some lecherous old man. No, wait, I corrected myself, Mr. Psycho is far too possessive for that. After finishing my breakfast, I followed Seamstress Amara to be measured.

Hours later, after an exhaustive session of measuring and fitting, I finally understood the reason for Viktor’s morning chivalry. It wasn’t guilt; it was pity. Amara had been an absolute doll, but the process was grueling. It would be far, far too soon if I ever had to meet another seamstress again.

My mind drifted back to the previous evening. The first words I had spoken to Viktor upon entering his study were, “I hate you, you know that?”

He had simply smiled. “Yes, I know. I despise you, too.”

Later, we had another dancing lesson before retiring for the night. It was a surprisingly serene experience. Viktor had me sing as we moved, my voice a soft melody in the quiet room. This time, I was grateful he made no effort to intentionally crush my feet, though I felt a twinge of guilt for the numerous times I inadvertently stepped on his. As our dance slowed to a halt, I felt my exhaustion deepen, my voice fading to a whisper. I let my head rest against his chest, the solid beat of his heart a steady rhythm beneath my ear. My eyes drifted shut, and just before sleep claimed me completely, I felt Viktor’s arms lift me, carrying me gently to our bed.

Morgan

My apprenticeship under Josias at the Palace of Ethon had been a seamless transition into royal life, but today, something felt amiss. While conducting our weekly inventory, I noticed a peculiar and steady increase in certain supplies.

Blinking, I turned to him. “Josias, forgive me, but is there a mistake in the ledgers? Our stock of salves and bandages has been growing consistently for weeks.”

Josias looked up from the patient he was tending, his expression somber. “King Stefan has ordered me to prepare for war.”

I blinked.

Then I blinked again.

“What?”

“The Ruen War,” he stated, his tone grave. “King Stefan has learned of a burgeoning rebellion in Ruen and has decided this is the opportune moment to strike. We will attack next week, during their ball.”

What? Wait! The words were unbelievable. Relations with Ruen were tense, yes, but war? Next week? A cold dread seized me. Natalia. Natalia is there! She could be killed! Wasn’t it enough that I had to leave her there? I would not let anything else happen to her. I knew enough history to understand the fate of female captives in the hands of an invading army.

“King Stefan means to declare war on Ruen while the country is divided against itself,” I murmured, the reality of it settling like a stone in my gut.

No. I had to do something. I had no choice last time, but I had one now. But what could I possibly do? I couldn't betray the people here—not kind Josias, not the children in the kitchens like little Delara and Benjen, not the guards like Emilia and Saul. Betraying them felt unthinkable.

But those villagers, and Midwife Elspeth... they betrayed you, a small, insidious voice whispered in the back of my mind. Here is your chance to betray them in return.

Then, two images warred in my mind: Natalia, sobbing in my arms, terrified and alone, and little Benjen, his small hand waving goodbye as I left the village. How could I choose? Why did it feel as if I had to?

“Morgan, are you alright?” Josias asked, his voice laced with concern. My thoughts were a chaotic storm as I stared blankly at the inventory list.

“Why does King Stefan want this war with Ruen?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Josias dismissed his patient with a gentle wave before turning his full attention to me. He spoke with the weary wisdom of ages. “Humanity fears what it does not understand.”

I looked up at him, startled. King Stefan, the man Natalia had dubbed Mr. Psycho, wouldn’t understand?

“I don’t understand,” I said. “What is it about Ruen that King Stefan can’t comprehend?”

“The unknown,” Josias explained. “The King of Ruen is a despot. What happens when he decides Ruen is not enough? What if he desires Hanna, or Munda? What if he turns his eyes to Ethon? What is to stop him? King Stefan believes such a wicked man cannot be permitted to live.”

“Natalia,” I mumbled to myself. Natalia was stopping him. Maybe if I just told the King about the prophecy, this could all be averted! As I prepared to leave the wing, the memory of King Stefan's unsettling demeanor from our last meeting surfaced. His poison ring—the one Josias kept for morally questionable patients, a testament to his own survival instincts—lay on a nearby table. While Josias’s back was turned, my hand darted out and closed around the cool metal.

I burst into King Stefan’s study without being announced. His initial shock at my intrusion quickly melted into an expression of pure smugness.

“You can’t—you can’t attack Ruen!” I stammered, my heart hammering against my ribs. “The king poses no danger! One of the prophecies—”

“I am aware of the prophecy,” he cut in smoothly. “And I am aware that the king’s ‘other half’ is his current queen.”

What? He knew Viktor was Natalia’s other half?

“Then stop this! Don’t go to war!” I pleaded desperately.

The king rose from his desk and glided toward me. He reached out and caressed my cheek, and my skin crawled at his touch. I flinched away.

“I am fully aware of the prophecy,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming with a strange light. “Just as I am fully aware of you.” What did he mean by that? What was happening? Why wouldn't he stop the war? “I have, in fact, been in communication with the leader of the rebellion. He has been most forthcoming with information.”

A primal instinct screamed at me to flee, but before I could turn, King Stefan snapped his fingers. A sharp click echoed from the door as the lock engaged. My blood ran cold. I turned back to face him, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm of pure terror.

“You can only imagine my surprise,” he continued, his voice a triumphant purr, “when my ally, General Gathersword, informed me that his own niece—the current king’s half-sister—had returned to this dimension. Especially after her mother gave her very life to ensure her only daughter would grow up in a world free from her murderous half-brother.”

“What are you talking about?” I whispered. “I was raised in Ameria! By the Clarkes! From birth!” No. He can't be right. My parents would have told me. Someone would have told me!

“No,” he said, shaking his head with mock pity. “You were born in Ruen, the secret love child of a peasant man and the former Queen of Ruen. Your mother sent you away at birth to protect you from her envious husband and from her son, who was already showing signs of profound cruelty. She died to keep you safe. Can you imagine the General’s shock, seeing his sister's soul twin appear right beside the very niece she died to save?”

No! He’s lying! He has to be! I have nothing to do with that psychopath Viktor! And I am not Natalia’s anything!

“Of course, you wouldn’t understand what a soul twin is,” he mused. “Every dimension is interconnected, Morgan. The same souls, reborn with the most minute of variations. Did you know, Morgan, that the only true differences between soul twins are their eyes, and a tiny sliver of their soul? How does it feel to know that the only things separating you from your precious ‘sister in all but blood’ are the color of your eyes and a fraction of a soul? The only difference.”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You, Morgan, are the key to the Ruen throne. For a new ruler to be seen as legitimate, they must have a connection to the last. And I believe that being the husband of the former king’s own half-sister would certainly qualify, don’t you?”

“Stop talking!” I screamed, my voice breaking. “Stop lying! Just stop! You’re lying! My parents are my parents! I’m not royalty! Just... stop!”