Page 211 of Severed Heir

Scoffs broke from the crowd, sharp and cutting like stones hurled at a throne not yet built. “A daughter?” someone shouted,

The word caught wind, passed from voice to voice. He took my hand, lowering it gently. “You were stolen from me your entire life,” he said. “I won’t waste a single moment earning the right to be your father.”

But he was only that—my father by blood. Not by memory. Not by heart. I would never let him walk me down any aisle. I would never let him rewrite the history I’d fought to survive. Especially not when I still remembered the barrens, the refugees, the aides bought like livestock under this very sky.

I stepped forward, my hair tangled in the salted wind, the warmth of my quell pulsing inside me like a heartbeat.

“As my first act as heir,” I said clearly, my voice rising above the hush, “all refugees will be treated as civilians.”

The hush snapped. Murmurs stirred. Hadrian whirled toward me, his voice low and biting. “Severyn. This is not the moment to stir rebellion. Let them see your flame, not your politics.”

“Theywillsee both,” I said. “Or your kingdom will learn how fractured your legacy truly is. You fathered me with a married woman while married yourself. Do you really think they won’t whisper?”

He gripped my wrist. “No heir of mine speaks to me like this.”

“Then you shouldn’t have made me your heir.”

His jaw clenched. “Any other demands?”

“Yes,” I said coldly. “Archer sleeps in my bed and you have no say about our relationship.”

His eyes flicked to Archer, then to the crowd. “Very well,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “The refugees will be released.”

The festival resumed in uneasy waves, the music swelling slowly until it smoothed over the tension. Flame lanterns floated between balconies, drifting on invisible threads of heat and celebration. We drank from carved wooden goblets, filled with house wine—dark, sweet, and fermented from cherry crops near the farmlands.

For the first time in days, I let myself breathe. Just the music. The sweetness of wine. The gentle press of warmth on my skin.

“Would you like another glass, miss?”

The voice came soft from behind, gentle, hesitant in a way that immediately set my cup trembling in my hand. I turned.

Silver-streaked hair. Familiar eyes. A pale blouse tucked into worn riding trousers. Her posture was straight-backed, proud, and graceful, like someone who had once known how to kneel but hadn’t in years.

“Estella?” My voice cracked. “You—you were petrified.”

“Not anymore,” she said, a soft smile breaking over her face as she stepped closer. “I’ll explain it all later. But you’re here… and Hadrian’s heir.” Her voice thickened. “Severyn, just look at you.”

Emotion surged so fast it stole the breath from my lungs. “You’re my aunt,” I whispered, the words catching on the edge of disbelief. “You’re my family.”

Estella reached up and gently brushed her fingers over the scar on my cheek, the same one she had once stitched. “Yes, my girl,” she said. “I am. And I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”

Behind us, a quiet voice cut in. “You should go with Estella,” Archer said. “She’ll help you get your room in order.”

I nodded, still stunned, and followed her past the last row of stone cottages to a guesthouse tucked at the edge of the estate. Most of the fire damage had been cleared away, though a faint scent of ash lingered beneath the fresh earth.

The guesthouse was modest but elegant, its sloped gable roof framed by weathered shutters and climbing ivy. A soft glow spilled through a sun-cracked window, warming the air inside. At the center stood a canopy bed draped in citrine silk, its curtains catching the light like strands of fire.

“This will be yours for now,” Estella said, her voice low. “It was a bunker during the war used by elite scholars and spies. Should give you a bit of distance from my idiot brother.”

A quiet laugh slipped out. “I thought I was the only one who thought that about Hadrian.”

She smiled, stepping closer to brush my bangs aside. “Any new cuts? Scars?”

“None that haven’t healed,” I murmured, glancing around the room again.

She folded her hands. “I’m not an aide anymore, at least not for now. I’ll be here. With you.”

I whispered, “You knew, didn’t you?”

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