PROLOGUE

MOSCOW, RUSSIA.

~ALZNA

The thin ray of sunlight slipping through a crack in the wall was the only way I could tell night from day. The air was thick with dampness, and the scent of rusted iron mixed with the staleness of my unwashed skin. My stomach twisted painfully in protest, hollow from days without food.

The iron gate groaned open, followed by the sound of shoes clicking against the cold concrete. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

It was Kirill.

My second-eldest brother, the one who relished power a little too much, stood before me. Even without seeing his face, I could feel the smugness rolling off him in waves, his presence alone was enough to sour the already putrid air.

“Alzna,” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery. “You still wear that defiant look, don’t you? Stubborn to the bitter end.”

I kept my gaze fixed on the far wall, refusing to acknowledge him. But Kirill was never one to be ignored. He crouched before me, the scent of his cologne invading my senses, and gripped my jaw with bruising force, jerking my face toward him.

“Don’t look away from me, little sister,” he sneered.

I clenched my jaw, my body tensing under his grip. The sight of his face so eerily similar to mine, yet twisted with arrogance and cruelty sent a surge of rage through my veins.

I spat in his face, the only act of rebellion left to me. My throat tightened as I forced myself to speak, “You think this is the end for me? You’ve murdered innocents and betrayed our blood, and you think you’ll walk away untouched? You’re a fool, Kirill.”

His expression darkened as his lip curled in disgust. The slap came fast, snapping my head to the side. Pain flared across my cheek and my ears rang from the impact, but I refused to make a sound.

I refused to give that satisfaction.

“You still waste your thoughts on those pathetic lives,” he hissed, wiping my spit from his cheek. “And for the record, I don’t kill the innocent,” he straightened, adjusting his cuffs. “They chose to defy me, and that choice sealed their fate.”

I scoffed, “Choose to defy you? Mamochka begged you, Kirill! You killed your mother, our mother!” I yelled as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I swiftly blinked them away, refusing to show weakness.

Kirill let out a deep sigh, “Shifting blame on me?” he tsked, shaking his head. “Come on Alzna, everything that has happened in the past weeks is a result of your stubbornness and stupidity and it's going to end right here, right now.”

He whistled loudly, and the gate opened again. A man dressed in black entered. A briefcase dangled in his hand as he walked briskly toward me. Without a word, he knelt and clicked it open. The silver latch gave way with a soft snap, revealing a syringe and a small vial of clear liquid.

“What are you doing, you fucking bastard?” I snarled tugging at the chains around my wrist. “What is that?”

Kirill’s smirk deepened as his fingers grazed over the syringe as he lifted it.

“What does it look like, dear sister?” he mused, drawing the liquid into the syringe. “I’m tying up loose ends. That’s what family does, isn’t it? Protects its legacy. We’ve wiped every trace of your existence—no name, no records, no past. To the world, you don’t exist. Why keep you alive, when you are invisible to the world?”

My blood turned cold, but I refused to let him see the fear creeping up my spine. I straightened my shoulders, keeping my gaze locked on his. “You’re a coward, Kirill,” I spat, “Hiding behind your poisons and chains. You couldn’t even finish me off face-to-face. You all are losers and always will be losers” I laughed bitterly.

His face darkened. “Brave words for someone at my mercy,” he murmured. His grip returned to my jaw, tighter this time, his fingers digging in deep enough to bruise. “Don’t mistake survival for strength, Alzna.” He clicked his tongue, tilting his head. “Father’s favorite little girl, look at you now. Worthless. Weak. Unwanted.”

The words should’ve stung, but I’d heard worse from dangerous men. Kirill wasn’t a god. He wasn’t even a devil. Just a man playing ruler, desperate for control.

I held my head high, ignoring the violent tremble in my limbs.

“Beg,” he said, “Beg, and I’ll think about sparing you.”

A slow smile spread across my lips. My body was weak, and my vision blurred slightly, but I met his gaze with nothing but defiance.

“I’d rather rot in hell than beg you, Kirill.”

His jaw ticked, his fingers tightening, but I saw it—that flicker of something in his eyes. Irritation. No matter what he did, no matter how much he tried to break me, I would not beg.

His smirk faltered, replaced by something darker, angrier. Without another word, he plunged the needle into my arm.

The sharp sting made me gasp, but the real pain came seconds later. A slow, burning numbness crept through my veins. My muscles weakened and my head lolled forward. I fought to keep my eyes open, to breathe through the fog rapidly closing in on me.

“Father's princess doesn't cry,” I whispered to myself as tears streamed down my eyes, the words my father used to say. They’d kept me strong for months, but now, they rang hollow.

Kirill’s laughter echoed in my ears, a cruel, mocking sound that followed me into the dark.