Chapter 5

The aches in my muscles were a reminder of last night's sparring, but I refused to let it slow me. If anything, the pain grounded me, a sharp contrast to the unfamiliar softness that lingered from Lucian's unexpected show of concern.

I had spent the night replaying the moment he steadied me, the way his touch had been firm but not unkind. It was unsettling. I had expected coldness, indifference—perhaps even a veiled smirk at my exhaustion. But he had simply… helped me. As if he cared whether or not I collapsed before the court. As if I were something more than an inconvenient wife forced upon him.

That thought troubled me more than it should have.

The morning air was crisp as I stepped into the palace gardens, needing a reprieve from the stifling weight of the court. Servants bustled quietly in the distance, tending to the trimmed hedges and vibrant blooms, but for the most part, I was alone.

Or so I thought.

"You're up early," Lucian's voice cut through the quiet, and I turned to find him leaning against a stone archway. He was dressed less formally than usual, his dark tunic free of the stiff embellishments he often wore to court. His silver-streaked hair looked slightly tousled, as if he had risen not long before me.

"I could say the same of you," I replied, keeping my expression neutral.

He stepped forward, his movements measured, predatory in a way that reminded me of the first time we met. "Couldn't sleep."

A wry smile tugged at my lips. "Guilt over bruising your wife during training?"

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You held your own. Better than I expected."

"I intend to do more than just hold my own, Your Highness."

Lucian studied me for a moment, then took another step closer, enough that I could catch the faint scent of leather and steel that clung to him. "Good," he murmured. "Because no one in this court will hand you power, Verona. You will have to take it."

Something about the way he said my name—low, deliberate—sent a shiver through me. I had expected veiled insults, warnings of my place. Instead, he was offering something else. A challenge, perhaps. A test.

"And if I do?" I asked, tilting my head.

"Then you will prove them all wrong."

The weight of his words settled between us, heavy with meaning. I wasn't sure if it was encouragement or a warning. Maybe both. But one thing was clear—Lucian Velthorne was no longer just tolerating my presence.

He was watching. Waiting.

And that was far more dangerous than his indifference.

The rest of the morning was spent in quiet contemplation, though quiet did not mean peaceful. Even as I strolled the gardens, taking in the manicured hedges and trickling fountains, my mind replayed the previous day's council meeting, the veiled threats hidden in polite words, and the shifting weight of power within the court.

I had begun to recognize the undercurrents of manipulation. The nobles did not need to say outright that they doubted me; their silence spoke louder than words.

If I was to survive in Praylor, I needed more than sharp words and stubborn pride. I needed allies.

Lucian's words still echoed in my mind. No one in this court will hand you power. You will have to take it.

And I would.

A rustling from behind the hedges broke my thoughts, and I turned sharply, instincts from my years in Hull warning me of unseen eyes. My fingers twitched toward the hidden dagger strapped to my thigh—a habit I would never unlearn.

"Who's there?" I demanded.

Silence stretched for too long before a figure stepped into view. A young woman, perhaps no older than I, dressed in the modest garb of a servant. Her hands were clasped together, her head bowed slightly in deference.

"My lady," she said hesitantly. "Forgive me—I did not mean to startle you."

I relaxed slightly but did not lower my guard. "Then what do you mean?"

She hesitated, glancing around as if afraid of being seen. "There are those in this palace who wish you to fail. Who whisper in the dark, planning ways to see you fall."

My heartbeat quickened. "And you've come to warn me? Why?"

Her lips pressed together before she spoke again. "Because I know what it is to be surrounded by enemies while wearing a forced smile."

I studied her, searching for deception. There was none that I could see. Just quiet sincerity.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"Lillian, my lady."

A servant offering me a warning. Either a trap or an unexpected gift.

"You've been in this palace long enough to know the dangers of speaking out of turn," I said carefully. "Why take the risk?"

Lillian glanced over her shoulder, as if ensuring we were still alone. "Because I believe you are not the woman they say you are. And because I do not wish to see another woman cast aside and destroyed by this court."

The honesty in her voice struck something deep within me. I had not expected kindness in this place. Not from anyone.

"Then you are either very brave or very foolish, Lillian," I murmured. "Perhaps both."

She smiled slightly. "Perhaps. But if you are to survive here, my lady, you will need someone who sees the truth behind the whispers."

A pause stretched between us before I finally spoke. "Then tell me what you know."

Lillian nodded, stepping closer. "Lord Montreve is not the only one who seeks to undermine you. There are others. And they do not simply want to see you fail. They want to see you gone."

Gone. The word lingered, cold and sharp as a blade pressed to my throat.

I had known I would not be welcomed in Praylor. But now, it seemed, my very life was a game piece on the board.

And I would not go down without a fight.