Shadows and Secrets

The corridors of Averleigh Palace were deathly silent at this hour, save for the occasional flicker of torchlight casting long, shifting shadows along the stone walls. The air was thick with secrecy, and Prince Alexander moved with careful precision, his cloak pulled over his shoulders as he slipped through the hidden passage leading to his chambers.

No one could know about this meeting.

His heart pounded—not from fear, but anticipation. Lady Isabella had returned, and she had wasted no time summoning him in secret. He had been expecting this. Ever since he heard of her arrival back in her father's estate, he knew she would demand answers.

And she deserved them.

The hidden door at the back of his chamber clicked open, and before he could fully step inside, she was there—waiting for him.

Lady Isabella.

She stood in the dim candlelight, arms crossed, her piercing gaze locked onto him like a predator watching its prey. Gone was the girl he had once stolen kisses from in hidden corners of the palace. The woman before him radiated power, her battle-honed body clad in dark riding leathers, her stance unshaken.

But her eyes burned with anger. And beneath it—betrayal.

"You didn't tell me," Isabella said, her voice cold, measured.

Alexander closed the secret entrance behind him, exhaling. "I wasn't given a choice."

"No choice?" she scoffed, stepping forward. "You expect me to believe that? That you had no say in a public competition where noblewomen flaunt themselves like peacocks to win your favor?" Her jaw tightened. "I was gone, Alexander. Not dead."

He took a step closer, but she didn't move, her body rigid with tension. "You don't understand. My parents—"

"Oh, I understand perfectly," she interrupted. "The king and queen want to ensure the 'perfect' match for their precious heir, and I, the woman you promised your heart to, wasn't even considered."

Alexander's chest tightened. He reached for her hand, but she jerked it away.

"They blindsided me, Isabella," he admitted. "They made it clear that this is bigger than me. This is about the kingdom, about appearances, about tradition."

Her laugh was humorless. "And where does that leave me?" she whispered, her voice laced with something raw and dangerous. "A forgotten lover? A secret hidden in the shadows while you entertain them?"

His jaw clenched. "You know that's not true."

"Do I?" She tilted her head, stepping closer now, the fire in her eyes matching the burning in his chest. "Tell me, Alexander, have you kissed any of them yet? Have you whispered empty promises to them the way you once whispered them to me?"

His patience snapped. In a swift motion, he closed the distance between them, his hands gripping her arms as he pulled her flush against him.

"Don't," he growled, voice low. "Don't question what we are."

She glared up at him, breathing hard, but she didn't pull away.

"You are the one I want," he continued, his grip tightening. "You always have been."

She searched his face for a moment, her own defenses cracking just slightly. Then, ever so slowly, her hands came up, resting lightly against his chest.

"Then end this competition," she whispered, her voice softer now, tinged with something that almost sounded like pleading.

Alexander exhaled, pressing his forehead against hers. "It's not that simple."

Her fingers curled against the fabric of his shirt. "Make it simple."

He closed his eyes, inhaling her familiar scent—the scent of steel and lavender, of battle and home. "I wish I could."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Then, Isabella pulled back just slightly, enough to look him in the eyes again.

"You made me a promise, Alexander."

"And I will keep it." His voice was firm, unwavering.

Her lips parted, as if she wanted to believe him, but doubt still flickered in her gaze. "Then fight for me."

"I will," he vowed. "But until then, we have to be careful. No one can know."

A bitter smile crossed her lips. "You mean I have to stand by and watch while other women fight for what's already mine?"

His silence was answer enough.

She let out a slow, shuddering breath before nodding. But the sharpness in her expression did not fade.

"Fine," she said. "I'll wait. But don't think for a second that I'll let them take what's mine."

Then, before he could respond, she kissed him.

It was not gentle. Not soft.

It was a kiss filled with frustration, possession, and an unspoken warning.

Alexander responded instantly, his hands gripping her waist, pulling her against him as if to ground himself in her presence. Their lips clashed, months—years—of separation pouring into this single moment.

When she finally pulled away, her breath was unsteady, but her gaze was sharp. "Remember this, Alexander," she murmured against his lips. "I am not one of your contestants. I am your queen."

And with that, she slipped back into the shadows, leaving him standing in the dim candlelight, heart pounding, mind racing.

Because she was right.

And the moment the world found out about them…

Everything would change 

Alexander remained where she had left him, breath uneven, the ghost of her lips still burning against his.

Lady Isabella had always been a force of nature, but tonight, she had been something else entirely—a storm barely contained.

The flickering candlelight cast his shadow against the stone walls, but it was her words that lingered, echoing like a vow, a challenge, a threat.

"I am not one of your contestants. I am your queen."

Alexander clenched his fists.

This was dangerous.

When Isabella had left for training, she had been just as fierce, just as determined—but there had still been an innocence to her. That was gone now. She had returned as a warrior, sharpened by battle and hardened by ambition.

And now, she would not be cast aside.

His mind raced as he moved toward the window, staring out into the darkened courtyard below.

This wasn't just about them anymore.

This was about the kingdom. His parents. The competition. The delicate balance of power that Lady Isabella was ready to tip in her favor.

And worst of all…

She wasn't wrong.

She had spent years waiting for him, believing in his promises, and now she had returned to find him entertaining other women, as if she had never existed.

He let out a slow, frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

Yet here they were.

A sharp knock at the door made him tense. His heart leapt to his throat before logic settled in. Isabella wouldn't be foolish enough to return so soon.

"Get a hold of yourself."

He straightened his tunic, inhaling deeply before moving to the door and cracking it open.

One of his personal guards stood outside, looking uneasy.

"Your Highness," the man said in a hushed tone. "The queen has requested your presence in her private chambers."

Alexander's muscles tensed. His mother.

Of course.

She knew him well enough to sense when something was off. And after tonight… she was right to be suspicious.

Exhaling slowly, he nodded. "I'll be there shortly."

As the guard walked away, Alexander closed the door behind him, his mind already racing.

His mother's summons could mean anything.

But deep down, he knew.

The competition had already begun.

And so had the game of deception.

He had made Isabella a promise.

Now, the question was—how long before that promise destroyed them all?