raamimanda

The stars did not warn me.
Not when she smiled like dusk,
or when her silence felt like prophecy.

She was a secret wrapped in silk,
a prayer the gods forgot to answer.
And I-
I was just a name waiting to be rewritten.

They spoke of duty,
of oaths, and blood, and kings.
But I listened only to the way she breathed
when no one else dared to.

Now the wind howls through hollow halls,
and the world is ash-touched and quiet.
Still, I would not unlove her.
Even now.
Even here.
Even at the end.

In Her Name,I Burned

Whispers flowed through the marble halls like underground rivers—soft, subtle, but dangerous. Alric noticed it in the way nobles bowed slightly lower, lingered in conversations longer, smiled with veiled curiosity. The people adored their golden Duke. His humility, his discipline, and most dangerously… his wife.

Alric stood on the terrace outside the royal archives, the chill of early winter curling around his hands. Behind him, the city glowed golden in the dusk. He had just returned from addressing a local dispute—a task usually reserved for the Crown Prince. But it was he they had summoned.

Because when Alric spoke, the people listened.

And now, he was beginning to understand why the Crown Prince had grown so quiet around him.

That evening, he returned late to their quarters. Saren was by the window, writing something on parchment—her brow furrowed in thought. She looked up as he entered, lips softening with something that almost resembled warmth.

"There was unrest in the north district. I was asked to intervene."

She tilted her head, curious. "Asked by whom?"

He hesitated. "The council. And some from the merchant guild."

She looked down, just briefly. Then offered him a smile. "Of course. They trust you."

"I don't want to be trusted for the wrong reasons," he said quietly.

He stepped closer. "I mean because of what power does to people."

She watched him carefully. And for the briefest moment, something in her eyes shifted—something soft. Almost sorrowful.

"I've never known you to crave power," she whispered.

"I don't," he said. "I only crave the peace that comes when it's used rightly."

And in that moment, something fragile passed between them. Not confession. Not truth. But something human.

Later, long after she had fallen asleep beside him, Alric sat by the dying embers of their hearth, running a finger over the edge of a scroll he had hidden beneath his cloak.

Details of troop movements. Patrols along the western wall. Ink smudged in places. He had found it near her writing desk, wedged beneath blank pages.

Alric stared at the paper for a long time, something hollow forming in his chest.

Because even now… even with everything…

He still wanted to believe in her.

Power doesn't always come with a crown—it comes in the quiet loyalty of people, the weight of unspoken trust, and the danger of love entangled in ambition.

This chapter was a turning point—not in grand gestures, but in the smallest silences. Alric's rise isn't just political; it's emotional. And Saren? She's beginning to feel the cost of playing god with a man who was never meant to be a pawn.

Thank you for reading and walking this tightrope of love, trust, and betrayal with me. Things are only going to get more tangled from here—brace yourselves.

As always, let me know your thoughts—I read every single one.

Chapter 25 - A Kingdom That Loved Him