Run.

I remained there on the cold marble floor, the chill seeping into my bones, as though the very stones beneath me conspired to mirror the emptiness inside. My sobs had slowed, but the ache—the gnawing, relentless ache—refused to soften. It nestled in my chest like a wound that no salve could heal.

The grand ballroom, once a place of light and music, now felt like a mausoleum. The towering crystal chandeliers sparkled indifferently overhead, their brilliance mocking the darkness that clouded my mind. The ornate tapestries lining the walls—depicting the proud history of the House of Ravens—seemed faded and distant, like memories I could no longer grasp.

I thought about Alexander. His face, etched so vividly in my mind, flickered with every tear that spilled. The way his eyes had locked with mine in that final moment—a look heavy with sorrow and unspoken apologies—haunted me most of all. I wanted to reach out, to pull him back, to beg him to stay, but I had been held back—restrained like a frightened child, kept from the one person who mattered most.

How could he have been a spy? How could he have been one of them all along?

Yet when I saw the guilt carved into his features, when I heard the quiet sadness in his silence, I couldn't reconcile that cold truth with the warmth I'd felt whenever he was near. The stolen glances, the fleeting touches, the whispered promises in the shadows—they all seemed like lies now. Or were they? Had there been a part of him that truly cared, or was I merely a pawn in a game I never understood?

I pressed my palms against the floor, pushing myself upright. The gown I wore, deep burgundy with its subtle silver embroidery and hidden sigils, felt heavy as if mourning alongside me. Its weight was a cruel reminder that I was a princess—expected to bear burdens of duty and betrayal alike.

The distant murmurs of the castle beyond the ballroom walls filtered faintly through the doors, fragments of life continuing as though nothing had happened. But my world had shifted. I felt like a fragile glass statue, cracked and trembling, teetering on the edge of collapse.

I wiped the remaining tears from my cheeks, my fingers trembling. What was I to do now? Who could I trust? My father's stern face flashed before me, his cold dismissal of Alexander's loyalty like a blade twisting deeper into my heart. I wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, to rage against the injustice of it all. But my voice was gone, stolen by grief and confusion.

Slowly, I rose to my feet, legs unsteady beneath me. The grand doors to the ballroom stood wide open, the corridor beyond bathed in soft, golden light. I longed to follow—to find Alexander, to understand, to beg him to explain himself. But I knew that was impossible. The orders had been given. The guards would not allow it.

Instead, I turned away, my footsteps echoing hollowly as I left the ballroom behind. Each step was heavy with sorrow, dragging me deeper into a night whose shadows promised no solace.

Alone, I wandered the silent halls, my mind a storm of questions and memories. Was love worth this pain? Could I forgive a betrayal so deep? Or was I destined to carry this heartbreak like a crown of thorns for all my days?

As the night stretched on, I found myself in the quiet solitude of my chambers. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the walls, mirroring the darkness I felt inside. I sank onto the edge of my bed, clutching the folds of my gown, and let the tears come again—not just of sorrow, but of rage, confusion, and a desperate hope that somehow, this nightmare might end.

The door to my chambers closed with a soft click behind me, but it felt more like a seal, locking me inside this cage of despair. The silence was suffocating, pressing in from all sides like a living thing. I sank onto the edge of the velvet-covered chair by the window, the cool glass chilling my fingers as I traced lazy patterns across it, searching for something—anything—that might make sense.

My breath hitched with the weight of memories, each one a bittersweet shard stabbing through the fragile armor I'd worn for so long. I remembered Alexander's steady gaze—the way his eyes searched mine, desperate for understanding. How many nights had I dreamed of this moment, of confessing the feelings I barely dared admit even to myself?

And now it was all shattered.

I pressed my hands to my face, desperate to hide the tears that refused to stop. Anger bubbled beneath the sorrow, sharp and relentless. How could he have kept this from me? From us? Was our closeness nothing but a lie—a performance in a cruel game neither of us fully understood?

But beneath the fury was something else. A hollow ache that threatened to consume me whole. I wanted to hate him. I tried. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face, and the love I felt clawed its way to the surface. The warmth of his touch, the softness in his voice, the fleeting moments when the world seemed to fall away—those things were real, weren't they?

Yet the secret he carried felt like a poison between us, a wound too deep to heal.

I shook my head as if to dislodge the chaos inside me, but it only tangled tighter. The palace around me felt cold and distant, a gilded cage trapping me with no escape. I was a princess, yes—but what was I without him? Without someone who saw me—not just as a pawn, or an heir, but as me?

The weight of expectation pressed down harder than ever. Marriages arranged for alliances, smiles practiced for the court, whispered conversations behind closed doors—it all felt meaningless now. How could I pretend to be the poised, untouchable princess when my heart was shattered, raw and bleeding?

I stood suddenly, the room spinning for a moment as the grief threatened to pull me under. My fingers clutched the edge of the desk, knuckles white, as I fought to steady myself.

I wanted answers. I wanted truth.

But mostly, I wanted to feel whole again.

The candle flickered low, casting long shadows that danced across the walls—ghosts of all I had lost. I knew the coming days would be filled with careful smiles and forced loyalty. But here, in this quiet moment, I was just Ria. Broken. Lost. Searching for a way back to myself.

And maybe, somehow, for the man I couldn't stop loving.

-

The hours passed in a blur of restless pacing and quiet sobs before I finally steeled myself to reach out—desperately, almost blindly—for comfort. My fingers trembled as I lifted the delicate silver bell beside my bed and rang it once, sharp and clear in the stillness.

It wasn't long before Talia appeared, her familiar presence a balm to my raw nerves. She was quiet, as always, but her eyes held that steady warmth I needed right now. Without a word, she moved closer and took my hand gently in hers.

I let the tears fall freely as I sank into the nearest chair, clutching the fabric of my gown. The weight of my sorrow pressed down like a suffocating cloak, but Talia's calm presence was a tether, pulling me back from the edge.

"I don't know what to do, Talia," I whispered, voice breaking. "How can I face them all? The court, my father… even Alexander. How do I live with this?"

She squeezed my hand, her voice soft but firm. "You're not alone, Ria. None of this is your fault. And you don't have to carry it all by yourself."

Her words were simple, but they settled over me like a quiet promise. For the first time since the betrayal, a small flicker of hope stirred in the depths of my despair.

Maybe I wasn't as alone as I thought.

I nodded slowly, the tight knot in my chest loosening just a fraction as Talia's steady presence gave me the courage to speak more openly. She pulled a chair close and settled beside me, folding her hands neatly in her lap like she was ready to listen to whatever storm I needed to pour out.

"Tell me everything," she said gently, her voice like a soft anchor. "What's really on your mind?"

I swallowed hard, the words sticking in my throat at first. But Talia's patient gaze didn't waver, so I let the floodgates open.

"It's Alexander," I began, voice barely above a whisper. "He… he was keeping secrets. Not just small ones—big, dangerous secrets. I thought I knew him. I trusted him. But he's… different. He's from the House of Wolves. He was a spy. And now he's gone. Taken back to their kingdom, probably never to return."

Talia's eyes softened with understanding, but there was no pity there—only quiet strength.

"I'm so angry," I admitted. "And so hurt. I don't know if I can ever forgive him. But at the same time… I feel like part of me is missing."

She reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from my face.

"Ria, love and betrayal aren't always separate," she said softly. "Sometimes they're tangled together, messy and painful. But that doesn't mean you have to lose yourself in the chaos. You are more than this moment."

I closed my eyes, letting her words sink in. The storm inside me hadn't calmed, but for the first time, I felt like maybe I could weather it.

"Thank you, Talia," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

She smiled—a small, knowing smile that reached her eyes.

"You'll never have to find out."

-

Alexander's POV:

The cold stone walls of the chamber felt like they were closing in on me, each breath heavy with the weight of everything lost. I sat on the edge of the narrow cot, the coarse blankets doing little to warm the chill that had settled deep in my bones.

Being stripped of my title, my honor, and cast out from the only home I'd ever truly belonged to—it was a wound that throbbed constantly, raw and unforgiving. But worse than that was the image of Ria's face—the mixture of betrayal, pain, and confusion I'd seen just before they dragged me away.

I clenched my fists, struggling to silence the storm inside. I hadn't told her everything—not about how my title was stripped, about the politics that condemned me. I wanted to protect her, but in doing so, I'd only built a wall between us. And now, that wall felt like a chasm impossible to cross.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, pulling me from my thoughts. A guard appeared at the door, nodding curtly before slipping inside.

"Prince Kael will see you," he said, voice neutral but firm.

I stood slowly, every muscle protesting. Kael—the brother I barely knew, the rival who held my secrets like a weapon—was here. I wasn't sure if I wanted to see him, but there was no choice.

As I followed the guard, my mind raced with questions and dread. What would Kael want? Would he offer mercy or condemnation? More than anything, I hoped for a chance to explain—to somehow fix what I had broken.

But deep down, I knew some things couldn't be undone.

I stepped into the dimly lit room where Kael waited, his posture rigid, eyes sharp and cold. The moment our gazes met, Kael let out a harsh, mirthless laugh that echoed off the stone walls.

"You really think feeling sorry for that girl means anything?" Kael sneered, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Ria? She's nothing but a spoiled princess wrapped in silk and lies. You're wasting your pity on someone who'd throw you away the moment it suited her."

My chest tightened, the sting of his words worse than any blade. I swallowed the lump rising in my throat, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me break.

Kael circled me slowly, voice dripping with mockery. "You act like some noble knight, but you're nothing but a forsaken shadow of a prince. And now? You've lost everything—your title, your pride, and that pathetic hope you cling to."

He stopped inches from me, eyes gleaming with cruel delight. "Face it, Alexander—you're alone. And no princess, no matter how bright she thinks she is, will save you."

I clenched my fists, rage and helplessness boiling inside me. Yet even as the anger flared, a deep sorrow settled over me—the realization that Kael's bitterness was a poison meant to destroy what little I had left.

Without another word, Kael turned on his heel and strode out, leaving me standing in the cold silence, the harsh echo of his laughter still ringing in my ears.

The cruel laughter still echoed in my ears long after Kael's footsteps faded into the corridor. His words—the venom dripping from each one—gnawed at something deep inside me. I hated how true some of it felt.

Ria. The name burned like a brand. Kael's bitter dismissal of her stung more than I expected. Yes, she was a princess—wrapped in silk and duty—but to me, she was so much more. She was the flicker of light in the dark, the only reason I'd dared to hope.

But now? With Kael's scorn ringing in my head, doubt crept in like a shadow. Was I foolish to believe she'd stand by me? Would she, too, turn away if the truth of who I was became too heavy?

I sank down onto the edge of the cot, fingers curling into the rough fabric of the blanket. The weight of my fall—from prince to outcast—pressed on my chest like a stone.

But beneath the hurt, a flicker of something stronger smoldered. Anger. Not just at Kael, but at the betrayal that had stolen my place, and at myself for letting it happen.

I wouldn't let this be the end. Not if there was even a sliver of hope left.

I took a shaky breath, trying to steady the storm inside. Somehow, I had to find a way back. For Ria. For myself.

The sting behind my eyes was sharp—too sharp to ignore. I blinked hard, trying to push back the sudden swell of tears, but they slipped out anyway, hot and unwelcome. I wasn't used to crying. Not like this. Not since I was a boy.

Panic flared as I wiped at my face with the back of my hand, desperate to hide the weakness. A knight wasn't supposed to break down, especially not over a princess—especially not in front of someone like Kael.

But the truth was, I felt more exposed now than ever. The walls I'd built around my heart were crumbling, and I was terrified of what would happen if I let myself fall apart completely.

I forced myself to sit straighter, to steady my breath. The room felt smaller, tighter, but I couldn't afford to lose control. Not now.

Still, the quiet sobs threatened to rise again, and I clenched my jaw to hold them back.

I had to be strong—for her.

-

Ria's Pov: 

The morning light filtered weakly through the heavy curtains, casting a pale glow over my room. I caught my reflection in the mirror — eyes red-rimmed and puffy from hours of restless crying. My skin felt tight and raw, a silent reminder of the storm inside me.

I didn't have the strength to pull on the elaborate gowns or endure the endless preparations today. The thought of facing the court, the whispered judgments, the hollow smiles—it was too much.

Just as I was about to pull the covers over my head and hide from the world, Talia's soft footsteps approached. She paused at the door, voice gentle but firm.

"Princess, your mother wishes to see you."

Her words hung in the air like a summons I couldn't refuse. I sighed, dragging myself out of bed, dreading what the day would bring.

I stood before the mirror, the familiar reflection now a stranger to me—eyes swollen and dull, the delicate curve of my lips heavy with sadness. My fingers trembled as I reached for the simple gown laid out for me, its fabric soft but plain, nothing like the rich silks and embroidery I was used to. Today, extravagance felt like a cruel joke.

The bustle of the morning—the soft rustle of silk, the whispered instructions from handmaids—felt distant, like I was watching it all from beneath a thick fog. My heart was a tangled mess of grief and anger, swirling beneath the surface where no one could see. I wanted to scream, to break something, to vanish entirely.

Why had it come to this? Alexander—my knight, my secret hope—torn away from me as if he were nothing. The whispered accusations, the betrayal, the cold dismissal from my own father all collided inside me. How could I face them? How could I face him?

Yet, beneath the sorrow, a fierce ember burned. I wasn't just a princess to be paraded and traded like a pawn. I was Ria of the Ravens, and I would not let this break me completely.

As the fingers at my hair twisted delicate braids, I forced myself to stand a little straighter, to meet the day with what little strength I had left. I had to—because some battles weren't fought with swords. Some were fought within.

-

The heavy oak doors groaned as I entered the chamber, tension already knotting my chest. My mother sat poised by the hearth, her expression cool and unreadable, but the steel in her eyes warned me that this conversation would not be gentle.

"Ria," she began, voice smooth as silk but sharp as a blade, "it's time we discussed your future—your duty as a princess of the Ravens."

I crossed my arms, jaw tight. "I know what you want to say."

She nodded slowly. "You have met the heirs of the four kingdoms. Tonight's ball is not mere ceremony—it is the first step in securing our House's alliances through marriage. You will choose one of them."

My breath hitched, anger bubbling beneath the surface. "Choose? After what happened with Alexander? After everything?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Alexander is no longer your concern. His disgrace is our burden, not yours. Your duty is to the Ravens—"

"To be a pawn?" I snapped, voice rising. "To be bartered like some trinket? I'm not some prize to be handed off to the highest bidder!"

My mother's composure stiffened. "You will not speak that way. You are a princess. You will obey."

The words hit me like cold steel. "Obey? Is that what you want? For me to throw away my heart? For you to decide my life while I rot in this gilded cage?"

Her lips pressed into a thin line, but I saw the flicker of something beneath—disappointment, maybe even frustration.

"I'm not your enemy, Ria. This is the way of the world."

I shook my head, fury boiling over. "Then maybe I don't belong in your world."

I strode across the room, eyes blazing. My hand found an ornate vase on a nearby table—a delicate thing, painted with silver feathers and deep crimson blooms, worth more than I cared to think about. Without hesitation, I hurled it against the stone wall.

The vase shattered with a sharp crash, shards scattering across the floor like broken promises.

My mother's gasp was swift, but I was already turning away, voice cracking with the weight of everything I wanted to scream.

"I won't be your pawn."

I stormed from the room, the echo of my footsteps mingling with the soft clatter of broken porcelain—a stark reminder that some things, once shattered, could never be mended.

-

The fighting ring was a stark, dusty arena framed by rough stone walls that seemed to close in with every breath I took. The sunlight filtered through narrow slits above, casting long, jagged shadows that danced with the clang of steel. I gripped my sword tighter, knuckles white beneath the leather gloves, my chest pounding like a war drum.

Opposite me, the knight's eyes narrowed. He moved with practiced precision, but I fought not just with skill, but with raw, blistering fury. Every swing, every thrust, was a release of the chaos inside me—a tempest I could no longer keep bottled.

"Is that all you've got, Princess?" he sneered, parrying a wild slash aimed at his side.

I spat back, "You'll feel more than that."

My blade arced again, cutting a shallow gash across his forearm. Blood welled and dripped to the ground, mixing with the dirt. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I bit back a scream—anger, frustration, and heartbreak fueling my every move.

He countered quickly, forcing me back, his sword grazing my shoulder, a burning sting that only made me angrier. "Careful, or you'll bleed yourself dry."

I laughed—a harsh, bitter sound. "Maybe I want to."

The ring echoed with the sounds of battle—the clash of swords, the scrape of boots, the heavy breaths between strikes. Sweat streamed down my face, mingling with the dirt and tears I refused to shed.

For a moment, I faltered, the weight of everything crashing down. The shattered vase, my mother's cold words, the loss of Alexander—each memory a jagged shard cutting deeper than any blade.

"Focus, Ria," I whispered to myself, shaking off the doubt. "This isn't just about fighting him. It's about fighting them—the expectations, the betrayals, the cage you're trapped in."

With renewed ferocity, I surged forward, driving my opponent back. My blade sliced across his leg, and he stumbled, pain flashing in his eyes.

"Give up," he gasped.

I lowered my sword just enough to press the advantage, voice fierce. "Never."

The fight dragged on, brutal and relentless, until finally he dropped his weapon, defeated but alive. I stood over him, chest heaving, body trembling with exhaustion and rage.

But beneath the victory, the ache remained—bitter and unyielding. I had released some of the storm inside me, but the battle for my heart and my future was far from over.

-

I left the training ring without a word, blood drying on my knuckles, my sword heavy in my hand. The sting in my shoulder was sharp, but I welcomed it—it was something I could feel, something I could control.

No one stopped me as I slipped through the barracks, down the side corridor, and out into the old garden behind the training fields. The sun was too bright, too cheerful for the storm curling in my chest. Everything felt wrong. Loud. Blurred. Unforgiving.

I found the stone bench beneath the sycamore tree and dropped onto it with a dull thud. My sword clattered to the ground, and I didn't care. I ripped the gloves from my fingers, blood streaked across my palms—mine and the knight's. I stared at it. I should've been horrified. But all I felt was the dull throb of honesty.

That blood was real. That pain was mine.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, breathing hard. Sweat clung to my back. Strands of hair had escaped my braid and stuck to my cheek. I didn't fix them. I didn't want to be a princess right now. I didn't want to be anything.

"What's the point?" I whispered to the stillness.

My voice felt foreign. It cracked in the middle, like it wasn't sure it wanted to be heard.

No answer came. Just the chirp of a bird somewhere in the hedges, as if the world hadn't ended last night.

I curled my fingers into fists, nails biting into the tender flesh of my palms. My future. My choice. My life. All of it dangled from strings I didn't hold. My mother wanted me to choose a prince. My father paraded me like a prized jewel. And Alexander… he had lied to me. Kept the one truth that could've changed everything.

A prince.

He was a prince.

He was Kael's brother.

And I didn't know. I didn't know anything.

My breath hitched. I squeezed my eyes shut, but his face was there behind my eyelids. His voice. His hands. The way he'd looked at me when they dragged him away—haunted, heartbroken, like he was sorry and still didn't expect forgiveness.

Tears slipped down my cheeks. I let them fall.

"I hate them," I murmured. "All of them."

But I didn't mean Alexander. Not really. Not truly.

And that hurt more than anything.

I tilted my face to the sky, letting the tears trail down to my chin. The clouds didn't care about my sorrow. The breeze didn't pause for my heartbreak. The world kept spinning, and I sat beneath the sycamore like a ghost in my own skin.

"I don't know what to do," I whispered to no one. "I don't know who I am without him."

The words broke something inside me, something small and silent and sacred. Saying them aloud made it real.

I took a shaky breath. The garden said nothing. The sword at my feet gleamed, dappled in sunlight and blood.

I wasn't ready to go back inside. Not yet. Not when everything inside me felt like it was still breaking.

-

I didn't hear the footsteps at first.

The garden had swallowed me whole, and for a moment I could pretend I was alone in the world. Until I heard the soft crunch of boots over gravel and the unmistakable weight of someone trying to appear casual.

I wiped at my cheeks quickly, though the tears had already left their shine on my skin. My shoulders stiffened.

"Princess Ria."

His voice was smooth—too smooth—and warm like embers crackling in a fire. I didn't even have to look to know it was Prince Theron. Of course it would be him.

I turned my head slightly, just enough to catch the flash of his gold-trimmed tunic, the way the sunlight danced off his shoulder pauldron. Always poised. Always calculated.

"I was told you might be out here," he continued, stepping closer, hands folded behind his back in mock gentility. "I thought you might want some company."

I didn't move. "You thought wrong."

He chuckled softly, as if I were teasing him. As if this were all some flirtatious game. "You've had a difficult evening. I can only imagine how much it's weighed on you. That knight—Alexander—his betrayal must cut deep."

I turned on him then, rising from the bench like a storm breaking from the clouds.

"You don't know a damn thing about it," I snapped, my voice raw. "So don't stand there and act like you understand. You don't."

His eyes widened slightly, but he recovered quickly. "I only meant to offer you support. You looked… unwell. I wanted to be of comfort."

I laughed—cold and sharp. "Comfort? You want to comfort me? What are you hoping for, Theron? That I'll be so broken I fall into your arms?"

He took a careful step closer, his voice dropping. "That's not what I—"

"Save it," I hissed, venom curling on my tongue. "You don't want me. You want the crown. The title. The advantage. Just like the rest of them."

A flicker of frustration passed through his carefully neutral expression. "That's unfair, Ria."

"Is it?" I crossed my arms, daring him to say otherwise. "Because I think we both know what this is. And whatever performance you're about to give—concerned prince, gentle suitor—I've seen better from court jesters."

He flinched at that one. I hoped it hurt.

He looked at me for a long, quiet moment, as if weighing whether I was worth the effort. Then his lips curled—not in a smile, but in something colder.

"You won't be able to push everyone away, Princess," he said quietly. "Eventually, you'll have to choose someone. I only hope, when that time comes, your anger hasn't made the decision for you."

I didn't reply. I just turned my back on him and sank onto the bench again.

I heard his footsteps retreat, the scrape of stone and gravel as he left the garden.

Only then did I let the next sob shake free from my chest.

I wasn't ready for comfort. Not from him. Not from anyone.

-

That evening, the halls were quieter than usual.

Servants bustled only where necessary, their eyes low, voices hushed. The once-opulent corridors of the palace—lined with glass mosaics and tapestries steeped in history—felt cold. Distant. Like they no longer belonged to me.

I didn't ask for supper. I didn't want to see anyone.

I was still in the same fighting leathers from earlier, crusted with sweat and blood, though I'd washed my face and arms in the basin until my skin stung. It didn't matter. Nothing could rinse away the fury burning under my skin, or the ache clawing at my ribs.

I paced my chambers like a caged animal.

The fire in the hearth crackled low, casting golden light along the stone floor. My eyes kept flicking to the window, where night had fully settled in. A few stars blinked faintly behind a thin veil of cloud.

Alexander's face wouldn't leave my thoughts. The look in his eyes—shocked, pained, guilty—as he was dragged away.

And Kael. Smirking. Like he had won some game no one else knew they were playing.

I slammed my fist into the nearest wall.

A muted thud echoed in the room, and pain flared up my knuckles. It was foolish. Reckless. But it was better than the hollowness pressing against my chest.

I sank to the floor beside the fireplace, curling my arms around my knees. My head dropped forward.

Was it all a lie?

Everything Alexander had done—every way he had protected me, looked at me, held me…

Was it just part of a mission?

No. My heart screamed the word. No. But how could I know anymore? My own father hadn't believed in him. My court had sentenced him. And the only ones who knew the full truth weren't speaking it.

I closed my eyes tightly and pressed the heels of my palms to them. The pressure hurt, but it helped stave off the tears—at least for a moment.

There was a knock at the door.

My spine stiffened. I didn't move.

Another knock, gentler this time. Then a voice: "Ria?"

Talia.

"Come in," I said hoarsely, not opening my eyes.

The door creaked as it opened, then shut again. I felt her presence beside me a second later. She didn't say anything—just sat. Quiet. Still. She always knew when I needed silence more than words.

Eventually, I spoke. "I feel like I've lost everything."

She was quiet for a beat. Then: "You haven't lost me."

It was simple. But it landed deep.

I opened my eyes and turned my head slightly to look at her. She was watching the fire.

"I want to believe he was telling the truth," I whispered. "I want to believe none of it was a lie."

Talia's brows furrowed. "Then believe it."

"I don't know if I can," I murmured. "I don't know if I'm allowed to."

She looked at me then, eyes warm and steady. "You're the princess of the House of Ravens. You don't need permission to follow your heart. But you'll need strength to survive what comes next."

I swallowed hard.

Strength. I didn't know if I had any left.

But tomorrow would come whether I was ready or not.

And the court would expect a princess.

Not a shattered girl.

-

The morning light felt sharp and unkind.

It bled through the heavy curtains like blades, illuminating the gold and navy damask of my chamber walls. I hadn't slept—barely closed my eyes. When I did, I saw his face.

Alexander's.

The confusion in his eyes. The anguish.

The way he didn't fight when they took him.

I sat up slowly, my limbs heavy, my head pounding. My hair was tangled from tossing in bed, and my mouth tasted stale. Talia had brought in a breakfast tray at some point, though I hadn't noticed. The tea had gone cold, and the bread had hardened on the edges.

I didn't want any of it.

But I forced myself up anyway.

The court didn't pause for heartbreak. My mother would be expecting me. There would be whispers in the halls, courtiers sniffing for weakness, and rumors already mutating from the truth. Everyone would want to know which prince I favored now that the House of Wolves had disgraced themselves.

No one would dare ask me about Alexander. Not openly.

I changed into a deep green gown—simple, but dignified—and let Talia braid my hair back from my face. She was quiet while she worked, but her hands were gentle. She didn't ask how I was. I appreciated her for that.

When I was ready, I made my way to the council chambers.

The palace was alive with motion—servants darting about, lords and ladies sweeping down corridors like birds in flight. Everyone dressed in muted colors, as if in mourning. But no one grieved what I had lost. Not really.

Outside the council room stood two royal guards. They nodded and opened the door.

Inside, a small assembly of nobles stood in a semi-circle. My father, King Kaerin, was at the center of it all, looking tired and grim. My mother stood beside him, regal and unreadable. Advisors flanked them—Lords Riven and Ilyar whispering between themselves.

They all turned when I entered.

"Ah, the princess joins us," my father said, voice low but not unkind. "We were just discussing the aftermath of last night."

Aftermath.

As if it were a storm. Or a war.

I nodded silently and took my place near the dais, my back straight despite the ache in my spine.

"We must move swiftly to reassure the other houses," my mother said. "The Wolves may have shown their hand, but the alliance still stands—for now. If we appear weakened, the other kingdoms will circle like vultures."

"And what of the ball?" asked Lord Ilyar. "The purpose was to guide her toward choosing a husband. Should we continue with that plan?"

My stomach twisted.

"She needs time," my father said, glancing at me.

I held his gaze. "No. Let them come."

My voice was steady, though my heart trembled. "Let them see me. Let them know I'm not broken."

A flicker of approval passed over my mother's face.

"Very well," she said. "The princes will dine with us tonight. You'll be expected to speak with each of them."

My jaw clenched, but I gave a curt nod.

Let them come.

Let them try to charm me.

Let them see I was still here—and I would decide my fate, not them.

Even if the one I wanted had already been taken from me.

Even if I bled behind every smile.

-

The great hall shimmered with candlelight.

Dozens of chandeliers hung like frozen constellations overhead, casting golden light on polished silver and jewel-toned glass. The long table was dressed in velvet, overflowing with roasted meats, winter fruits, and honeyed wines—but the opulence made me sick to my stomach.

I didn't want to be here.

And yet I walked forward, every step deliberate, controlled.

My gown was navy tonight—Raven colors—with high shoulders and a collar stiff with midnight embroidery. My mother had picked it, and I hadn't fought her. I had no energy left for more battles. Not tonight.

Three chairs at the opposite end of the long table sat filled.

Prince Theron of the Dragons, all fire-kissed hair and smug smirks.Prince Cale and Prince Lucien of the Serpents, twin smiles and sharper tongues.And Prince Kael.

Kael of the House of Wolves, now stripped of his alliances but still here, still smirking as if nothing had happened. He shouldn't have been invited, but of course—wolves always find a way back in.

They all rose when I entered. Even Kael.

"Princess Ria," Cale said with an elegant bow, his green eyes unreadable. "You're a vision. Even the Serpents are stunned."

I gave a polite nod, gliding toward the table, and forced my face into a small smile.

Theron pulled out a chair for me—next to his own, of course—and I sat without looking at any of them. The scent of cinnamon and roasted pear clung to the air, thick and overripe.

"How are you faring?" Lucien asked. He sounded almost genuine. Almost.

"Well enough," I answered. "Considering the circumstances."

"Yes," Theron said, reaching for his goblet. "Terrible business, what happened last night. Such a shame. Wolves are such... messy creatures."

Kael's fork scraped his plate, but he didn't speak.

I chewed a piece of bread I couldn't taste, my eyes scanning the hall—half-expecting to see Alexander, just beyond the columns. Watching.

But he wasn't there.

He wouldn't be.

"You're quiet," Kael said suddenly, speaking to me. His eyes gleamed like storm clouds.

I met his gaze. "Isn't that what you Wolves wanted? Silence from the Ravens?"

He grinned—too wide. "Not from you."

I looked away before I said something dangerous.

The meal went on in stiff conversation. I nodded when expected. Smiled when polite. But my mind was elsewhere. My heart beat behind my ribs like a caged animal.

Cale leaned in after the second course. "I imagine your father will soon ask for your decision, Princess. Have you given it any thought?"

I turned my head slowly. "Of course I've thought about it. What woman wouldn't, with so many poised options?"

Lucien chuckled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

Theron raised his glass. "To the future queen, then—whoever she may choose."

They all drank.

I sipped my wine, ignoring the burn.

The world watched me with bated breath, expecting me to choose a path. A prince. A kingdom.

But all I could think about was the one man who'd never been allowed to be chosen.

The one they took from me.

-

The corridor was colder than it should've been.

My heels clicked softly against the marble as I walked beside the silent guards. I'd barely touched my dinner, barely spoken—yet the moment the meal ended, a message came. The King wishes to speak with you. Alone.

Alone.

Always alone, now.

I found him in his private study—arched windows casting moonlight across his desk, the scent of old parchment and cedar oil heavy in the air. My father, King Kaerin, stood near the hearth, one hand resting on the stone mantel, eyes locked on the fire.

He didn't look at me when I entered. "Close the door, Ria."

I did. The latch clicked shut behind me.

"You looked... composed tonight," he said after a pause. "I know that's not how you feel."

I said nothing.

He turned, his sharp eyes meeting mine, and for a flicker of a second I thought I saw weariness in them. Not weakness—my father never allowed weakness—but something close. Something he wouldn't name.

"We've made a decision," he said, voice firm now, kingly again. "Kael of the House of Wolves is to be escorted from the castle before sunrise. No formal charges will be brought against him, but he is no longer welcome here—not as a suitor, not as a guest."

I blinked. "He's being exiled?"

"He's being spared." A pause. "There are still whispers... loyalties we cannot trace. His presence only threatens to fracture what's left of our alliances."

I clenched my jaw. "And Alexander?"

The king's mouth became a thin line. "Gone."

Gone. The word sliced through me like cold steel.

"Which brings us to you," he said. "Your mother and I have waited. We've given you time. But the moment for choice has arrived."

He took a slow step forward, the firelight flickering across the silver in his hair.

"I need to know," he said quietly. "Who will it be?"

My breath caught.

The room shrank around me. The fire seemed too loud, the shadows too long.

"You expect me to pick a husband like I'm choosing which gown to wear?" I whispered.

"No," he said. "I expect you to choose a future. One that keeps this kingdom safe."

Safe.

And what about me?

I looked into his eyes, searching for softness—some piece of the father who once carried me on his shoulders through the northern gardens. But there was only the king before me now.

His gaze didn't waver.

My throat was tight when I spoke. "What if I don't choose any of them?"

He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.

"Then I will choose for you."

And that was that.

I stood still, frozen as the weight of every expectation crashed into me like a wave.

He turned back toward the fire, dismissing me without words.

I left the study before the tears could come.

-

The door slammed behind me like a thunderclap, the echo bouncing off the stone walls of my chambers. I was alone—finally alone—but it didn't feel like freedom. It felt like a cage closing tighter around my ribs, squeezing breath from my lungs.

I paced, my footsteps sharp and restless against the cold marble floor. The weight of everything pressed down on me—the decisions made for me, the futures mapped out like a cruel game I'd never agreed to play.

Choose a prince. Choose a kingdom. Choose a life.

But whose life? Mine? No. It was theirs. My father's, my mother's, the court's. The world's.

Anger burned in me like wildfire. I stormed to the vanity, yanking the gilded brush from its place and hurling it against the wall. It shattered with a crack that made me flinch.

"What kind of life is this?" I hissed, voice raw. "To be bartered like a bauble, like a prize to be won or lost?"

I bent down, grabbing a delicate porcelain vase—the one mother adored most—and threw it. The crash of its destruction was sweet, satisfying, like breaking chains.

But even in the shattered pieces, the rage didn't quell. It roared.

I sank to the floor, trembling. My hands clenched into fists, nails biting into my palms until the pain was sharp enough to drown out my thoughts.

Alexander.

The name came unbidden, dragging with it a storm of memory.

I could still see him, the way his eyes darkened when he looked at me that night. Not with the pride of a prince or the arrogance of a knight, but with something softer. Something more real.

I remembered the stolen moments between us—the quiet words, the stolen glances, the way his hand had found mine like it was the only thing that made sense in a world turned upside down.

What if he hadn't been torn away? What if none of this had happened? What if the shadows of politics hadn't clawed between us?

A cold ache settled in my chest.

I pictured us, far from these stone walls and glittering halls—in a place where titles meant nothing. Where I wasn't a princess to be used as a pawn, but simply Ria.

Ria, who could laugh freely and love fiercely.

Ria, who could choose.

The thought blossomed, fragile and fierce all at once.

What if I could run?

Run from the suits and secrets and betrayals. Run from the expectations that crushed me.

Run to Alexander.

He was out there somewhere, in the cold night, stripped of his title but not of his heart. A heart that, I suddenly knew, beat for me.

I rose shakily to my feet, the fire inside me flaring with possibility and desperation.

I moved to my wardrobe, pulling aside gowns and silks until I reached the quiet, plain clothes I had hidden away—my secret armor against a world that demanded perfection.

There, resting against the edge of the dresser, lay my sword—Alexander's gift to me. The blade gleamed faintly in the dim light, the hilt worn smooth from the countless times I had gripped it in secret. It was more than metal and leather; it was a silent promise, a whisper of courage forged in fire and loyalty.

I reached out hesitantly, my fingers brushing the cold steel. It was almost as if the sword spoke to me—not in words, but in a fierce urging that thrummed deep inside my chest.

Chase after him. Live a different life.

The thought pulsed like a heartbeat. The weight of the sword was grounding, steadying—an unspoken invitation to fight for my freedom, to break the chains that bound me.

I held the sword close, the cold metal biting gently into my palm, grounding me in the storm of thoughts swirling in my mind. Yet, despite the fire roaring in my chest, doubt crept in like a shadow, chilling the edges of my resolve.

What if I was wrong? What if running away wasn't freedom, but a different kind of prison? A life on the run, never safe, always looking over my shoulder. No throne, no title, no protection—just uncertainty, danger, and the weight of leaving everything and everyone behind.

And Alexander—what if I wasn't enough? What if he was tired of fighting, tired of hiding? What if I was dragging him down?

I sank onto the edge of my bed, clutching the sword like a lifeline, my breath shallow and uneven. The quiet of the room pressed in, broken only by the distant sounds of the castle—murmurs of servants, the flicker of torches along the halls.

Was I brave enough to step into the unknown? To tear away the mask of princess and become something else entirely?

Tears pricked my eyes, the ache of loneliness tightening in my throat. I wanted to scream, to break something—anything—to shatter the walls around me. But all I could do was sit, suspended between fury and fear.

The sword gleamed softly in the candlelight, an unyielding reminder that some battles were worth fighting, even when the outcome was uncertain.

With a trembling breath, I whispered to the shadows, "Can I really do this?"

For a long moment, there was no answer.

Then, somewhere deep inside, a spark flickered. Not a loud roar, but a quiet, steady flame—calling me forward.

I tightened my grip, feeling the sword's weight anchor me.

Maybe I was scared.

Maybe I was uncertain.

But I was done waiting.

I would chase this life—no matter where it led.

This blade wasn't just a weapon. It was my choice. My rebellion.

And with it in hand, I felt the first spark of hope flicker fiercely in the dark.