Isoda

> They erased her name. Burned her bloodline. Left her for dead.

But Milena survived. Reborn into the heart of the empire that destroyed her, she moves through the royal courts like a shadow—silent, sharp, watching.

She has no interest in love. No patience for power games. Only one goal: make the crown remember what it tried to forget.

Then she meets him—the Crown Prince.
The man who unknowingly signed her family’s death.
The man who starts to notice her.
The man who, slowly… she can’t stop thinking about.

This is not the story of a girl who wanted to be queen.

This is the story of a forgotten heir who falls in love with her enemy… and still plans to bring down the kingdom

The forgotten blood

The invitation said nothing of politics.

But Milena could feel it the moment she stepped into the Duke of Everholt's grand hall: the hush when she entered, the false smiles, the nobles positioned like chess pieces waiting for a move.

She wore the same mask — the silver one with garnet threads — and her dress was darker this time, almost black, but still lined with crimson.

They still didn't know who she was.

"I didn't expect you to accept," came a low voice at her side.

Milena didn't flinch. "I'm learning when to walk into a trap. And when to set it on fire."

The Duke of the North turned to face her. His hair was silver-blonde, and his voice smooth like well-aged wine. But his smile didn't reach his eyes.

"You wear danger well," he said. "It draws attention."

"I don't want their attention," she replied, "only their memory."

The Duke chuckled. "That's the most dangerous thing of all."

Later, as the string quartet faded into a slower waltz, the Duke called for silence. The room hushed like breath before a storm.

"There is one among us," he said, "whose poise, mystery, and noble bearing have shaken even the highest pillars of this kingdom. Her presence calls back the golden bloodlines of old."

She didn't like where this was going.

He turned toward her — slowly, deliberately. "And so, in the spirit of unity, I propose a noble bond."

Gareth, across the room in disguise, straightened instantly.

"I, Duke Alric of the Northern Realm, offer my hand in courtship to this masked lady of fire — so that the crown might honor what we do not yet name."

Gasps. A few claps. And stunned silence.

The Duke stepped closer. "You will be given a name, land, and title. No more hiding. No more mystery."

She looked at him — and saw it then. Not admiration. Not desire. Just control.

"Thank you, Duke Alric," she said clearly. "But I wear this mask for your protection, not mine."

She turned to the hall. "Let this serve as my answer."

Then, without another word, she walked away — the crowd parting before her like silk torn at the seams.

Outside, Gareth caught up with her at the steps.

"You just refused the most powerful noble in the North."

"I didn't refuse," she said. "I warned him."

> "And if they want to name me… they'll have to say the name they burned."

A Proposal Wrapped in Chains