Morning arrives wrapped in quiet gray. The first beams of light slip between the shutters, painting thin gold lines across the floor. Mira still sleeps soundly, her breathing soft and even, a rare gift after so many nights of fever and restlessness.
I move quietly, dressing in the deep red gown that has become second skin. The fabric still carries the faint scent of herbs from the washroom, mixed with something older—palace air, heavy and perfumed. I fasten the laces slowly, each pull grounding me.
Then comes the knock.
It’s gentle, almost hesitant. I glance toward Mira’s small figure, then cross the room and open the door only a crack.
Aldric stands there.
He doesn’t wear his ceremonial clothes today—just a plain dark coat and gloves, hair still slightly damp as if he rose earlier than usual. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes… they hold something like guilt.
I press a finger to my lips and whisper, “She’s asleep.”
He nods, and I step outside, pulling the door softly shut behind me. The corridor is still quiet at this hour, the torches along the walls flickering weakly in their sconces.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. I study him—the rigid posture, the faint crease between his brows. He’s tense. I should be, too, but strangely, I’m not.
After what Liora told me yesterday, the storm inside me has shifted. Foolish or not, I’ve started to believe he truly did something to free me. That maybe—just maybe—there’s something between us neither of us dares to name.
He clears his throat, the sound awkwardly loud in the silence. “I… don’t want you to hold a grudge against me.”
I blink. “I don’t.”
He frowns slightly, surprised. “You don’t?”
I hold his gaze. “No. I know you helped me get out. You didn’t leave me there to rot in the dungeons. I should thank you instead of being angry.”
He studies my face for a long moment, as if searching for a lie. Then, at last, he exhales. It’s quiet, but it sounds almost like relief.
“That’s… good,” he says finally. “I wouldn’t want to lose a precious worker like you.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “Oh, please. You’re a prince, for heaven’s sake. What do you know about losing something precious?”
The teasing slips out before I can stop it. His expression flickers—something dark crosses his eyes—and then he looks away.
“I know more than you think,” he says softly.
Before I can ask what that means, he gestures for me to follow and turns down the hall. Against my better judgment, I do. The corridors are almost empty, just the echo of our footsteps following us.
He leads me deeper into the palace, through halls I’ve never walked before, until we reach a long gallery lined with portraits.
The morning light pours through tall windows, falling across frames gilded with history. Faces of kings and queens stare down from the walls—stoic, proud, eternal. I recognize some: King Percival, Aldric’s father, his expression warm but weary; beside him, a younger Aldric, barely a boy, clutching a silver sword.
Then Aldric stops before a painting near the end of the hall.
“This,” he says quietly, “is Queen Maelia. My great-grandmother.”
The woman in the portrait wears a gown the color of moonlight, her hand extended to show a ring on her finger—an intricate band of gold with a gem like captured fire.
Aldric’s gaze fixes on it.
“This is the Victory Ring,” he says. “An ancient artifact passed down through my family. It’s said to bless whoever holds it with favor and fortune. I was entrusted with it for safekeeping when my father still reigned.”
He pauses, and his voice lowers. “But I failed at that duty.”
My blood turns to ice.
That ring…
That very same ring lies hidden in my sewing box. The ring left behind by the stranger from that long-ago night—the night of the palace festival. The man I thought I would never see again.
And now it gleams from a portrait of Aldric’s bloodline.
He continues, unaware of my breath catching. “I lost it the night of a festival years ago. It was foolish of me not to guard it better. I doubt I’ll ever see it again.”
My lips part, but no words come. My mind races. The memories blur—the masked man, the scent of smoke and roses, the heat of his breath, his voice low and distant. Dangerous is fun, he had said.
The same words Aldric used at the market.
It all fits. Too perfectly.
Aldric turns toward me, his tone quieter now, almost pained. “So, yes. I know some things about losing something truly precious. Not just the ring.”
His eyes lift to mine. “Let’s just say you don’t know everything about me, Lara.”
Hearing my name from his lips again makes my chest ache.
“What about you?” he asks softly. “What do you know about losing something precious?”
I can’t answer. Not when my pulse is screaming, not when realization crashes over me so violently I can barely stand.
He’s Mira’s father.
The man I thought vanished into memory and guilt—he’s standing right here, flesh and blood, unaware of the child sleeping two corridors away.
“I… I should go,” I stammer, stepping back. “Work awaits.”
“Lara—”
“Thank you for showing me this, Your Highness.” My voice sounds brittle even to me. “It’s an honor.”
He doesn’t stop me as I turn and walk away. My steps quicken, each one heavier than the last.
***
When I reach my dormroom, I close the door behind me and lock it. My legs give out beneath me, and I drop to my knees before the small wooden shelf near the wall. My hands tremble as I slide open the lowest drawer.
The sewing box rests inside, the old one I’ve carried for years—scarred wood, the lid smoothed by time and use. I open it slowly.
There, nestled among threads and needles, lies the ring.
The Victory Ring of Queen Maelia.
The ring he spoke of. The ring left behind by the man from that night—the man who turned out to be him.
My breath shakes. I lift it carefully, and light spills through the window, striking the gem so that it glows like captured dawn.
The reflection dances across the room, landing softly on Mira’s sleeping face. Her lips curl in a faint dream-smile, unaware of the storm that just tore through her mother.
I press the ring to my chest, heart pounding. Everything I thought I knew collapses into silence.
Prince Aldric. The man I served. The man who doubted me. The man who kissed me. The man who fathered my child. And he doesn’t even know.