I have never known silence to feel so loud.
Days pass, and every heartbeat seems to echo against the secret I carry — the truth that Mira’s father is the man who walks these gilded halls, the man whose name the world bows to.
Prince Aldric. My prince. My sin. My love.
But love means nothing here. Not when he belongs to another. Not when the woman he is bound to — Lady Seraphine — watches me like a hawk circling prey.
I move through the palace as though nothing has changed. I smile when spoken to. I sew until my fingers ache. And I say nothing.
***
Ysabet notices first.
She always does. She sets Mira’s potion bottle down, eyes narrowing. “You’re quieter than usual,” she says. “Something troubles you.”
“I’m only tired,” I murmur.
“Liar.”
I manage a faint smile. “Then I’m a good one.”
She sighs but lets it rest, turning back to her work. The faint blue light of her potions flickers over Mira’s pale face. My daughter sleeps peacefully, unaware that the father she dreams of stands only floors above us, preparing for war.
Liora asks next.
It’s midday, and the workshop hums with the rhythm of needles and whispered chatter. She sits beside me, adjusting the hem of a diplomat’s cloak.
“You’ve been somewhere else lately,” she says, not looking up. “Your mind, I mean.”
I force a chuckle. “Perhaps it’s trapped inside all this fabric.”
Her lips curve. “You always were better with thread than words. But even thread breaks when pulled too tight.”
I give her nothing. I can’t. The truth would ruin more than my life — it would destroy hers, Mira’s, maybe even his.
Besides, Liora has her own joy now. Brenno visits often; their laughter fills the corridors like spring sunlight. I envy it. I envy her peace.
I haven’t seen Aldric in days.
Rumor travels quickly in the palace: a conflict brewing between two kingdoms, one that demands blood to settle honor. The solution — an old tradition revived — is a single decisive battle. Aldric will lead our army himself.
The people call it noble. I call it madness.
He spends his days in the training yards with Brenno, or locked behind council doors. Every time I pass the courtyard, I hear the clash of steel, the shouted orders, the steady rhythm of war preparing to wake.
I’m glad, in a way, that I don’t see him. I wouldn’t know what to say.
***
When the morning of his departure arrives, the palace hums with restless energy. Trumpets blare somewhere in the distance; banners ripple in the courtyard wind. I should be in the workshop, but instead, my feet carry me elsewhere — to a place I swore I’d never return.
His chambers.
The same room where a stranger once kissed me beneath a festival sky. The same room where that stranger — that prince — left behind the ring that changed everything.
I slip inside, quiet as a shadow. The air smells faintly of iron and cedar. His armor stands on its rack, gleaming silver beneath the early light.
For a long moment, I simply stare at it. Then, with trembling fingers, I reach into my pocket and draw out the ring — the Victory Ring of Queen Maelia.
It feels heavier than gold should.
“You’ll need it,” I whisper. “Even if you don’t know why.”
I tuck it into the inner fold of his armor, where only he will find it. Then I step back, my throat tight, and hurry away before anyone can see me.
***
By the time I reach the grand hall, the farewell ceremony has begun. The crowd is thick, the air heavy with incense and dread.
I find a place near the back beside Liora, who gives me a quiet nod but says nothing. My hands twist together as I search the stage.
There he is — clad in the armor now complete, helm tucked beneath his arm, expression sharp and unreadable. Seraphine stands beside him, her gown a shimmer of white and silver. Her smile is soft but strained; her hand rests possessively on his arm.
The hall falls silent.
Aldric steps forward to address his people. But before he can speak, he frowns faintly, reaching toward his chestplate.
When his hand emerges, the Victory Ring glitters in his palm.
A wave of whispers rolls through the crowd — gasps, exclamations, disbelief. The ring lost for years, the royal heirloom of legend, suddenly found.
My breath catches.
I watch as confusion flickers across his face. Then Seraphine laughs lightly and steps closer, her voice carrying through the silence.
“I found it,” she declares sweetly. “I searched for it for months and called upon my magic until the winds themselves led me to its resting place. I return it now, to bless the prince before he rides to glory.”
The hall erupts in applause.
My heart drops.
He believes her.
He thanks her, his voice formal and low. “You honor me, my lady. I shall not forget this.”
Then, before the gathered court, he vows that upon his return from victory, he will wed her.
A thousand cheers rise. The sound drowns the ache in my chest. I stare until my vision blurs — until the tears burn, but refuse to fall.
When the ceremony ends, the soldiers begin to march toward the gates. I slip away through the side corridor, desperate for air, for solitude, for anything that isn’t this pain.
Outside, the wind is cool against my face. I press a hand to my chest, trying to breathe.
And then — a firm grasp on my arm.
I turn, startled. Aldric stands there, eyes burning, breath short as though he’s run after me. Before I can speak, he glances around the empty walkway, then pulls me toward him.
“Lara—”
I barely have time to gasp before his lips find mine.
It’s not desperate like before, not stolen by accident or fury. It’s gentle, deliberate, achingly human. The world tilts. I forget the crowd, the war, even Seraphine’s name.
When he finally pulls back, our foreheads almost touch.
“I’ll come back,” he murmurs.
I swallow hard. “I know you will.”
He hesitates, eyes flicking down as if a hundred words battle behind them. But before any of them can escape, the sound of approaching soldiers breaks the moment.
He steps away, his jaw tight, and turns toward the marching column.
Armor glints. Hooves thunder. Trumpets cry.
And then he’s gone — swallowed by the crowd, by duty, by war.
I stand alone at the edge of the courtyard, the wind tugging at my hair, the echo of his kiss still trembling on my lips.
Oh my Aldric.
I understand what it means to lose something truly precious.