VIVIAN’s POV
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.
His lips still burn on mine. My pulse is wild, my body tense with something I don’t remember feeling before—something dangerous, something alive.
“Vivian,” he breathes, and the sound of my name from his mouth does something terrible to me.
“Don’t,” I whisper. “Please.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t say it like that.”
He studies me quietly, and then—slowly, carefully—he lifts his hand to my cheek. His thumb brushes my skin, warm and steady. I should turn away, I should stop this before it ruins everything, but instead, I lean into him. Just a little. Enough to give myself away.
And then he kisses me again.
This time, there’s nothing hesitant about it. It’s deep, hungry, a collision of everything we’ve both been pretending not to feel. My hands clutch his shirt before I realize what I’m doing. The sound that leaves me isn’t soft—it’s a broken sigh, half fear, half surrender.
His hand moves from my cheek to my neck, then to my waist, pulling me closer. Our breaths mix, hot and uneven.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against my mouth.
I can’t.
I don’t.
Instead, I push him back against the wall, my palms pressed to his chest. He smiles—a quick, startled, disbelieving smile—and then pulls me in again.
The kiss turns desperate. His fingers find the laces of my blouse, trembling slightly as if he’s unsure what’s allowed.
“Vivian,” he says again, voice low, reverent.
I pull away only long enough to meet his eyes. “You talk too much.”
He laughs, breathless. “You think too much.”
“Then stop making me.”
He doesn’t argue.
Clothes fall in pieces, careless, like they no longer belong to this world. His armor clinks faintly as it drops, forgotten. My blouse slips from my shoulders; his hands follow the curve of my back as if memorizing it.
Every touch is a question. Every sigh, an answer neither of us should give.
When I finally let go of the last thread of restraint, the world narrows to him—his warmth, his breath, the quiet sound of my name on his lips.
The candlelight flickers. The air smells faintly of dust and rain and something sweet I can’t name.
For once, I stop thinking about kingdoms and crowns and loyalties.
I only think about him.
***
Morning.
The light creeps in softly, brushing against my face. I blink awake, the memory of last night still tangled in my skin.
The bed beside me is empty. Dani stands by the table, shirt half-buttoned, fastening the strap of his sword belt. He glances over his shoulder when he notices I’m awake.
“Morning,” he says.
My voice comes out quieter than I intend. “You’re up early.”
“I didn’t sleep much.” He smiles faintly. “Didn’t want to wake you.”
He looks… different in the morning light. Softer. Real.
“You regret it?” he asks suddenly, his tone uncertain.
I sit up, the sheet clutched around me. “Do you?”
“Not for a single breath.” He walks closer, kneeling by the bed. “Vivian, I meant what I said yesterday. I won’t back off now. Not from you.”
I can’t meet his gaze. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
He reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Then tell me.”
I open my mouth, but the words don’t come. Something foreign blooms in my chest—warm, frightening, fragile.
“Let me stay by your side,” he whispers.
I nod before I can think. “Just… don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
He smiles then—slow, sincere. “I never make promises I don’t intend to keep.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead before standing. “I’ll see you later.”
And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me alone with the morning sun and the ache of something I don’t yet dare to name.
I dress quickly—pants, blouse, the usual armor of duty—and force my thoughts into order. By the time I reach the Queen’s chambers, the day is already alive with movement. Servants rush in and out, guards stand alert, and Arinelle herself sits before a mountain of silk gowns.
“Vivian,” she calls lazily. “Gold or crimson?”
“Crimson suits Your Majesty better,” I reply.
She hums in approval. “Crimson, then.”
For the rest of the morning, I busy myself with fabric and jewels, pretending not to notice when Dani passes through the halls. He’s always surrounded by soldiers, always focused—and yet, every time our paths cross, his eyes find mine. A smile. A wink. Just a flicker of something shared.
And it’s enough to make my heart stumble.
***
By evening, Arinelle waves me off. “Go,” she says. “You’ve been tense lately. Go breathe air that isn’t perfumed with my presence.”
I bow. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
The city feels alive as I step outside—torches flickering, laughter spilling from taverns, the scent of bread and ale filling the streets. It feels… almost normal.
I find Alastor in a small bar tucked near the market square, sitting with a mug in hand. His eyes brighten when he sees me.
“Vivian!” he says, half-laughing. “You in a tavern? Did the Queen finally go mad?”
“Something like that. Counter question: what is a reverend doing in a tavern?”
Alastor chuckles. “Touché.”
He gestures for me to sit. “Drink?”
“Why not.”
The ale is sweet, stronger than I expect. The warmth spreads quickly through my chest.
“You’re smiling,” Alastor says after a while, pretending to squint at me. “It’s unnerving.”
“I smile sometimes.”
“No. You smirk. This is different.” He leans closer. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Vivian.”
I sigh. “If I tell you, you’ll never let me hear the end of it.”
He grins. “That depends. Was it illegal?”
“No.”
“Sinful?”
“Possibly.”
His grin widens. “Ah. So it’s a him.”
I groan. “You’re insufferable.”
“Name?”
I roll my eyes. “You wouldn’t know him personally.”
“Try me.”
“Dani.”
Alastor nearly chokes on his drink. “The northern knight?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, Vivian.” He shakes his head, laughing. “About time you let someone close. You look… lighter.”
“I don’t like being teased.”
“I’m not teasing. I’m relieved.” He raises his mug. “To you, finally remembering you’re human.”
I clink my glass against his, trying not to smile. “To silence,” I mutter.
“To terrible choices,” he counters cheerfully.
It’s a good evening. Too good. For the first time in what feels like years, I forget about secrets and politics. I forget the Queen, the lies, the danger.
When the night air cools, I make my way back to the palace, still carrying the echo of laughter. The corridors are quiet again, the world hushed.
I head straight for Dani’s chamber.
The door’s unlocked. The room smells faintly of cedar and iron. He isn’t there yet, but his cloak lies draped over the chair, and a few papers rest scattered across the table.
I hesitate, smiling faintly. “Careless,” I murmur.
Something white catches my eye near the bed—a folded letter lying on the floor. I kneel, picking it up. The seal is broken.
I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t.
But I unfold it anyway.
My eyes scan the words once. Then again.
And then my breath stops.
To His Majesty, King Dorian of Verdana.
The rest burns into me like fire. Notes about the Queen. The palace. The villages. Even me. His observations, cold and detailed, written by the hand I held only hours ago.
A spy.
Lord Dani—the man I let into my bed, into my heart—is Verdana’s spy.
The letter slips from my fingers. My pulse thunders in my ears.
The warmth that filled me all day turns to ice.
And as the candle flickers, I realize the cruelest part of it all—
I should’ve known.