DANI’S POV
The corridors of Verloren’s palace are colder tonight. Every candle feels dimmer, every marble wall heavier. My boots echo through the silence as I walk, but my mind is far from here.
I can’t stop thinking about Vivian. Every time I try to recall Verdana—my home, my kingdom, my duty—her face slips in between those thoughts. The shape of her smile, the warmth of her voice. Even now, after everything I’ve seen in war and blood, it’s her that breaks me.
I tell myself to remember why I’m here: for Dorian. For Elara. For the promise I made at Lyra’s grave.
But when I think of Vivian’s lips on mine, duty feels like a word meant for someone else.
I run a hand through my hair and exhale. I’ll send the letter tomorrow. It’s safer that way—no mistakes, no loose ends.
When I open the door to my chambers, I realize I’m already too late.
She’s here.
Standing in the middle of the room, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her fingers gripping a folded letter. My letter.
For a heartbeat, neither of us speaks. Then the parchment slips from her hand, fluttering to the floor like a dying bird.
I can’t move.
Her head turns slowly, eyes finding mine. There’s no confusion in them. Only betrayal.
“Vivian,” I breathe.
Her voice cuts sharper than steel. “Who are you, really?”
“I—”
“A spy?” she whispers. “For Verdana?”
My throat tightens. “It’s not what you think—”
She laughs—a single, hollow sound. “It’s exactly what I think.”
She brushes past me, fast, purposeful. I reach for her arm, but she shoves me away. “Don’t touch me.”
“Vivian, please.”
She doesn’t stop. Her pace quickens down the corridor, her steps furious against the marble.
I follow, desperate. “Just listen—”
“Listen to what? Lies? You’ve had enough practice.”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” I say, my voice breaking. “I didn’t mean for you to—”
She spins on her heel, eyes blazing. “Didn’t mean for me to what? Fall for you? Sleep beside you? Believe you were more than a sword with a borrowed crest?”
“Vivian—”
“No. You don’t get to say my name.”
She turns again, striding away. I grab her wrist before she can vanish around the corner. “Please, just hear me out!”
She yanks her arm free—and hits me.
Her fist collides with my jaw so hard I stumble back, hand flying to my face.
It’s not the pain that stings. It’s what’s behind it.
Her voice is quiet now, shaking. “You used me.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then what do you call it?”
“I was trying to protect someone,” I say. “A child. A kingdom.”
Her lips tremble, but her eyes don’t soften. “And what about me?”
I have no answer.
She exhales, something in her breaking. “I trusted you.”
The words cut deeper than any blade.
When she leaves, she doesn’t look back. I stand there long after she’s gone, staring at the corner where her shadow disappeared. My chest feels hollow. I sink to the floor, the letter still lying where it fell, mocking me.
I should burn it. I should leave. I should be the knight Dorian trusted me to be. Instead, I stay there until the candles die.
***
Morning comes mercilessly.
The clang of swords fills the training yard, sun glinting off steel. I’ve sparred a hundred times before, but today every swing feels heavy, every breath forced.
“Again!” Sheldon laughs, parrying easily. “You’re getting slower, northern knight.”
I grit my teeth and strike, but he twists, knocking the blade from my hand. It clatters across the ground.
He grins, offering a hand. “You look like a man whose heart’s been stolen.”
“Something like that.”
“Ah.” He chuckles. “Don’t worry, they rarely return it.”
I manage a weak smile. “So I’ve heard.”
He pats my shoulder. “Get some rest. You fight like a poet today.”
When he walks off, I stay behind, staring at the dirt. My reflection wavers faintly in a puddle beside the training post—armor dull, face bruised where Vivian’s fist landed.
She hit harder than most men I’ve fought.
***
I can’t stand the waiting.
After training, I clean up and go straight to her chambers. My pulse hammers the entire way, but when I knock, there’s no answer.
I try again—nothing. A maid passes by carrying linens, and I stop her. “Have you seen Lady Vivian?”
She shakes her head quickly. “No, my lord. Not since morning.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“No, my lord.”
I nod stiffly, forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace. “Thank you.”
I spend the next hour searching anyway—library, gardens, temple courtyard. Every corner of this cursed palace that used to feel like a mission now feels like a cage.
She’s nowhere.
When I finally return to my chamber, exhaustion and regret weigh down every step.
The room feels emptier than before, the bed too neatly made. On the desk lies another blank parchment. I sit down, staring at it for a long time before dipping my pen.
To His Majesty, King Dorian of Verdana,
I start mechanically.
The situation remains volatile. The Queen continues her silent war against King Darius, though her influence in the court grows. The palace guards remain loyal to her, but the people whisper his name still. I’ve gathered information about trade routes, supply lines, and the Queen’s diplomatic partners.
I pause, the ink blotting under my fingers.
One complication has arisen. My identity may have been discovered by an individual within the palace. I’m uncertain if she intends to reveal it. If she does, my mission—and my life—may end here.
I stare at the words. My throat feels tight.
I add one more line, one Dorian will never understand.
If I do not return, tell Elara that I kept my promise in my own way.
I fold the parchment carefully, sealing it with the wax ring that marks my false Verloren crest. The candlelight flickers across the wax, and for a moment, it feels like it’s judging me.
I set the letter aside. My jaw aches where she struck me, but the pain feels almost welcome—something solid to hold onto in the blur of regret.
I sink back into the chair, staring at the ceiling.
I tell myself I did what I had to do. That love is a luxury a spy can’t afford.
But somewhere deep inside, I know the truth:
I’ve already chosen wrong.
And now, both kingdoms of my heart—Verdana and Vivian—are slipping through my hands.