DANI’S POV
The candles in my room burn down to their stubs before I stop pacing. The night feels endless. My boots scrape against the stone floor, a rhythm that keeps me from losing my mind.
“Help the King,” she said.
Her voice still echoes in my head. Those words weren’t a challenge—they were a wound. She looked at me as if I could redeem myself by doing the impossible.
Help King Darius.
I drag a hand through my hair. How?
I’m a spy, not a savior. A knight trained to destroy, not to rebuild.
I stop by the window, watching the storm fade into a weak dawn. My reflection stares back—tired eyes, guilt carved deep. I wonder if this is what betrayal looks like when it turns on itself.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe words mean nothing unless I act.
I sit at my desk, pull parchment toward me, and dip the pen into ink. The letter begins with hesitation, but the words come fast after that.
To His Majesty, King Dorian of Verdana,
The tides are changing faster than expected. The Queen of Verloren—Arinelle—tightens her hold with every passing day. The King, Darius, remains in hiding with only a handful of loyal men. She manipulates alliances through Duke Rueld and several noble houses. If she wins, Verdana’s borders will bleed next. You know she craves expansion. I’ve seen it in her eyes.
I pause, thinking of Vivian’s face when she said it—Help the King.
I request guidance on how to proceed. But more than that, I beg you to consider something I once thought unthinkable: help Darius. If Verloren falls to Arinelle completely, peace will not survive, not here or anywhere. I’ve seen enough to know she’ll never stop at one throne.
I stare at the final line for a long time before adding it:
I know this request defies every law, every scar, every century of hate between us. But for once, let mercy weigh heavier than vengeance.
I sign it without my title, only my name.
—Dani.
Folding the letter carefully, I seal it with my ring and tuck it beneath my cloak. The sun’s first light seeps through the window as I step into the hallway.
The palace is quiet, servants just beginning their morning duties. I move carefully, keeping to the shadows. The post tower stands on the east side; I can send the letter through a trusted messenger who won’t question my seal.
But as I round a corner near the council wing, I hear voices. Low, controlled, familiar. I stop. The Queen’s. And Captain Solomon’s. I edge closer, heart pounding, and find the door slightly ajar.
“…reports from the south side guard posts,” Solomon is saying. “Two soldiers were caught trying to send messages to the King.”
Arinelle’s tone is like silk over steel. “And?”
“They’ve been dealt with.”
“Good.” A pause. “The King grows desperate. He’ll reach for help soon, I’m certain. He forgets he’s not the only one who can use spies.”
Something in her tone chills me.
Then she says it.
“His dear nephew Salazar writes from Verdana. He tells me their borders tighten, their knights restless. He thinks I'm delivering his letters to Darius, but you know… Darius won’t find allies there.”
Salazar.
My stomach twists. A spy in Verdana. One close enough to report directly to her.
Gods! If that’s true, then everything—my letters, my reports—could already be compromised. Dorian might be walking straight into her hands without even knowing.
I step back before panic gives me away. My shoulder brushes against the wall, a soft thud. Silence follows.
“Who’s there?” Arinelle’s voice slices through the air.
I don’t wait. I turn and vanish down the hallway, my pulse hammering.
I take the back stairs two at a time, exiting through a side corridor that leads toward the city streets. When I finally breathe again, it feels like I’ve been holding it for years.
***
The streets of Verloren are waking. Merchants roll up their stalls; horses clatter on cobblestones. I make my way toward the post tower, keeping my hood low. Inside, the clerk recognizes me—Dani of the Northern Division, Queen’s favored knight. No one questions the seal I hand him.
“Deliver this north,” I say quietly. “By royal priority.”
He nods, tucking it into a leather satchel. “It’ll reach within a week.”
“Make it two days.”
The man blinks at my tone but nods quickly.
As I step back into the morning air, the weight in my chest grows heavier, not lighter.
I’ve done what she asked—what Vivian demanded of me. I’ve reached for peace instead of power. But now, even that feels like another betrayal.
I pull my hood lower and start walking. I need air. I need space to think.
The temple bells ring faintly across the square.
That’s when I see him. Reverend Alastor, robes dark as dusk, standing by the temple gates with a calm smile. He watches the street like a man reading the world’s secrets. When his eyes meet mine, he gestures slightly—as if he’s been waiting.
I hesitate, then cross the street.
“Lord Dani,” he greets softly. “Or should I say, Sir Dani of Verdana?”
I freeze. My hand instinctively goes to the hilt of my sword.
“Relax,” he says easily. “If I meant to expose you, I’d have done so weeks ago.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Only a conversation.”
I glance around; no one seems to notice us. “How do you know who I am?”
“I listen,” Alastor replies. “People talk. Servants, guards, priests… even hearts.”
He studies me quietly. “You hide well, but guilt leaves a mark sharper than any blade.”
I exhale slowly. “If you came to preach forgiveness, I don’t have time for it.”
He smiles faintly. “I didn’t say forgiveness. I said truth.”
“I’ve heard enough of truth for one lifetime.”
“Have you?” He steps closer, voice lowering. “Because I also know you love her.”
My breath catches.
He watches me carefully. “Vivian.”
I look away, jaw tight. “You shouldn’t say her name.”
“Why not? You think I don’t see the way you look at her? Or how she stopped praying years ago and suddenly came to the temple two nights ago, broken enough to kneel?”
My throat closes. “She went there?”
“Yes.” His gaze softens. “You both carry too much war inside. It’s eating you alive.”
“I can’t change what I am.”
“That’s the lie you’ve chosen,” he says quietly. “You’re not bound to the orders of kings. You can choose differently.”
“And betray my own country?”
He tilts his head. “You already betrayed your heart. Which one do you think will forgive you first?”
The question lands like a blade.
I step back, anger flaring just to mask the ache. “You know nothing about me.”
“I know enough,” Alastor says gently. “You’re standing at the edge of two fires, pretending you won’t burn. You can’t serve Verdana and love a woman who bleeds for Verloren. One will destroy the other.”
“Then maybe I deserve to burn.”
He smiles sadly. “That’s not love talking. That’s despair.”
He looks at me a long moment before turning toward the temple. “You want my advice, knight? Stop following orders. Start following your heart. The rest will find its own punishment.”
Before I can reply, he’s already walking away—his dark robe blending into the crowd, leaving me alone with his words.
Follow my heart.
I stare after him until he disappears from sight. The morning light falls across the street, golden and cruel.
For the first time in my life, I don’t know which kingdom I belong to.
But I know this: if choosing her means losing everything else, then maybe that’s the only truth worth following.