VIVIAN’s POV
Three days. Three days of pretending nothing weighs on my shoulders while the air inside the palace thickens with secrets.
I keep my head down, my voice calm, my posture perfect—every motion the image of loyalty. But beneath that mask, my heart beats too loud. I avoid Queen Arinelle whenever possible; Duke Rueld’s smirk still haunts me. One word from him, and I’ll hang.
Dani too—I’ve avoided him most of all. I take longer routes to avoid corridors he might be in, skip meals when I hear his voice in the dining hall, volunteer for extra work just to stay buried in noise. But silence always finds me again.
By the third evening, I sit alone in the inner garden. The palace glows behind me, lanterns dancing against the marble walls, and the fountain’s murmur drowns the thoughts I can’t kill. My hands shake slightly when I dip them into the cool water, letting the ripples spread out and vanish.
I almost don’t hear him.
“Vivian.”
His voice cuts through the twilight. I freeze before turning, already knowing who stands there.
Dani steps out of the shadows, moonlight spilling across his face. He looks exhausted—dark circles beneath his eyes, hair ruffled, but the sight of him still burns something inside me that I thought I’d buried.
“I thought I made myself clear,” I say, my tone steady but my pulse wild.
“You did,” he answers quietly, walking closer. “But you should hear me first.”
“I don’t owe you that.”
He stops a few steps away. “King Dorian replied to my letter.”
I blink, caught off guard. “What?”
“He read everything I wrote—about Arinelle, about Darius, about the danger that’s spreading. He’s agreed to help your King take back his throne.”
I stare at him, trying to make sense of his words. “Why would the King of Verdana help Verloren?”
“Because I asked him to,” Dani says simply. “Because I told him that under Arinelle’s rule, the war won’t end—it’ll consume everything. He believes me.”
The world feels as if it tilts. “You—” My voice falters. “You convinced Dorian himself?”
“For you,” he says softly. “For what you asked of me.”
I can barely breathe. “Dani…”
He takes another step closer, his voice lower now, rougher. “It’s not just for you. It’s for peace. Maybe I still owe my crown loyalty, but I owe my heart the truth. And my heart… doesn’t lie about you.”
The words hang between us, raw and trembling. I want to hate him for saying them, for making me feel again—but my anger can’t hold under the weight of that honesty.
The moonlight catches his eyes then, a shade of blue I’ve seen before.
I freeze. That glint—bright, sharp, burning.
My breath catches. “The man who attacked me.”
His brows lift. “What?”
“The night I delivered the parcel for the King—someone tried to take it from me. He had those eyes. Those same eyes.”
Silence falls heavy. His jaw tightens. “Yes,” he admits at last.
I take a step back, the memory flashing through me—the clash of swords, the sound of steel, the moment his blade missed me by inches. “It was you.”
“It was me.”
“And you let me live.”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “I didn’t let you live, Vivian. I chose not to kill you. There’s a difference.”
My heart stutters. “Why?”
“Because even then, I saw something in your eyes that made me drop the sword.” His voice cracks faintly. “And maybe I already knew if I struck, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.”
The anger I expected doesn’t come. Instead, an unfamiliar warmth fills the space where rage should be. I realize I’m not angry anymore. I’m tired—of hating him, of carrying the past like a wound that refuses to heal.
“I should despise you,” I whisper.
“Then do it,” he says, stepping closer. “But don’t pretend you don’t feel this.”
The words pull me toward him like gravity. My breath trembles as he stops right in front of me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him.
“Dorian will pull strings under Rueld’s land,” he says, his voice steady despite the tension between us. “He’ll cut off Arinelle’s support. Her allies will crumble, one by one. This will help Darius reclaim Verloren.”
Something inside me breaks open. “You really did it.”
“For you,” he repeats.
Before I can stop myself, I rise on my toes and kiss him.
It starts like it did that first night—a whisper of doubt drowned by something stronger. His hands move to my waist, and this time I don’t pull away. The kiss deepens, heat rushing through me in waves I can’t fight.
His fingers tangle in my hair, gentle at first, then firmer when I don’t resist. I taste the promise of everything we both tried to deny. The world disappears—no crowns, no borders, no kingdoms. Just us.
When we finally part, my breath comes short. “We can’t,” I whisper, even though I don’t move.
“Then why aren’t you walking away?” he murmurs, his forehead resting against mine.
I don’t have an answer. I don’t want one.
He takes my hand instead, and I let him lead me.
***
We slip through the quiet corridors of the palace like thieves. My heart beats so fast it feels reckless, but I don’t stop. When we reach my chambers, I close the door behind us with a soft click.
The room is dim, lit only by the silver spill of moonlight through the curtains.
He stands there for a long second, watching me as if memorizing the moment. Then he moves.
The first touch is hesitant—his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face. My breath catches as he traces the line of my jaw, the curve of my throat. His hands are calloused from years of battle, yet his touch feels unbearably careful.
“Vivian,” he whispers, voice raw. “Tell me to stop.”
“I won’t,” I breathe.
His mouth finds mine again, hungrier this time. I meet him halfway, fingers curling in his tunic as he presses me back against the wall. The heat between us grows fast, sharp. Every kiss steals something—air, reason, time.
He slides the cloak from my shoulders, and it falls soundlessly to the floor. My fingers find the edges of his armor, unclasping it piece by piece until it, too, lands between us. He exhales hard when I touch the skin beneath, warm and solid and too human for a man who once felt untouchable.
The kiss breaks only long enough for him to speak against my lips. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Then show me,” I whisper back.
He does.The space between us disappears, his hand splaying across my back as if to anchor me to him. His lips trail from my mouth to my jaw, down to my collarbone, every touch deliberate, reverent. I can’t think. I don’t want to.
When I push him toward the bed, he lets me. His laugh—low, rough, breathless—fills the room. I sink beside him, and our mouths find each other again, softer now, slower, the urgency fading into something deeper.
There’s no fear this time. No hesitation. Just two people stripped of kingdoms and guilt, learning how to breathe again.
His forehead rests against mine when he whispers, “You’ve ruined me.”
“Good,” I murmur. “Then we’re even.”
He smiles, and I kiss him again, losing myself in the warmth of it. I don't want to stop. I don't think I even can. But now, it doesn’t matter. Nor do kingdoms, kings and queens, wars and mind games. There's only me and him.