POV: Ravenna
The gardens were supposed to be peaceful.
That was the whole point of gardens, right? Pretty flowers. Quiet paths. A place to think without someone trying to kill you or reveal devastating family secrets.
I needed peace. Desperately. After last night's dinner and Theron's parting words that had kept me awake until dawn, I needed to clear my head.
The morning was cool, mist still clinging to the volcanic stone pathways. I walked slowly, letting the silence settle into my bones. The gardens were old—as old as the palace—with hedges tall enough to create private alcoves and winding paths that seemed to go nowhere and everywhere at once.
I turned down a familiar path bordered by fire roses—the only flowers that thrived in volcanic soil. Their petals were deep crimson with black edges, like embers cooling to ash.
Then I heard voices.
I stopped.
The voices came from beyond the hedge wall to my left. Low. Conversational. One I recognized immediately as Father's deep tone. The other—
Lucien.
I should have walked away. Should have minded my own business. Should have done literally anything except stand there hidden by hedges and eavesdrop.
But I'd just found out my mother was murdered by someone in this palace who was still operating in shadows.
So I stayed. And I listened.
"—respect the Dragon's Choosing, of course." Lucien's voice was smooth. Careful. "The bond is sacred. I would never question that."
"But?" Father's tone was neutral but I heard the edge beneath.
"But I do have concerns." A pause. "About Theron's suitability as consort."
My blood went cold.
"Explain," Father said.
"The man is common-born, Your Majesty. No family connections. No political training whatsoever. Has he ever attended a diplomatic function? Negotiated a trade agreement? Navigated court politics?" Another careful pause. "How will he represent Cindravale at international events?"
"Theron is a proven warrior and leader," Father said. "He commanded troops. Made tactical decisions. Survived situations that would have broken lesser men."
"All admirable qualities for a general," Lucien agreed smoothly. "But being consort requires different skills. Subtlety. Diplomacy. The ability to read people and situations. To know when to speak and when to stay silent." His voice took on a concerned tone. "I fear he may be overwhelmed by the demands of the position."
I wanted to scream. To burst through the hedge and call him out on his manipulative BULLSHIT.
But I stayed frozen. Listening.
"What are you suggesting?" Father asked.
"Nothing untoward, I assure you." Lucien's voice was earnest now. So sincere it made me sick. "I simply think Theron would benefit from advisors. People with experience in noble houses who could guide him. Teach him what he needs to know." A beat. "I would be happy to offer my assistance."
Oh. OH.
The bastard was positioning himself as indispensable. Planting doubts about Theron while offering himself as the solution. Making Father think he was being helpful and concerned when really he was—
"You want to be his advisor," Father said flatly.
"Only if it would be useful." Lucien's tone was carefully humble. "I have no personal agenda, Your Majesty. I simply want to see Cindravale strong. And a consort who doesn't understand court politics is a vulnerability." Pause. "One our enemies will exploit."
Silence.
I held my breath.
"I will consider it," Father said finally.
"That's all I ask." I could hear the smile in Lucien's voice. "I truly do wish them well, you understand. The princess deserves happiness. And if I can help smooth Theron's transition into court life, I'm honored to do so."
"You're staying in the palace as a guest of House Ashford?"
"For the foreseeable future, yes. My family has business here." Another smooth smile in his voice. "I'm at your disposal should you need me."
Footsteps. Moving away. Fading.
I stayed hidden behind the hedge until I was sure they were both gone.
Then I leaned back against the stone wall and tried to process what I'd just heard.
Lucien was smart. Dangerously smart.
He hadn't raged about losing. Hadn't made demands or threats. He'd simply planted seeds of doubt. Made Father question whether Theron was ready for the role. Positioned himself as the concerned nobleman who only wanted to help.
And Father—gods, Father was considering it.
Because Lucien wasn't wrong. Theron didn't have political training. He WAS common-born with no family connections. He would struggle with court politics at first.
But none of that meant he needed Lucien whispering in his ear.
Lucien was threatened by Theron. I'd seen it at dinner when his mask slipped. He didn't want to help—he wanted to undermine. To make Theron fail. To prove that Solace had chosen wrong.
And if Father put Lucien in an advisory position, gave him access and authority, Lucien would have every opportunity to sabotage Theron while looking like the helpful nobleman.
I pushed off the wall and started walking. Fast. My mind racing.
I needed to warn Theron.
No—I needed to warn Father first. Make him see what Lucien was really doing.
No—Father wouldn't listen. He'd say I was being paranoid or jealous or overprotective of my bonded.
I needed evidence. Proof that Lucien was manipulating him.
But how did you prove someone's intentions? How did you show that beneath the charm and concern was something cold and calculating?
I turned down another path, my feet carrying me without conscious thought.
Lucien was staying in the palace. As a guest. With access to Father, to court, to everything.
And he was smart enough to play the long game. Patient enough to wait. Subtle enough to destroy Theron's reputation without anyone seeing his hands move.
The rage from last night came flooding back. The same rage I'd felt reading about my mother's death. About twenty-one years of lies and manipulation.
I was so tired of people operating in shadows. Of charming masks hiding hollow souls. Of threats disguised as concern.
I found myself at the ramparts. The high wall where Theron and I had stood under stars. Where he'd offered me his hand and I'd taken it.
Where everything had changed.
I leaned against the stone and looked out over the volcanic plains. The morning mist was burning off, revealing black rock and red earth stretching to the horizon.
Somewhere out there, my mother's killer was still free. Still planning. Still operating.
And here in the palace, Lucien was already working to undermine the man I'd chosen.
The man I was starting to—
No. I couldn't think about that yet. Couldn't examine what I was feeling because if I did, I might have to admit I was falling for Theron and that terrified me more than assassins or manipulative nobles or anything else.
Focus. I needed to focus.
Lucien was dangerous but subtle. He wouldn't strike openly. He'd work through whispers and suggestions and carefully planted doubts.
Which meant I needed to be smarter than him. Faster. More careful.
I needed to protect Theron without making it obvious I was protecting him.
And I needed to warn him that the competition wasn't over. That Lucien had just changed tactics, not goals.
That we were facing an enemy who smiled while sharpening knives.
I straightened up, decision made.
I would find Theron. Tell him everything. Make sure he knew what Lucien was doing.
And then we would figure out how to handle this together.
Because that's what bonded pairs did, right? Faced threats together. Protected each other.
And whether I was ready to admit it or not, Theron was mine to protect now.
Just like I was his. The thought should have terrified me. Instead, it felt right.
I headed back toward the palace, mind already planning what to say. How to explain without sounding paranoid. How to make Theron understand the danger without making him feel inadequate.
Lucien thought he was clever. Thought he'd positioned himself perfectly.
But he'd made one critical mistake.
He'd underestimated me.
And that was going to cost him everything.