LOGINArden’s POVI stared at Nala where she stood in that red lace like she expected the room itself to bow to her.She had positioned herself perfectly, the low light catching the curve of her shoulder, the colour chosen to provoke, the stillness rehearsed. She wasn’t just trying to entice me.She was trying to corner me.And that was the moment I laughed.Not loudly. Not cruelly. Just a low, quiet sound that escaped before I bothered to stop it , the kind of laugh you give when something stops being a threat and starts being a joke.Her eyes widened immediately.Shock flashed across her face before she smoothed it into something cool and amused.“Well,” she said lightly, tilting her head, “if it weren’t for the rumours about what’s going on between you and your brother’s wife, I’d think you didn’t even fancy women.”Her voice was playful.Her intention was not.I didn’t let the words touch me. Didn’t rise to them. Didn’t react.I just kept looking at her.Because that was the thing abo
Richard’s POVMy father depended on me. The country depended on me. And no matter how much I blamed the crown for caging me, I couldn’t walk away from my people, not when the earth was drying beneath their feet, not when famine crept closer each day like a beast stalking its prey.My royal status wasn’t power. It was shackles.Gilded, polished, revered shackles, but shackles all the same.I would never be free. I could never wander the world the way other men could, disappear for months at a time, chase a life untouched by scrutiny or tradition. That kind of freedom belonged to Arden and Sebastien, my brothers who could go anywhere they wanted, reinvent themselves whenever they chose, live without the crushing weight of a kingdom on their shoulders.And I envied them. God, how I envied them.They could move. They could breathe. They could become whoever they wished to be.Meanwhile I, Crowned Prince of Eldenwald, had never truly lived a single day of my life.And in the mid
Richard’s POVThe palace was quiet by the time I returned, a strange, heavy quiet that did not soothe, did not soften anything. It was the kind of silence that comes after too much has been said, too much has been broken. A silence that settles not to bring peace, but to remind you of everything that has slipped beyond repair.My footsteps echoed through the marble corridors, each sound hollow against the vastness of the empty hallways. I used to find comfort in these passages, once upon a time when my life still felt tethered to meaning. When Cassandra still smiled at me. When my marriage still felt like a promise instead of a grave I kept digging with my own hands.Now every wall, every chandelier, every ornate pillar felt like they belonged to someone else. Like I was a ghost wandering through a life I had ruined.Home… Home had never been the palace. Home had once been a woman. Her soft voice. Her quiet laughter. Her warmth beside me. A presence I never appreciated unt
Arden’s POVFor years—since childhood, really—Nala Longman had been presented to the courts as the perfect heir of Belmont. Soft-spoken. Gentle. Well-mannered. The kind of woman who smiled politely, blushed on cue, and never raised her voice. Harmless. Polished. A delicate ornament of diplomacy wrapped in silk and etiquette.But now?Now I saw the truth.She was nothing like the sweet creature she pretended to be. She was the product of a steel-spined empire, sharpened by a court far more ruthless than Eldenwald’s, raised under the shadow of political titans who understood that power was never given—it was taken.And under all that velvet, she had teeth.Sharp ones.But she made one fatal miscalculation.She didn’t know me.No one intimidates me. Not kings. Not generals. Not Presidents, Heads of State, Tyrants. And certainly not pampered heiresses who waltz into my home as if I’m a trophy they’re entitled to mount on their wall.“You can’t have what you want, Nala,” I said qui
Arden’s POVI should have left the palace the moment the press conference ended.Every instinct screamed at me to walk away, to disappear into the night and reclaim the solitude I’d carved for myself. I could have gone back to the anonymity of my hotel suite, where expectations couldn’t claw at me. I could have ridden straight to the border—a few hours of cold wind and open road—and never looked back.But Eldenwald was burning.The riots that had started as scattered protests had grown into something monstrous—fires spreading through overcrowded districts, people clashing with guards, crowds surging through the streets with desperation sharp enough to taste. It was no longer unrest.It was hunger with a voice.My security detail warned me that travelling now was dangerous. The roads were volatile, the gates unstable. Even I—who feared very little—was not foolish enough to get trapped outside the palace walls with no way to reach Cassandra if everything collapsed.So I let my father co
Arden’s POVEven him, the king, the man who ruled a nation with an iron hand, could not trust the woman seated beside him on the throne. His own queen. His partner. His supposed closest ally in all matters of the realm.And yet he expected Cassandra, gentle, unguarded, soft-hearted Cassandra, to withstand the very same venom he could barely tolerate for an afternoon?“You expect Cassandra to tolerate what you can barely endure,” I said quietly. “Is that reasonable?”His jaw flexed, a muscle ticking in frustration. But for once, he had no immediate argument. No lecture. No polished royal retort waiting on his tongue. He simply stared at me, throat tight, eyes darkening with truths he didn’t want to acknowledge.“Her parents,” I continued, “were your wife’s closest friends. Your queen used them to get exactly what she wanted, your court’s favour, the Crown Prince title secured for Richard, and once she’d taken everything she needed, she crushed that family without mercy. You know this.







