Two

King Ravyn Voss jerked awake like someone had kicked him in the chest.

He sat bolt upright in the massive four poster bed, gasping hard, sweat pouring down his face and back. His hands flew to his side, searching for the deep sword wound that should have been there. Nothing. Just smooth skin under his nightshirt. The room spun for a second before settling into the familiar shapes he knew too well, the heavy green drapes, the scarred oak table by the window, the sword mounted on the wall that his father had given him.

He was in his chambers. Eldoria Castle.

But he shouldn’t be.

Ravyn pressed both palms against his eyes, breathing ragged. Tears leaked out anyway. Hot, angry, ashamed tears that wouldn’t stop. “Where the hell am I?” he choked out. His voice sounded wrong in the quiet room. Too alive.

He remembered everything. The blood on the great hall floor. Caelian’s scream when the sword went through him. Liora’s laughter. The way he had held his husband’s dying body and whispered sorry too late.

Now he was here. Breathing. Whole.

Ravyn swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up on shaky knees. He walked to the tall mirror near the wardrobe and stared at his reflection. He looked younger. Not by much, but the deep exhaustion lines around his eyes were softer. The haunted look from that final year wasn’t fully there yet.

One year.

He had been sent back one year. Four years into this miserable marriage. One year before the betrayal that killed them both.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

The guilt hit him like a warhorse at full gallop. Four years. Four years of treating Caelian like he was nothing. Of parading Liora through the castle, kissing her in front of him, laughing at the pain in the prince’s eyes. Of ignoring every quiet act of loyalty the man had shown. Caelian had loved him anyway. Had stayed.

Ravyn’s legs gave out. He sank down onto the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. The sobs came harder now. He cried like the broken man he was, ugly, loud, no one around to see. “I’m sorry,” he kept repeating into the empty room. “Gods, Caelian… I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t know how to face him. How do you look at the person you destroyed for years and say it was all a mistake? That you only realized it when you were both bleeding out on the floor?

But he had to.

Ravyn wiped his face roughly with the back of his sleeve and stood up again. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. The regret burned, but underneath it something else grew, cold, sharp purpose.

“I won’t let it happen again,” he said aloud, voice low and rough. “I’ll right every wrong I did to him. Every single one.” He paced the room, boots forgotten, feet slapping against the cold stone. “And I’ll end them. Liora. Darian. Every snake who smiled while planning to take my crown. They won’t get the chance this time.”

He stopped by the window and looked out over the castle grounds. The morning mist still clung to the fields. Horses were being led out for exercise. Banners of Eldoria snapped in the wind. This kingdom was his. He had fought for it, bled for it, and then nearly lost it all because of his own stupidity.

Never again.

A knock sounded at the door.

Ravyn straightened. He pulled on a dark tunic and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Enter.”

The door opened. Captain Garrick, head of the king’s personal guard, stepped inside. The man was built like an ox, with a thick beard and scars from old battles. He had served Ravyn’s father before him.

“You called for me, Your Majesty?” Garrick asked, bowing slightly.

Ravyn kept his back turned toward the captain, staring out the window at the kingdom stretching beyond the walls. He needed a moment longer to steady his voice.

“I want all the records,” he said. “Every ledger. Every list of goods that have come in and out of Eldoria for the last four years. Trade routes, merchants, supply wagons, everything. Bring them to my study by midday.”

Garrick paused, clearly surprised. “All of them, sire? That’s… a lot of parchment.”

“I don’t care how much it is,” Ravyn replied, still not turning around. His voice had gone hard. “That’s where this whole thing started. The rot. The betrayals. I want to see it with my own eyes.”

The captain shifted on his feet but didn’t argue. “As you command, Your Majesty. I’ll have the scribes and stewards gather them immediately.”

When the door clicked shut again, Ravyn let out a long breath. His hands were still shaking, but the tears had dried. The guilt was still there, heavy as chains, but so was the vow.

One year.

He had one year to fix what he had broken. To become the husband Caelian deserved. To burn out the treason before it could take root.

He turned from the window, jaw set.

It started now.