LOGINEdrion remained standing in front of her, his breathing restrained and his gaze fixed, as if he were still deciding what to do. Lyria, however, could not stop seeing something else.The blood returned to her mind with unbearable clarity, followed by the image of Rowan’s eyes slowly losing their light and the dull sound of his body hitting the ground, replaying over and over in her head as if there were no escape from it.But the present was there.Edrion began removing his clothes without looking away from her, his movements slow and tense, as though every gesture was being held in check by the force with which he was trying to remain in control. Piece by piece, the fabric fell to the floor, revealing the strength of a body shaped by years of combat and discipline. His bronzed skin contrasted with the dim light of the chamber, outlining every muscle in soft shadows.He approached her step by step, with a calmness that was anything but reassuring. Instead, it only heightened the tensio
The rest of the celebration continued as though nothing had happened, with music filling the hall and goblets being raised again and again. Yet something had changed in a way that was impossible to ignore—a subtle tension that slipped between the laughter and conversations, as if everyone sensed that beneath the glittering festivities, something dark had just taken root.Although the music continued to play and the toasts never ceased, the atmosphere was no longer the same. The news had spread in whispers: the prisoner, the execution, the way the king had acted without hesitation. No one spoke of it aloud, but everyone felt it.And on the throne, elevated above all those present, the king no longer smiled. His expression had hardened into something nearly unreadable, as though the celebration surrounding him no longer held any meaning.Edrion remained rigid, cold, and distant, barely responding to those who approached him. His gestures were brief, his gaze dark, as if his mind were el
The music still filled the great hall, but for Lyria, everything had vanished. Her world shrank to the man standing before her—bound, beaten, and yet, still on his feet. Rowan. Fear coursed through her body with a force she could not control, making her hands begin to tremble as she leaned slightly toward the king, trying to ensure her voice was heard by no one else. "Your Majesty… you were supposed to kill him," she whispered, urgency bleeding into every word. "You must do it… before he says anything." Before he destroys everything. Edrion did not answer immediately, but his gaze descended slowly to Lyria’s trembling hands, lingering there as if that detail were more interesting than anything else in the room. A faint smile appeared on his lips—not kind, but curious, almost dangerous—before he stood up. The simple movement was enough to shift the atmosphere; the music faded, the conversations died, and silence began to spread through the hall as every eye followed the king des
Shortly after, in the midst of the celebration, the atmosphere shifted subtly when the musicians slowed the tempo and the room’s attention began to center on them once more. The laughter and conversations faded little by little, not by command, but by the very presence of the king rising from his throne. Lyria was guided a few steps toward the center, still surrounded by the gleam of chalices, golden fabrics, and the hushed murmur of the guests who now watched intently. The celebration remained alive around her, but at that moment, everything seemed to revolve solely around her. Edrion took a crown. Even amidst the bustle, the piece commanded respect: dark gold crafted with precision, embedded with stones that caught the torchlight and threw it back in warm, almost hypnotic flashes. He held it for a moment, as if that gesture drew an invisible line between what had been and what was about to become. Then, with a firm and confident movement, he placed it upon Lyria's head, sealing
The castle had not slept in days. Since dawn, the corridors had been alive with movement: servants rushing about with trays and fabrics, hands adjusting fresh flowers on every column, silk ribbons cascading from the balconies like waterfalls of golden light. Everything had to be perfect, flawless, worthy of the most important event in the kingdom. And of its new queen. In one of the highest rooms of the palace, Lyria stood before the mirror while several handmaidens worked around her, adjusting her dress, arranging every strand of her hair, and placing jewels that gleamed against her skin. The reflection staring back did not seem to be her own. But the slight tremor in her hands did belong to her, reminding her that, despite all the luxury surrounding her, she was still herself. Her mind was not on the room, or the dress, or the voices around her, but on Rowan, on his absence, on what remained unsaid. There was no news, no one mentioned his name, and that silence—thick, uncomfort
The journey resumed at dawn.The forest gradually began to thin, giving way to wider roads and unmistakable signs of civilization. In the distance, through the lingering morning mist, the first towers of the castle came into view.Elinor rode behind Rowan, holding on to him as her thoughts remained tangled between what had happened the night before and the uncertainty of what awaited them. Rowan, meanwhile, sat rigid in the saddle, alert and tense, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.It was Rowan who spotted them first.A group of riders emerged on the road before them, impossible to mistake for anything but trouble. They advanced in a disciplined formation, their dark cloaks billowing in the morning wind while the steel of their weapons caught the sunlight, casting cold flashes between the trees.Royal guards.“Damn it…” he muttered.He jerked the horse around sharply, pulling hard on the reins to change direction, but the moment he did, he realized it was already too late. The riders
The country house was surrounded by soft hills and clean air, a place where silence was not suspicious but natural. There was no marble or gold, no forced curtsies, no political whispers echoing through corridors. Only wind, earth, and days that seemed to blend into one another.Elinor Avelyne of V
Rowan entered her chambers well past midnight.The door closed quietly behind him, and for a moment neither of them spoke. The tension between them felt different now—heavier, sharper, more dangerous than before.“You’re playing too close to the fire,” he said at last, without greeting.Lyria remai
“How do you tame a man?” Lyria asked softly.Mariel, who had been gathering the ribbons from the dress on the table, went still.“Tame… a man, my lady?”Lyria held her own reflection in the mirror.“You said that if I managed to tame him, I would have nothing to fear.”The servant studied her for a
The king did not look away after telling her to die.Silence stretched between them like a taut thread.He was the first to speak.“Tell me,” he asked in a low voice, resting his elbow against the arm of the chair, “what is so terrible about marrying me?”The question was not ironic.It was direct.







