CHAPTER 2

"Get your hands off the silk, I can do it myself!"

Noah yanked the heavy, gold-threaded fabric away from the maid’s reach. His voice hit a pitch that made his throat ache, a strained, melodic reediness that felt like a tightrope walk. The girl recoiled, eyes wide, her hands hovering in the air like startled birds.

"But, my Lady Abigail," she stammered, "the King’s orders were absolute. We are to prepare you for the welcome feast. The layers—"

"I know how to dress myself," Noah snapped. He gripped the edge of the privacy screen until his knuckles turned a ghostly white. "Out. All of you. Now."

The maids scurried, their soft slippers whispering against the marble floor before the heavy oak doors clicked shut. Noah slumped against the wall, the air leaving his lungs in a jagged rush. His chest felt like it was being crushed. The linen bindings beneath the corset were too tight, digging into his ribs with every breath, but they were the only thing keeping him from a hangman’s noose.

He looked at the reflection in the gilded mirror. The person staring back was a stranger. Pale skin, eyes rimmed with exhaustion, and a mountain of sapphire-colored silk that swallowed his narrow frame. If he moved too fast, the fabric shifted, threatening to reveal the lack of curves. If he spoke too low, the gravel in his voice would betray the boy hiding in the gown.

"Abigail?"

The voice was a low vibration that seemed to come through the floorboards. Noah jumped, his heart slamming against his ribs like a trapped animal. Ethan.

The King didn't wait for an answer. He never did. He pushed through the door, his presence filling the room with the scent of cedar and cold iron. He wasn't wearing his crown, but the way he moved—shoulders back, eyes tracking every movement—made it clear he owned the air Noah was breathing.

"You dismissed the servants," Ethan said. It wasn't a question. He walked closer, his boots thudding rhythmically.

"I... I’m not used to people touching me, my Lord," Noah said, forcing the "Abigail" lilt back into his throat. He ducked his head, letting a curtain of hair hide the sharp line of his jaw. "In the village, we had privacy."

Ethan stopped inches away. The heat coming off him was a physical weight. "You are no longer in a village. You are in my heart, and soon, you will be on my throne. There is no privacy from me."

He reached out, his fingers brushing the line of Noah’s neck. Noah flinched, the skin there erupting in goosebumps. Ethan’s hand stayed, his thumb tracing the pulse point that was currently drumming a frantic rhythm.

"You're shaking," Ethan murmured. His voice had dropped to a husky growl. "Are you still afraid? After everything?"

"The palace is big," Noah whispered, his mind racing. "It’s a lot."

Ethan’s grip tightened just a fraction, not enough to hurt, but enough to make it clear Noah wasn't going anywhere. "I told you I would pamper you. I told you that you would never hunger again. Look at this room. Look at the jewels on your vanity. It’s all yours. Because you saved me from that ditch."

Noah didn't look. He couldn't. He was too busy wondering if Ethan could feel the hardness of his shoulder bone or the lack of softness where a woman should have it. "You've done too much already."

"I haven't even begun." Ethan leaned in, his breath warm against Noah’s ear. "Tonight, we feast. I want the whole court to see the woman who kept the King’s heart beating when his own blood tried to stop it."

Ethan’s hand slid down to Noah’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest. The contact was electric and terrifying. Noah could feel the solid muscle of Ethan’s thighs, the heavy thud of the King’s heart against his own bound chest. For a second, the lie vanished, replaced by a raw, terrifying heat that pooled in Noah’s gut.

"My Lord—"

"Ethan," the King corrected, his face inches from Noah’s. His eyes were dark, burning with a possessiveness that felt like a brand. "Call me Ethan when we are alone."

He started to lean in, his gaze dropping to Noah’s lips. Noah’s stomach did a violent flip. If they kissed, it was over. The stubble, the shape of the mouth—Ethan would know.

Noah suddenly buckled, letting out a wet, hacking cough. He pressed a hand to his chest, staggering back and breaking the contact. "Oh... oh, f**k—I mean, oh, heavens."

Ethan’s face shifted from desire to instant alarm. He caught Noah’s elbows. "What is it? The poison? Did it reach you too?"

"No," Noah wheezed, rubbing his temples. "Just... a headache. The light in here, it’s so bright. And the smell of the lilies... it’s making my stomach turn."

Ethan’s brow furrowed, his hands lingering on Noah’s arms. "I’ll have the flowers removed. I’ll call the royal physician."

"No!" Noah said, perhaps a bit too loudly. He softened his voice quickly. "No, please. I just need rest. A little quiet before the dinner."

Ethan looked unsatisfied, his jaw tight. He wanted more. He wanted to consume the person who saved him. But he nodded, slowly releasing Noah. "Rest then. I will lead you to the hall myself when the sun sets. Do not keep me waiting, Abigail."

As the door closed, Noah collapsed onto the bed, the silk rustling like a thousand dry leaves. He needed a way out. This wasn't a reward; it was a slow-motion execution.

The dinner was a nightmare of clinking silverware and judging eyes. Noah sat at the high table, picking at a plate of roasted pheasant that tasted like ash. To his right, Ethan was a silent, brooding anchor, his hand constantly finding Noah’s under the table, squeezing his fingers until they went numb.

To his left sat Charlotte Reed. She was a woman made of sharp angles and even sharper eyes. Every time Noah took a sip of wine, he felt her gaze carving into him, looking for the cracks in the facade.

"You're very quiet, Lady Abigail," Charlotte said. Her voice was like honey poured over a razor blade. "And your accent... it’s hard to place. Which village did you say you were from?"

Noah swallowed a lump of dry meat. "A small place. North of the ravine. It... it was burned during the raids."

"How tragic," Charlotte said, her eyes dropping to the royal signet ring on Noah’s finger. It was far too big, held in place by a scrap of ribbon Noah had tied around the back. "And to think, the King gave you that. A family heirloom. Most girls would be terrified to wear something so valuable."

"I am," Noah said, tucking his hand into the folds of his skirt.

"Are you?" Charlotte leaned in, her voice dropping so only Noah could hear. "Because you don't look terrified. You look like you're holding your breath, waiting for the floor to drop."

Before Noah could answer, Ethan slammed his goblet onto the table. The sound echoed through the hall, silencing the musicians.

"Is there a problem, Charlotte?" Ethan asked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Charlotte didn't blink. "None at all, cousin. I was just admiring your... bride's... resilience."

She stood up, her silk skirts swishing as she walked away. Noah watched her go, a cold knot forming in his stomach. She knew something. Or she suspected enough to be dangerous.

The night blurred. More wine, more eyes, more of Ethan’s suffocating touch. By the time they were dismissed, Noah’s head was spinning for real. He retreated to his chambers, desperate to rip the corset off, but as he reached for the laces, a shadow moved by the window.

Noah froze. He grabbed a heavy silver hairbrush from the vanity, his knuckles white. "Who’s there?"

A man stepped out of the darkness. He was taller than Ethan, leaner, with a face that looked like a cruel caricature of the King’s. Lucas Reed. The brother who had left Ethan to die in the snow.

"Relax, little bird," Lucas said. He didn't sound like a King. He sounded like a snake. "I’m not here to kill you. Yet."

Noah backed away, his heart hammered against his ribs. "I don't know who you are."

"Don't lie. It’s exhausting," Lucas said. He tossed something onto the bed. It was the royal signet ring.

Noah’s hand flew to his finger. It was empty. The ribbon had been cut. "How...?"

"My spy is very good. And very quiet," Lucas said. He stepped into the light, a smirk playing on his lips. "But he found something even more interesting than a stolen ring. He saw you by the stream this morning, Abigail. He saw you when you thought you were alone. He saw that you don't have the... equipment... required for the King’s bed."

The world tilted. Noah’s legs felt like water. "What do you want?"

Lucas leaned against the bedpost, looking bored. "Ethan is a fool. He’s blinded by this 'angel' who saved him. If I tell him the truth, he’ll have you flayed alive for mocking the crown. Deceiving a King is a slow way to die, boy."

Noah’s breath came in short, sharp gasps. "You want the throne."

"I want what’s mine," Lucas snapped. He reached into his coat and pulled out a small glass vial filled with a clear, viscous liquid. He held it out. "Ethan trusts you. He drinks whatever you give him. This is a slow toxin. It looks like a heart condition. A week of being tired, then a quiet sleep."

"I won't," Noah whispered.

Lucas moved faster than Noah could react. He was across the room, pinning Noah against the vanity, his hand tightening around Noah’s throat. "You will. Because if you don't, I’ll walk into that hall right now and pull that dress off you in front of every guard in the palace. Think about the gallows, Noah. Think about the rope snapping your neck."

He shoved the vial into Noah’s hand and dropped the ring. "You have until tomorrow night. Make it count."

Lucas vanished back into the shadows of the balcony, leaving Noah gasping for air, the cold glass of the poison burning against his palm.

The next evening was quiet. The palace felt like a tomb. Noah stood in Ethan’s private study, his hands shaking as he held the King’s favorite vintage. The vial sat empty on the desk, its contents already swirled into the dark red wine.

Every instinct told him to run. To jump from the balcony and disappear into the woods. But there were guards at every door. He was a prisoner of his own lie.

The door opened. Ethan walked in, looking older than he had that morning. His crown was off, his hair messy, his tunic unbuttoned at the collar. He looked vulnerable.

"The council is a pack of wolves," Ethan muttered. He walked straight to Noah, not even looking at the room. He wrapped his arms around Noah from behind, burying his face in the crook of Noah’s neck.

Noah froze. The weight of Ethan’s body was a physical pressure, a grounding heat that made the guilt in Noah’s chest flare like a wildfire.

"Abigail," Ethan whispered. His voice was ragged. "You are the only thing in this palace that doesn't smell like betrayal. Everyone wants something. Everyone is lying. But you... you saved me when I was nothing but a corpse in the snow."

Noah’s hand tightened around the stem of the wine glass. His eyes burned. I’m the biggest lie of all, he thought.

Ethan pulled back just enough to look at Noah’s face. He reached out, his thumb brushing a tear Noah hadn't realized had fallen. "Why are you crying?"

"I'm... I'm just tired," Noah said, his voice cracking.

"Drink with me," Ethan said, reaching for the goblet on the desk. "Let's forget the crown for one night."

He picked up the glass. The poisoned wine caught the candlelight, deep and inviting. He raised it to his lips.

Noah watched the liquid tilt. He saw the muscles in Ethan’s throat prepare to swallow. This was it. The gallows or the murder.

He saved me. He gave me everything.

He’ll kill me if he knows.

As the rim of the glass touched Ethan’s teeth, Noah’s hand shot out. He didn't think. He didn't calculate. He just lunged.

His palm hit the side of the goblet, sending it flying. The glass shattered against the stone floor, the red wine splattering like blood across Ethan’s white shirt and Noah’s blue silk.

The silence that followed was deafening. Ethan stood frozen, his hand still shaped as if he were holding the cup. He looked down at the mess, then up at Noah. His eyes weren't soft anymore. They were the cold, blue steel of a King.

"Abigail," Ethan said, his voice a low, terrifying whisper. "What did you just do?"

Noah backed away, his heart hammering a frantic, broken rhythm against his ribs. He looked at the shattered glass, then at the door where he knew Lucas was waiting.

"I... I tripped," Noah lied, but the tremor in his voice was a confession.

Ethan stepped over the shards, his boots crunching on the glass. He grabbed Noah’s wrist, pulling him close until they were chest to chest. He didn't look at Noah's face; he looked at the wine soaking into the floor. He leaned down, sniffing the air.

His eyes snapped back to Noah’s. "That isn't just wine. I know the scent of nightshade, Abigail. I grew up with it in my porridge."

He shoved Noah back against the desk, his hands pinning him down. "Who? Who gave it to you?"

Noah couldn't breathe. The room was spinning. "Ethan, please—"

"Who gave it to you!" Ethan roared, his hand slamming into the wood next to Noah’s head.

"Lucas!" Noah screamed, the name tearing out of his throat in his real, deep, gravelly voice.

Ethan froze. He didn't move. He didn't breathe. He just stared at Noah, his gaze dropping to the neck of the dress where the voice had come from. The silence was worse than the shouting. It was the sound of a man realizing everything he loved was a ghost.

Ethan’s hand moved, not to Noah’s throat, but to the laces of the gown.

"Ethan, wait—"

"Shut up," Ethan hissed. He yanked the silk, the sound of tearing fabric filling the room. He pulled the bodice down, exposing the rough, blood-stained linen bandages wrapped tight around Noah’s flat chest.

Ethan stepped back as if he’d been burned. He looked at the bandages, then at Noah’s face, then at the poison on the floor.

"You," Ethan whispered, the word dripping with a lethal kind of heartbreak.

The door to the study burst open. Lucas stood there, flanked by four guards with their swords drawn.

"Brother!" Lucas shouted, his face a mask of false horror. "I heard a scream! And look—the girl has poisoned your wine! Guards, seize the assassin!"

The guards moved, but Ethan didn't look at them. He didn't look at Lucas. He kept his eyes on Noah, who was standing there with his dress in tatters and his secret laid bare.

"He's not a girl," Ethan said, his voice devoid of all emotion. He turned to face his brother, but his hand reached back, grabbing Noah by the hair and pulling him forward like a trophy. "And he’s not going to the dungeon. Not yet."

Ethan looked at the guards, his eyes burning with a dark, unhinged fire. "Get out. All of you. This is a private matter for the King."

"But Ethan," Lucas stammered, his plan crumbling. "He tried to kill you!"

"I said out!" Ethan screamed.

The guards hesitated, then retreated, pulling a protesting Lucas with them. The heavy doors slammed shut, the iron bolt clicking into place.

Noah was left alone in the dark with a man who had been promised a Queen and given a lie.

Ethan turned back to him. He didn't look like a savior anymore. He looked like the monster his enemies feared. He walked toward Noah, slow and deliberate, reaching out to touch the linen bindings with a hand that was shaking with pure, unadulterated rage.

"Now," Ethan whispered, his face inches from Noah’s. "Tell me your real name before I decide which part of you to break first."