Prince Alaric P.O.V
The Queen's voice was a soft balm against the jagged edges of my conscience. "Do not feel guilt, Your Highness, as it was your father's sin," she murmured. Her words offered a comfort I wasn't sure I deserved, but I simply bowed in deep respect, the weight of the Aevum crown—and the blood on it—pressing heavily on my shoulders.
"Now, I know you've traveled nonstop," she continued, her gaze sweeping over our weary group. "You all need to take a rest. Please, escort them to their rooms."
I watched as the maids led the way. The Legions offered their final salutes to the King and Queen of Erindale before following Solace and the others into the quiet depths of the palace.
Sleep, however, was a ghost I couldn't catch.
The palace was silent, save for the distant hum of the night, but my mind was loud. Restless, I found myself wandering the darkened corridors. I rounded a corner and stopped. There, illuminated by the flickering amber glow of a single lamp, stood Solace.
She was staring at a large portrait on the wall. Her silhouette was cast long and lean against the stone, her dark hair falling like a curtain over her shoulders. I watched her reach out, her fingers trembling as she caressed the painted faces of the late King and Queen of Thera. The longing in her posture was palpable—a silent, aching grief that seemed to pull at the very air around her.
Solace's P.O.V
I could feel him.
It wasn't just the sound of his boots on the stone; it was a physical heat radiating from Alaric, a gravitational pull that made the hair on my arms stand up. I hated it. I had spent my life in the forest, where every sensation had a purpose—the snap of a twig meant a predator, the shift in wind meant rain. But this? This thrumming in my chest whenever he was near had no purpose other than to distract me.
I stopped abruptly in front of a massive gilded frame. My lantern light washed over the canvas, and my heart stuttered.
It was a grand portrait of the King and Queen of Erindale, looking younger, their faces bright with a peace I'd never known. And beside them stood a couple that made my knees weak. The man had my brow; the woman had my eyes. They were smiling, their hands intertwined, radiating a regal warmth that seemed to leak out of the oil paint.
I reached out, my fingertips barely brushing the painted silk of my mother's gown. A wave of longing, sharp and cold as a winter stream, crashed over me. They looked so happy. So real.
"Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?"
The deep, gravelly vibration of Alaric's voice behind me nearly made me drop the lamp. I spun around, my pulse jumping into my throat. I narrowed my eyes, masking my grief with a sharp, jagged edge.
"Well, your Highness," I snapped, letting a 'duh' tone lace my words as I gestured to my wide-eyed reflection in the lamp's glass. "Can't you see I can't sleep?"
I didn't wait for his pity. I rolled my eyes and kept walking, the golden light of my lantern splashing against the tapestries. I heard his footsteps follow. He was like a shadow I couldn't shake. I avoided him at the palace because he represented everything I loathed—the monarchy, the rules, the stifling weight of expectations. But here, in the dark, he felt less like a Prince and more like a fire I was trying not to get too close to.
Prince Alaric P.O.V
She moved with the guarded grace of a lynx, her every step a testament to a life spent surviving. I watched the way her shoulders tensed, the way she clutched that lantern as if it were the only thing keeping the world from swallowing her whole.
I knew she was avoiding me. She had been avoiding me since she first arrived at Aevum years ago as a mercenary prodigy. While other noblewomen practiced their curtsies and adjusted their bodices when I entered a room, Solace would simply disappear into the rafters or the gardens. She didn't want my title; she didn't want my gold. And that made her the most dangerous person I had ever met.
I watched her from the shadows of the hallway, just as I had watched her in my father's throne room. I remembered the way her jaw set when the Elders began their chanting. Most people would have screamed as their life force was siphoned away, but Solace had simply groaned—a low, defiant sound that made the white-haired fools tremble.
My father is a man consumed by a rot of his own making. The moment he drove his blade into the Ruler of Thera, a curse had taken root in his blood, withering his strength and turning his soul into a wasteland. He doesn't see Solace as a person, or a Princess, or even a woman. To him, she is a vessel of "Pure Blood" magic—a battery he intends to drain until she is a husk, all to restore his own fading power.
As we walked, the heat between us grew. It wasn't just the summer air; it was the friction of two opposing fates colliding. I wanted to reach out, to tell her that I wasn't my father. I wanted to tell her that I would burn my own kingdom to the ground before I let him touch her again.
But I stayed three steps behind. I knew Solace. If I tried to save her, she'd likely stab me for the insult. She didn't need a savior; she needed an ally.
"The map says the border is two days away," I said softly, my voice echoing off the stone. "My father's scouts move fast, Solace. They won't stop at the Erindale line."
She didn't look back, but the lantern in her hand steadied. "Then we move faster," she whispered.