The front doors to my estate shut behind me with a hollow, echoing thud. I didn’t wait for the housekeeper’s greeting. Just brushed past the stall and shrugged off my cloak with a sharp flick, letting it fall to the entry bench instead of placing it on the hook like I normally would.
*Shall light a fire to the study, my lord?” someone asked behind me.
“No.” My voice came out too clipped. I didn’t turn around. “Leave everything.”
The hall was dimly lit, pools of golden glow falling from the wall sconces in soft intervals. Normally, I found the shadows elegant. Tonight, they felt smug
I walked straight to the study, my footsteps loud on the stone floor. The door opened with a push and clicked shut behind me, sealing me into the one room in the estate that was mine and mine alone.
Mahogany bookshelves lined the walls, their shelves dustless and curated–rare volumes, treaties, and old court poetry no one actually read.
A decanter of imported whiskey sat on the credenza, flanked by two heavy glasses.
I grabbed one and poured with a little too much force. The rim of the bottle clinked against the cut glass, the sound sharp enough to irritate me further.
False hope.
She hadn’t said it cruelly. There was no mockery in her voice. No disdain. Just… honesty.
That was worse. So much worse. Because it means she didn’t want anything from me.
I brought the glass to my lips, took a long swallow, and paced to the fireplace. It wasn’t lit–just cold ashes and a half–burnt log from the night before. I stared at it anyway, the silence swelling between my ribs.
She saw it. What I hadn’t said aloud. What I barely admitted to myself.
It wasn’t a game anymore.
The way she looked at me in that grove… she knew. She knew I wanted more than flirtation, more than banter and stolen moments and secret smiles.
She saw the part of me I’d kept out of reach. And she turned away–not with contempt, but with kindness.
I hated her a little for that. I hated how gentle she was. I hated how easy it would’ve been if she’d laughed or rolled her eyes or called me pathetic.
But she didn’t. She said she didn’t want to give me something she couldn’t follow through on.
Gods, I wanted her to lie to me instead.
I drained the glass, poured another, and dropped into the leather armchair near the window. The cushions sighed under my weight. I leaned forward, bracing my elbows on my knees, glass dangling between my fingers.
She made me feel like I mattered. Like I wasn’t just Damon’s clever shadow or a politically convenient distraction. With her, I felt… possible.
And that was dangerous.
I tilted my head back and stared at the ceiling. The shadows there moved gently, like smoke.
I didn’t know when it started. When it shifted from a fun way to dig at Damon to something real.
Maybe it was the moment she stood in the ballroom, chin lifted against the weight of everyone watching. Maybe it was the night she sang and didn’t look for applause.
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Chapter 116
Or maybe it was the first time she looked me in the eye and didn’t try to Impress nie.
She’s never tried to impress any of us. And that made me desperate to matter to her.
Tlet out a sharp breath, part laugh, part snart. I was slipping. Falling. And I hadn’t realized how high I’d climbed until she stopped me from jumping,
My fingers clenched around the glass. And I sat there, heat in my throat and cold in my chest, wondering how the hell I’d let myself get here.
The glass hung loose in my hand, half–forgotten now. The warmth from the whiskey had faded, leaving only a hollow burn down my throat and a dull throb in my chest.
I stared into the fireplace as if it might flicker to life out of pity. But there was no spark. Only shadows.
And in them, something stirred–unbidden, unwelcomed, but inevitable.
A memory…
It was my ninth birthday, and the great hall had been dressed in gold. Gold linens. Gold banners. Gold–threaded embroidery on the shoulders of my new
tunic.
I remember how the fabric itched at my neck, how the collar was too stiff, how I kept tugging at it when I thought no one was watching,
The celebration had to be shared–Damon’s father was visiting for trade talks, and the timing was “convenient.” Efficient, they said.
I didn’t care. I was just happy to have a cake with my name on it. A room full of candles. A moment where I could be seen.
The tables groaned with roasted meats, sugar–glazed fruits, trays of honeyed bread. I’d practiced a greeting for the noble guests all week, every syllable memorized. 1 was supposed to stand before dessert and speak.
But then Father rose.
And handed Damon a ceremonial dagger. Ivory–handled. The family crest carved into the pommel.
It was the gift passed to the “most promising heir” at the turning of their thirteenth year.
The hall erupted in cheers. Toasts. Laughter.
And I clapped. Louder than anyone.
Because if I smiled wide enough, no one would see how I already knew the truth. That the dagger wasn’t supposed to be Damon’s.
I’d overheard the old king days before, speaking to a trusted adviser in a room he didn’t know I was near. Damon–his son–was not his by blood.
Not a true heir.
And yet, he was the one honored. The one praised.
Later, I tried to speak. To deliver the words I’d prepared. But someone interrupted–a minor lord, eager for his son to spar with Damon. My–no, our- father agreed. Damon beamed. Everyone laughed.
And I said nothing.
No one asked what I wanted. No one looked at me at all.
When the feast wound down and the music softened, I slipped away. Down a side hall, past the servants‘ quarters, to the narrow corridor with the tall window that overlooked the northern gardens.
I pressed my forehead to the glass.
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Chapter 116
The moon was full that night. Silver and indifferent. And I whispered to her.
Someday, they’ll look at me first.“…
Hleaned back in the chair and let my eyes fall shut. Th
That boy was still in me.
fire in my study was still dead. The glass in my hand was empty. The whiskey didn’t help
Still clawing for attention. Still clapping too loud for the people who never looked his way.
And now Lila.
Gods, she didn’t just look at me–she saw me. And th
She turned her head away and she’d done it with grace. With
And it cracked something inside me open.
boo
enough. But it wasn’t.
gave me the kind of mercy I’d spent my life pretending not to need.
I stared at the second glass I’d poured without thinking. It sat untouched on the desk beside me. Full. Waiting for someone who was never going to drink
- it.
I ran a hand through my hair and let it settle over my mouth, pressing hard against my lips like I could hold the hurt in that way…
She was supposed to be a game. She was never supposed to matter this much.
But she did.
And that terrified me more than my plans for Damon ever had.
