Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I wasn’t in the mood for politics.

The summons from Calldyr arrived sealed in gold wax, stamped with the insignia of Navarre’s high command—a gathering of all dukes, a forum. Necessary. Unavoidable.

I would’ve given anything to ignore it.

Not because I feared what would be said. Not even because I dreaded the looks exchanged behind closed doors, where truth was buried beneath layers of protocol and pride. No. I simply didn’t want to leave Aretia. Not now. Not when my son needed me.

Xaden hadn’t spoken much in the last three days. Not since Talia left.

It wasn’t a surprise. We both knew the marriage was built on obligation, not affection. She was brilliant, fierce, and devoted mother. Fit to any quiet domestic life. I respected that. I even admired her for it. But the boy didn’t understand contracts or political alignments. He only understood that his mother was gone. And she hadn’t said goodbye.

I strapped my cloak tighter around my shoulders as I stepped out of the keep, boots crunching against the gravel. The wind bit hard this morning, carrying the scent of iron and pine from the cliffs. I glanced toward the gates and froze.

Xaden stood there, arms wrapped around himself, too small for the weight he carried in silence.

Gods, he looked like broken.

Hair like a midnight storm. Eyes like tempered steel—guarded and watchful. He didn’t move as I approached, only blinked slowly like he was forcing himself to stand still.

I squatted down, lowering myself until we were eye to eye.

“I’ll be back soon, son,” I said softly. “I’ll bring you something from Calldyr. Maybe those sweet buns you liked from the baker’s square.”

He didn’t smile. Didn’t blink.

“Just come back, Dad,” he murmured, voice flat but quiet. “Don’t forget about me.”

My heart clenched. I reached up and brushed his hair back, fingers lingering at the crown of his head. So damn small. So damn brave. He didn’t even cry when she left.

“I will,” I promised him. “Every time.”

He gave a stiff nod, stepping back as Garrick appeared behind him, waiting to take him inside.

I mounted my horse in silence.

As the gates of Aretia faded behind me and the long road to Calldyr stretched out like a trial ahead, I carried only two things in my chest, the steady ache of a father’s guilt and the rising certainty that this kingdom would burn if the truth about the Venin stayed buried much longer.

And I’d tear down the walls of Calldyr myself if that’s what it took to make them see.

***

Calldyr welcomed us with trumpets and polished boots—the kind of pageantry that made my skin itch.

A line of advisors and high-ranking generals waited at the stone courtyard, sun gleaming off their medals and expectation thick in the air. At the front, King Tauri stood flanked by his wife, Queen Ysolde, and behind them—like a pair of watchful blades—General Melgren and General Sorrengail.

The sight of Sorrengail brought a weight to my chest. She was one of the few minds in Navarre sharp enough to change the tide… if she could be convinced to see the truth.

“Duke Riorson,” King Tauri said, voice measured and public.

“Your Majesty,” I replied with a polite bow. “Your Grace.”

Sorrengail nodded once, expression unreadable as always, though her gaze lingered on me for a beat too long. Melgren, stiff as stone beside her, gave a curt nod. I returned both gestures and moved along with the other dukes as we were escorted inside.

As soon as the grand doors closed behind us, I let out a quiet sigh. I should’ve brought Xaden. Gods, I should’ve.

The boy was barely holding himself together, and now I’d left him to do it alone.

After we freshened up, we were seated for lunch in the Hall of Pillars with the rest of the dukes, the king and queen seated at the long center table, speaking of border tariffs and trade routes like the world wasn’t unraveling just outside their maps.

I tried to engage. I really did.

But while they discussed merchant fleets, I thought of Poromiel—its villages torn apart, its skies blackened by things no one here even believed were real.

Tavis leaned toward me. “They’re rearranging the deck chairs on a sinking ship,” he muttered low.

I didn’t disagree.

When lunch ended, King Tauri stood. “There will be a banquet this evening in your honor. The Forum convenes tomorrow morning. Until then, enjoy your free time.”

I nodded stiffly and turned for our assigned quarters, Tavis close behind.

Once the door shut behind us, I unfastened my cloak with a growl of frustration. “They’re too comfortable, Tavis. Too blind. How can they talk about court politics when the Venin are eating through the continent like rot?”

Tavis folded his arms. “Because admitting it would mean doing something. And none of them want the kind of war that truth demands.”

I turned to the window, which had been left slightly ajar, the wind pushing the curtain with a whisper. Then—rustle.

I froze.

I raised my hand. Tavis went quiet.

Stepping closer, I opened the window fully and leaned out, eyes scanning the thick branches of the tall tree just outside.

There, balanced on a limb like she belonged to it, was a child. Book in hand, brown hair braided down her back—but the tips shimmered silver in the sunlight.

She looked at me with those clear, confident eyes and said, “Hello.”

I blinked, straightened. “Hello,” I answered, curious despite myself. Whose child is this? Who would let a small child climb a tree this tall and read?

“I’m Violet,” she said, like a queen introducing herself. “What’s your name?”

“Fen,” I replied slowly. “What are you doing in a tree?”

“This is my spot.” She said it like it was sacred.

I raised a brow. “Are you mad?” she asked.

“No.”

She tilted her head. “You were shouting.”

“I was… making a point,” I said, gesturing to Tavis behind me. “To my friend here.”

She leaned forward to look past me. “Hi, Fen’s friend.”

Tavis waved, smiling. “Hey.”

“Did you hear what we were arguing about?” I asked. Would Tauri send a child as a spy?

Violet shook her head. “I just heard yelling, but I didn’t listen. I was reading.”

She lifted her book—The History of Navarre: Volume III. Far too advanced for her age and far too big for a child her size.

“You read that for fun?” Tavis said, impressed.

She shrugged. “It’s interesting. Sometimes the scribes skip stuff. I like finding what’s missing.”

That made my brows lift higher. Clever girl.

“Did we disturb you?” Tavis added, more gently.

She thought about it. “A little.”

“We apologize,” I said, then asked, “How old are you?”

“Eight,” she said proudly. “You?”

“Thirty-five.”

She nodded as if measuring something. Then a boy’s voice called from below, “Violet!”

She gasped. “That’s my best friend—Dain! I have to go. Bye Fen. Bye Fen’s friend!”

“Be careful climbing down,” I called quickly.

“I am careful,” she said matter-of-factly, already halfway down. I watched her until her small feet hit the ground, and only then exhaled.

She beamed up at me, waving. “See you later, Fen!”

Then she took off, shouting Dain’s name with joy in her voice like the world hadn’t darkened at all.

I stood there a long moment, staring after her.

“There’s something different about that one,” Tavis murmured behind me.

“Yeah, she is clever for an eight year old.” I said quietly. “If I ever had a daughter… I’d want her to be just like her.”

And I meant it.

Chapter Text

I tugged at the collar of my blue infantry uniform, the fabric stiff with ceremonial starch. The golden badge of Tyrrendor glinted against the mage light, and my polished boots echoed in the corridor as I walked toward the banquet hall.

Another evening of surface-level smiles and back-patting. I exhaled slowly, bracing myself.

I should’ve brought Xaden.

He’d barely spoken the last few days, just… shrunk into himself since Talia left. Garrick and Bodhi had tried, coaxing him out of his room, but he wasn’t the same. I saw it in the way he looked out the window, like waiting for her to come back.

My hands clenched at my sides. He needed friends. He needed more than just those two boys and the ghosts of expectations. Maybe… maybe if he’d met that little girl—Violet. There was something about her. She had this spark. She would’ve challenged him, I think. Made him talk. Maybe even made him laugh.

Gods, I should’ve brought him. Not just for his sake.

Because I missed him, too.

Too late now.

The banquet hall doors were open, spilling music and conversation out into the marble corridor. I stepped in with Tavis at my side, nodding politely to the nobles who greeted me. The King and Queen hadn’t arrived yet, but the court was already buzzing. Gold, silk, and expectation moved around the room like clockwork.

Off to the side, a smaller table had been set up—for children, I realized. Probably for the princes and their companions. Another reminder. Xaden should’ve been here.

“Duke Riorson!” a booming voice called. The Duke of Calldyr approached with a proud puffed chest and a tall, gangly boy at his side. “I’d like to introduce my son, Leoric. Fifteen and already shadowing our military advisors.”

I shook the boy’s hand politely.

“Start them young,” the duke said, beaming. “I thought you’d bring your son.”

“Xaden’s focused on his studies,” I replied, careful. “Didn’t want to miss his lessons.”

No one here knew Talia had left. No one saw the silence that now lived in our home like fog—clinging, heavy.

She left me. Not Xaden. 

After a few more polite exchanges—military officers I’d hoped to sway to our side with careful words and practiced smiles—and too much wine that tasted like expensive regret, I slipped away onto one of the balconies.

The night air was sharp, clean, a welcome contrast to the stifling warmth inside. I leaned against the stone railing and stared up at the moon.

Was Xaden looking at it too? Or was he still curled up in bed, waiting for her?

Waiting for a mother who wasn’t coming back.

He didn’t know. It was in the contract from the beginning—an expiration date built into a life we were supposed to build together.

But I didn’t think she’d actually go. Not like that. Not without a word to him.

I shall explain to him when I get back.

She didn’t leave you, Xaden. She left me.

“Hello, Fen,” a small voice said. 

I turned.

There, perched on a marble bench like a statue carved by moonlight, sat Violet. She wore a cream tulle dress that puffed at her knees, her soft brown hair curled and pinned back, the silver-tips shines like strands of magic.

She didn’t look like an arrogant noble’s child. She looked like something wilder. Truer.

“Hello, Violet,” I said, a smile tugging at my lips. “Let me guess—this is your spot?”

“Yep,” she said cheerfully. “You’re welcome to join me.”

She scooted over, making room on the bench. I sat beside her, careful not to crush the layers of her cream tulle skirt.

“Did you make up with your friend?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Who? Tavis?” I replied. She nodded.

“We weren’t fighting.”

“Then why are you sad?”

I blinked. “Do I look that sad?”

“Yes. Your eyes do,” she said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What happened?”

Why was I talking to a child about this? I didn’t know. Maybe it was the way she looked at me—like I was just a person, not a duke. Did I even tell her I was a duke?

“My wife left me,” I said quietly.

Her mouth made a small ‘O.’ “Really? Why?”

I hesitated. How did you explain to a child that it wasn’t love? That Talia and I had a contract, not a bond. We were together for twelve years, and yes, I cared about her. But we were never in love. The terms were simple: produce an heir—one that survives for ten years—and the contract ends.

Xaden just turned ten. And the day after, she left.

Am I sad about it? I hadn’t really stopped to ask myself that. But if Violet could see it in my face… maybe others could too.

A small nudge from her elbow brought me back. She was watching me closely.

“Did you fight with her?” she asked softly.

I exhaled. “I don’t know how to explain it,” I admitted. “We didn’t fight. She just… just left me.”

“Where did she go?” she asked, voice full of honest curiosity.

“I don’t know,” I said softly.

She frowned. “Then what are you doing here? You should go find her.”

There was no hesitation in her voice—just the kind of fierce certainty only a child could have, as if willing it would make Talia return.

“I don’t think she wants to be found, Violet.” I gave her a sad smile. There was something about her—this tiny girl with fire in her spine and stars in her eyes—that made it impossible to lie.

She went quiet for a moment. 

“Did you tell her you loved her?”

I froze.

Had I?

Xaden had. He loved her, still does. But me? Did I ever say it? Did I ever love her?

Is that why I’m sad?

I looked down at my hands, unsure of the answer—and unsure if I wanted to know.

“You didn’t,” Violet said knowingly. “I bet you were always busy working. When she comes back, you should tell her you love her. Every day.”

She patted my arm like she was centuries older than me.

And gods, somehow—I felt lighter.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “I’ll tell her.”

“Good. That’s what my dad does.” She nodded, satisfied, then flipped open her book—Navarrian History, Volume IV.

I blinked. “Weren’t you just holding Volume III earlier?”

She shrugged, already turning a page. “I was bored, so I figured I’d do some light reading while I’m here.”

Light reading? The book was nearly half her size and as thick as my arm. I raised a brow.

I tapped the cover gently. “You’re a fast reader.”

“I am,” she said proudly, without looking up.

Figures. The questions, the book, the confidence…

“I’m guessing your dad’s a scribe?”

Violet nodded without hesitation. “Yup.”

“Is that what you want to be? A scribe when you grow up?”

“Yes,” she said, and then added without missing a beat, “And ride a dragon.”

I chuckled. “You can’t be both.”

Her head snapped up, fire in her little eyes. “I can.”

I laughed, heart warm. “Sure you can.”

“Or you could be a princess,” I teased.

She scowled. “No way. I don’t want to be a princess.”

I couldn’t help the grin tugging at my mouth. “Why not? Most little girls do.”

“Princesses become queens, right?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Usually, yes.”

“Well, I don’t want to be sad like Queen Tauri. I saw her crying once. She told me it was because King Tauri loves someone else.” Violet’s voice was matter-of-fact, but there was steel beneath it. “When I grow up, I want a man who loves me—and only me. Like my dad. He only has eyes for my mom.”

I stared at her, stunned.

She was eight.

Eight, and already knew her worth. Already had more insight into love and loyalty than half the council inside that ballroom.

I leaned back a little, letting her words settle before I spoke.

“Well, good news,” I said gently. “Because the man who’ll love you and only you… he might be a prince. Or a king. Or a duke. His title doesn’t define him. What matters is how he chooses to love. He can be a duke and be loyal. You can be a duchess, and your duke can love you and only you.”

She looked at me then—really looked—like she was measuring the weight of my words against something inside her.

And as I said them, something shifted in me, too.

Maybe I didn’t know exactly what I felt for Talia. Maybe it hadn’t started as love. But the truth was, I didn’t see myself with anyone else. My loyalty had always been hers. And Xaden’s.

If that’s what love was—then yes. I must love her.

Violet gave a small nod, like she’d come to a verdict. “Okay. I can be a Duchess if the Duke loves me and only me.”

A soft laugh escaped me. “You’ll be a good Duchess someday.”

She tilted her head. “What does a Duchess do, besides being the Duke’s wife?”

I opened my mouth to answer—but before I could, two boys barreled around the corner, breathless and grinning, their dress coats askew and cheeks flushed from running. I recognized one of them—Prince Cam, the third son of Tauri. The other must’ve been Dain who seem always looking for her.

“Violet! Come on! Your mom’s looking for you!”

The other boy, Prince Cam, waved a half-eaten tart in the air. “It is time for the speech!”

Violet sighed, closing her book with dramatic flair. “Duty calls,” she muttered, sliding off the bench with the kind of dignity only a very serious eight-year-old could muster.

As she scampered off with the boys, she paused just long enough to glance back at me.

“I still want to know what a Duchess does!” she called.

I watched her go, a grin tugging at my mouth.

Gods help the man who tries to keep up with her.

I stayed on that bench a little longer, staring up at the moon and wondering if Violet was right. If I had loved Talia. And if I did… why didn’t I say it?

Tavis found me some time later.

“Come on,” he said. “They’re starting.”

I followed him back inside.

The hall had changed—music hushed, servants standing still as King and Queen Tauri took the dais. Their sons stood beside them in polished gold. The king raised his glass and began his speech.

But I wasn’t looking at him.

My eyes drifted to the far end of the dais, where a little girl in cream tulle held her father’s hand. Her father—Major Asher Sorrengail—stood tall, a high-ranking scribe and someone I hoped might one day be an ally. Beside him stood his wife, General Sorrengail, a formidable rider in her own right.

And Violet—Violet—stood straight-backed, gaze steady, her small fingers curled confidently around her father’s. No wonder she carried herself with such quiet command. Earlier, she’d told me she wanted to be both a scribe and a rider. I’d laughed then. But now, I believed her.

Prince Halden moved to her side and, with a grin, placed his crown on her head. She scowled and batted him away. When she tried to return it, he stopped her gently, only to fix her hair instead. Violet rolled her eyes—but the prince just grinned, entirely unbothered.

Then, her eyes flicked up and met mine across the room.

And she smiled.

Goosebumps swept across my skin.

She looked like a little queen.

And for a moment, it felt like I was looking at the future.

Violet Sorrengail, a scribe, a rider, a queen—or a duchess.

Chapter Text

I sat on the edge of my bed, a half-full glass of liquor in my hand, watching the liquid shift with each turn of my wrist. Moonlight poured in through the narrow window, painting pale streaks across the stone floor. Tavis leaned against the wall near the hearth, arms crossed, waiting for me to speak first.

“So… Violet,” he said after a while, like he was still turning the thought over in his head. “Sorrengails’ daughter?”

“Seems like it,” I muttered, not looking up. My mind was still back on that bench, back with her.

She had Asher Sorrengail’s sharp wit, no doubt about it. Her questions, her logic—it all felt like it had ink behind it. Her father was a scribe gaining quiet influence in the leadership. But the confidence? That unwavering, fire-eyed certainty? That was Lilith. General Sorrengail. I’d seen the same fire in her once—before she wore her rank like armor.

Violet had looked at me like I was just a man. Not a duke. Not a strategy. Just a man who might’ve forgotten how to feel. And gods help me, when she said, “I can be a Duchess if the Duke loves me and only me,” I believed her.

Tavis cleared his throat. “So… what are we going to do?”

I blinked, pulled from my thoughts. “What?”

He gave me a look. “She likes you. Thinks you’re friends. Maybe that gets you an in—say, a word to her parents. Something.”

I stared at him. “I’m not going to use a child, Tavis.”

“I didn’t mean use her,” he said quickly, holding up his hands. “But she clearly trusts you. That trust could open a door.”

I shook my head. “No. Her family’s powerful, yes—but I’m not dragging a little girl into this. I won’t use her as a tool to win over the Sorrengails. We’ll find another way.”

He nodded, but I could tell he wasn’t fully convinced. “Alright. So what’s the other way? How do we convince some of those generals without ending up accused of treason?”

I set the glass down and leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “We observe. Look for signs—hesitation, questions they don’t ask out loud. When we see them, we start quiet conversations. Careful. No ripples.”

“And until then?”

I glanced at him. “Ask around. Find out why it wasn’t known the Sorrengails had another daughter. Violet looks younger than she is, but she’s sharp. Smart. Striking.”

Tavis raised an eyebrow. “You’re curious.”

“I’m careful,” I corrected. But maybe he wasn’t wrong. There was something about her I couldn’t quite put away. Like an ember that kept glowing even when the fire had long gone cold.

“She said I looked sad,” I murmured, surprising myself.

“And were you?” Tavis asked quietly.

I didn’t answer.

He didn’t push.

Instead, he clapped a hand on my shoulder—solid and grounding. “You know it’s okay to be sad about Talia leaving,” he said. “Even if you didn’t love her the way people expect. You can mourn what you had. What could’ve been.”

His words settled in my chest like a stone. Heavy. Unavoidable.

And there it was again—that same damn question. Did I not love her? Was I so focused on what the contract said, what was expected of us, that I missed the part where love might’ve grown between the cracks?

I let out a quiet breath. “Violet asked me if I ever told Talia I loved her.”

Tavis looked up sharply. “What?”

I nodded. “Right before she left. Violet, I mean. She asked it like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like that one answer explained everything.”

He studied me for a beat. “And? Did you?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. My voice felt like gravel. “Do I love her? That’s the question, isn’t it? A question too late to uncover.”

Tavis didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, gently, he clapped my shoulder again. “I’m heading to bed,” he said, stretching his arms above his head. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He made it to the door before pausing, hand on the frame.

“I think I’m sad too,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder. “You found another best friend.”

I snorted and grabbed the nearest pillow, launching it at his head.

He ducked with a laugh and disappeared into the hallway, leaving the door half open behind him. I shook my head, the ghost of a smile tugging at my mouth.

The room went quiet again, save for the wind whispering against the stone walls. I looked up at the ceiling, still thinking of a girl with too many questions and a heart too big for her age.

And maybe—just maybe—I was sad.

And that was okay.

***

The meeting was, unsurprisingly, another exercise in political dance—lots of talking, no movement. But not everything was wasted.

I’d seen the way Felix kept his jaw tight and arms folded as certain topics were brushed over too quickly. And Asher Sorrengail—Violet’s father—frowned more than once when reports from the border were read aloud. Reports I knew weren’t fully true. He didn’t speak, but the slight tic in his brow said enough. I took note of both men. Quiet doubt was often the kind that grew into something useful.

Tavis and I exited the council chamber together, our steps echoing through the stone halls until we pushed open a set of doors and walked into the open air.

The garden square ahead had been turned into a training ground, of sorts. There, under the soft light of a fading sun, the three princes clashed wooden swords under the watchful eye of their tutor. Dain was there too, keeping pace with the oldest of them.

Not far away, King Tauri and General Melgren stood with a few of their advisors, sipping wine and murmuring in smug approval. Pride practically dripped off the king’s voice. “My sons are naturals. Born for this.”

Tavis scoffed beside me. “Like they’ll ever be stationed in an actual war.”

I smirked. He wasn’t wrong. King Tauri would never let his precious sons bleed on a battlefield.

My gaze drifted across the square. On the far left, under the shade of a tree, I spotted a small mat with an open book resting atop it. Violet’s, no doubt. Smart girl—reading while the boys played at war. But she wasn’t there.

I scanned the area again and found her crouched behind a nearby pillar. Her tiny frame hidden almost entirely in the shadow. One hand was outstretched, a marble cupped in her palm. The other hand moved precisely, like she was preparing to flick it.

Curious, I followed her line of sight.

It wasn’t something she was targeting.

It was someone.

General Melgren.

I blinked, and the marble flew—clean, quick, and expertly aimed.

It struck the base of his wine glass, sending crimson liquid splashing down his black uniform. He sputtered in surprise, glancing around, utterly baffled.

Tavis let out a soft, triumphant groan beside me. “Yes.”

I elbowed him lightly. “Keep it down.”

Violet looked our way, saw Tavis, and silently mouthed, shhh. He gave her a thumbs up like they were battle allies. She nodded, then strolled out from behind the pillar as if she’d never moved, settling onto her mat and opening her book like a perfect little lady.

“I like this girl,” Tavis muttered, grinning. “If things were different, I’d bring her to Aretia, let her play with our boys.”

I shook my head, biting back a laugh, and made my way to Violet. I dropped to the grass beside her and nudged her gently. “Hey.”

“Hello, Fen. Hello, Tavis! What’s up?” she asked sweetly, like she hadn’t just pulled off a sabotage mission.

“Not much,” Tavis said, grinning. “Nice shot, by the way.”

“Thank you! I bet he didn’t see it coming!” she said with a proud little giggle.

We both laughed. It was hard not to. The girl had nerve.

“Melgren’s signet lets him see the future—at least in combat,” I said, studying her. “That’s a powerful gift. How’d you know he wouldn’t see this coming?”

She shrugged like it was obvious. “Because he doesn’t see me as a threat. So he wasn’t looking.”

Huh.

I exchanged a glance with Tavis, and I could tell we were thinking the same thing.

Neither did they see us coming.

Not yet.

“Smart girl,” I murmured, shaking my head. “He didn’t know you were a threat to his uniform.”

That earned me a giggle, small and delighted, and somehow, that sound made the whole world feel a little lighter.

“Why’d you do it, though?” Tavis asked, more curious than scolding.

Violet’s voice darkened, her tiny brows furrowing. “Because he always calls my mom for meetings. Last year, on my birthday, he made her leave before I even blew out my candles.”

“Oh, not before you blew out your candles!” Tavis gasped dramatically.

I winced. “Ouch.”

Birthdays meant something to children—meant something to Xaden.

I winced again, but not for Violet this time. Talia had left us right after Xaden’s last birthday. 

Oh my boy I need to get home soon.

“Uh-huh! And he told me I’m delicate,” Violet added, her face scrunching up indignantly. “Well, who’s delicate now?”

Tavis barked a laugh, and so did Violet.

He shook his head with a grin. “Remind me never to cross you, Violet.”

“You better not,” she said with mock sternness, raising a finger at him like a little general.

I chuckled, the sound easing something in my chest.

This kid might have just declared war on a decorated general using nothing but a marble and righteous indignation—but somehow, she still managed to make the world feel… softer.

Tavis stood and stretched. “Alright, I’ve got things to do. See you both.”

“Bye, Tavis! Remember—it’s a secret!”

He mimed zipping his mouth shut, then tossing away the key as he walked off.

We both looked toward the boys, now finished with their lesson, chasing each other with wooden swords and exaggerated battle cries.

My thoughts drifted. What’s Xaden doing now? I imagined him laughing with Garrick and Bodhi, maybe sparring, maybe trying to keep them in line. A pang of longing hit me deep in the chest.

“Fen?” Violet asked suddenly. “Do you have a daughter I can play with?”

I smiled. “No, I’ve got a son you can play with.”

She scowled. “Ugh. I already have a lot of boy friends.”

I raised a brow. “Boyfriends, huh?”

She rolled her eyes, gesturing to the princes and Dain. “Boys who are friends. I want girl friends, the boys often times teases me and sometimes don’t include me.”

I leaned back on my hands and looked at her. “My Xaden would be different. He’d include you. He’d make sure you were having fun, too.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, skeptical. “You sure?”

“Absolutely,” I said without hesitation. “I’ll bring him here next time. I think it’d be good for him to have a friend like you.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Will he have tea with me? Read with me? Instead of playing swords with them?” She tilted her head toward the boys, who were now trying to knock each other off balance with the blunt ends of their wooden blades.

I smiled, holding back a laugh. “Yes. I’m sure he’ll choose to play with you. He’ll have tea with you, read with you—especially if you serve chocolate cake at your tea party.”

Her eyes lit up just a little. “He likes chocolate cake?”

I nodded solemnly. “Loves it.”

She gave a thoughtful hum, the corner of her mouth twitching upward before she finally nodded. “I’d like him then.”

I looked at her—this tiny firecracker of a girl with more bravery than most grown men—and smiled back.

“I think he’d like you too.” I said quietly.

In my mind, I could already see it: Xaden sitting cross-legged at a tiny table, letting Violet pour imaginary tea into mismatched porcelain cups. He’d endure the frilly tablecloth and the pink flower crowns if it meant being near her. He would laugh with her, share his cake, maybe even pretend to like dolls.

And knowing him, he might more than just like her. Like like her.

He was at that age—on the edge of becoming someone new, someone who might notice when a girl laughs just a little too brightly.

Would he notice Violet? Definitely.

I thought of Prince Halden during the last banquet, the way he teased Violet too often, his gaze lingering longer than it should have. It was obvious to anyone paying attention—Halden had a crush on her.

But in my imagination, it wasn’t Halden beside Violet at that banquet table.

It was Xaden.

I wondered then—would our cause be more dangerous to Melgren if the Sorrengails stood with us? Would their daughter standing beside my son change the tides?

Would she notice Xaden?

Violet let out a soft sigh beside me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“I just wish I had a friend who’s a girl,” she said quietly. “But… if I meet your son, I’ll have him as a friend.”

My chest tightened, a warmth blooming in a place I thought had long gone cold.

“Xaden needs a friend like you,” I told her.

Then I muttered, too quietly for her to catch, “Or a duchess like you.”

I hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but the words slipped out. The thought lingered—Xaden will be the future Duke of Tyrrendor. And someone like Violet… she’d be his anchor. His calm after the storm. The fire that kept him sharp, the home he could return to when the world grew too heavy.

She didn’t hear me. Her nose was already buried in her book again.

“Violet,” I called softly.

She glanced up. “Hmm?”

“Still want to know what a duchess does?”

She nodded without hesitation. “Yeah.”

“Well,” I said, leaning back a little, “a duchess is the duke’s home. Someone he can feel safe with. Relax with. But other times…” I smiled, “she reins him in.”

“Like… be the boss of him?” she asked, eyes wide with interest.

I laughed. “Yeah. Exactly.”

She smirked, proud and unbothered. “I think I can do that. My mom is the boss of my dad.”

And I didn’t doubt that for a second.

“Promise me,” I said, tilting my head a little to meet her eyes. “When you meet him, you’ll at least be his friend? Maybe rein him in when he needs it?”

She grinned. “I promise.” Then, without hesitation, she held out her pinky.

I curled mine around hers. A pact sealed.

“Thank you, Violet,” I said softly. “For the promise. And for the talk.”

Because every time I spoke to her, the weight on my shoulders felt just a little bit lighter.

I stood up, brushing off my coat. “I’ll leave you be now—sorry for disturbing your reading.”

“It’s okay,” she said proudly, holding up the book. “I’m almost done anyway.”

I smirked. “Show-off.”

She giggled behind her hand, and I walked away with a smile on my face, already imagining a broody boy with onyx-colored eyes sitting beside a girl made of storm, sunshine and sharp wit—balancing each other perfectly.

Chapter Text

After lunch, Tavis and I invited Felix for coffee. A casual setting. Just conversation. We kept it light at first—politics, weather, deployment logistics—but even then, I noticed the way Felix’s gaze lingered on his cup a moment too long when Tavis brought up the western borders.

We eased into it, steering the talk until I gave Tavis a slight nod.

He leaned back in his chair, lifted his cup to his lips, and switched languages smoothly.

“What if the rot they’re ignoring spreads farther than they expect?” Tavis said in Tyrrish.

An old language—Tyrrish. Once the official tongue of Tyrrendor, used in royal decrees and treaties, now barely spoken outside dusty libraries or the occasional ceremonial address. But we knew Felix could understand it.

That was the test.

It was subtle at first—phrases tucked into longer sentences, a word here, a saying there. We weren’t trying to be secretive. Not exactly. Just… careful. If Felix caught the shift, we’d know he was paying attention. If he responded? That would mean more.

He didn’t flinch. Just stirred his coffee once, then replied slowly. “Then someone ought to reinforce the weaker parts of the tree before the branches start falling.”

My brows lifted slightly. That was an answer, veiled in metaphor, but an answer nonetheless.

“But if the tree’s keepers refuse to act?” I asked.

Felix looked at us. Me first, then Tavis. His jaw ticked once. “Then someone has to ask if they are truly the keepers at all.”

Promising. But careful.

He didn’t commit. Didn’t ask questions. Just left it there—half open, half closed.

After another round of silence, he finished his drink. “I have to get back to council duties,” he said, reverting to common tongue. “Thank you for the company.”

We watched him go.

Tavis exhaled. “He’s cautious. Not ready to bet on us yet.”

“He’s interested, though.”

Tavis nodded. “Agreed. He’ll think about it.”

We stood, stretching from the stiff-backed chairs, and made our way out of the drawing room into the wide, echoing corridors of the palace. Sunlight spilled through the stained-glass windows, casting shifting hues of ruby and gold across the stone floor and the leather of our boots.

“Who’s next?” Tavis asked finally, his voice low. “Should we try Asher?”

I shook my head. “Not yet. I’m thinking Suri next.”

He nodded, though a note of disappointment slipped in. “Still… someone like Asher would be valuable. A scribe that smart? He’d be a well of information.”

“Agreed,” I said. “Maybe we should start in the library—see if any of the scribes there could be persuaded.”

“Especially someone with access to the restricted archives,” Tavis added, eyes gleaming at the thought.

I made a thoughtful sound, and we fell into step in silence again, walking through the quiet halls. When we turned the corner, the scent of old paper and ink met us.

The library.

It was quiet, as expected, with only a handful of people browsing or reading at scattered tables. No familiar faces.

Tavis sighed. “Try again later?”

I nodded, about to pivot when movement in the far corner caught my eye.

There—at one of the smaller tables nestled near the far shelves—sat Violet.

Her legs dangled from the chair, too short to reach the floor, swinging absently in rhythm with her thoughts. She hunched slightly over a thick leather-bound book, brows drawn in concentration, lips silently mouthing the words as she wrote.

Focused. Completely unaware we were watching.

Tavis nudged me with his elbow. “There’s your someone,” he whispered.

I nodded.

Because as quiet and small as she looked now, I knew that firecracker of a girl had more steel in her spine than half the council combined.

And no one would see her coming.

“If only she were old enough,” Tavis murmured beside me.
Same thought. If Violet were older, she’d be the perfect ally. But being raised by the Sorrengails—pillars of Navarre—meant being raised inside the lie.
Would she stand against us… or beside us?

An image flashed again in my mind—one that had come more and more these past few days, ever since Violet promised to be Xaden’s friend.
Grown-up Xaden. Grown-up Violet. Standing side by side.

Would she still be his friend if she knew what it meant?
If being his friend meant questioning everything she knew?

Before I realized it, I was already walking toward her. Tavis followed, no questions asked.

“Hey, Violet!” I greeted.

She looked up from her work. “Hello!”

“What are you working on?” I asked, glancing at her table.

There was a storybook open beside her—illustrated, but in a language I didn’t immediately recognize. Next to it, her leather-bound notebook, filled with neat, deliberate handwriting. Her pen strokes were precise, careful.

“I’m translating this book into the common language,” she said. “My dad gave it to me as an assignment. Once it’s done, Queen Tauri’s going to read it to the children at the infirmary.”

Like it was the easiest thing in the world for an eight-year-old.

“Wait, the fu—” Tavis started, and I slapped a hand over his mouth before he could finish.

I shot him a warning look. “Language.”

Violet giggled. “Were you gonna say the f word?”

“You didn’t hear it,” I said sternly.

She grinned. “Sure.” Then she shrugged like it didn’t matter.

“Apologies,” Tavis muttered. “But—hold on. You’re doing what again?”

“I’m translating this story into the common tongue,” she repeated, with a frown now.

“What?” Tavis blinked like he misheard.

Violet scowled and stood on her chair. I instinctively reached out to steady it.

Then—she pinched Tavis’s cheeks.

“I. AM. TRANSLATING.” Her eyes were wide. “Got it?”

Tavis nodded quickly, eyes wide.

Satisfied, Violet plopped back down into her seat. I let out a soft chuckle. Of course Asher Sorrengail’s daughter would know multiple languages. I glanced at the pages in front of her, curiosity stirring.

I wondered what language this one was—and how many others she had tucked under her belt.

“And what language is this originally?” I asked, leaning over the open storybook.

“Old Lucerish,” she said, already back to translating. “It’s a children’s tale from Luceras.”

“You know Old Lucerish?” Tavis asked, incredulous.

Violet shot him the driest look an eight-year-old could manage. “Obviously. My dad wouldn’t have given me the assignment if I didn’t.”

Tavis scratched his head. “But… you’re eight.”

“Yes. And?” she replied, raising a brow. “Old Lucerish isn’t that hard. Some words don’t have exact translations, but I manage.”

“Is this a punishment or something? Shouldn’t you be out playing with your friends?” Tavis asked, frowning.

“No, it’s not a punishment. I told you—it’s an assignment. I actually asked for it.” She glanced back at her work. “The boys were here earlier, but they were too loud and got kicked out.”

I couldn’t help laughing. Of course she asked for it.

Tavis turned to me, lowering his voice. “This girl is scary smart.”

He said it in Tyrrish—a quiet mutter, as if the language might shield him.

“Thank you,” Violet replied brightly—in perfect Tyrrish.

Tavis blinked. “What the— You speak Tyrrish too?!”

“Oh, did I? I guess I did.” She grinned and burst into laughter.

Tavis crouched beside her and gently turned her head from side to side, like he was inspecting her. “Where are you hiding your other brain?”

Violet laughed so hard she nearly snorted. “Humans only have one brain, silly!”

I smiled, shaking my head. “That’s enough, Tavis.”

He backed off with a grin, and I turned my attention to the storybook spread out in front of her. “What’s the story about, Violet?”

“Oh,” she said, eyes lighting up. “It’s about a boy named Elian who stood up for what was right—even when the gods told him he was wrong. Everyone else was too afraid to go against them, but Elian couldn’t stay quiet when he saw the weak being hurt. So he stole fire from the sky temples and gave it to the people below, even though it meant the gods hunted him after.”

My brows lifted. That wasn’t exactly a light story. If anything, King Tauri should be the one reading it—and maybe learning from it.

I glanced at Violet, her small fingers turning the pages with care, her feet still swinging above the floor. Would she do the same? Could she? Raised in the heart of Navarre, by one of its most powerful families… would she ever stand against it if it meant doing what’s right?

Before I could stop myself, the question was out.

“And if you were that boy—Elian—would you still do it? Even if the people you had to stand up to were bigger, scarier?”

Violet didn’t miss a beat. “Of course.”

“You would?” Tavis asked, clearly surprised.

She looked at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yes, Tavis. I already fought Prince Alic because he was bullying Stuart.”

Tavis blinked. “Wait—Stuart’s your boyfriend? Is that why you protected him?”

Violet rolled her eyes. “No. I don’t even really know Stuart. But bullying is wrong, Tavis.”

I bit back a grin as Tavis held up his hands in surrender. This girl wasn’t just smart—she had the kind of spine the council pretended to have. And she didn’t even know it yet.

The image returned—grown-up Xaden and grown-up Violet, standing shoulder to shoulder against impossible odds, defiant and unshaken, like a storm refusing to bow to the wind.

Violet hadn’t even met Xaden yet. Still, the thought tugged at me—should I arrange for her to visit Tyrrendor? They could be good friends. Maybe… just maybe, even more someday. I shook the thought off and cleared my throat.

“By the way, Violet… would you mind helping me find something to bring back for Xaden?”

“For when you go home?” she asked, eyes lighting up.

“Yes.”

She puffed up proudly. “Of course I’ll help. He’s going to be my friend, after all.”

“Hey, Violet,” Tavis cut in, leaning an elbow on the table. “I’ve got a son too—his name’s Garrick. Think you could be his friend? That boy could really use someone smart in his life.”

I shot Tavis a sharp look before I could stop myself. I wasn’t sure why, but something about his comment rubbed me wrong. Maybe it was the tone… maybe it was the way he offered her to someone else so easily.

Violet tilted her head toward me, clearly amused by my reaction, before turning back to Tavis. “Fine, fine,” she said with exaggerated seriousness. “But if you have daughters, I’d like to be their friend too.”

Tavis laughed. “When I have a daughter, you’ll be the first to know.”

I elbowed him. He winced, but didn’t complain.

“So, what do you plan to get Xaden? What does he like besides chocolate cake?” Violet asked, eyes curious.

She remembered that Xaden liked chocolate cake. Of course she did.

We started tossing around ideas while she flipped to a new page in her notebook. “You could get him candies or chocolates from the Calldyr markets,” she said. “He looks like he’d like the ones with caramel.”

I raised an eyebrow, amused. “You think so?”

She nodded firmly. “Definitely. Or maybe a carved dragon charm—I saw one in the vendor stalls yesterday. Or…” Her eyes lit up. “Swords! Daggers! I know someone who can make a custom one for him.”

“That might actually be perfect,” I said, impressed.

Before she could answer, her stomach let out a loud growl.

Tavis grinned. “Someone’s hungry.”

“Yeah, maybe I should grab a snack,” Violet said, flipping her page again. “I’ll finish this one, then head to the kitchen.”

“What’s your favorite midday snack?” I asked. Maybe I’d bring her some later.

She grinned, eyes sparkling. “Biscuits with honey. Especially when they’re fresh out of the oven. You have to try them while you’re here in Calldyr.”

“Sounds promising,” I said, and she beamed like she’d just shared a great secret.

We left her there at the table, still focused on her translation work. Her small feet, too short to reach the ground, swung back and forth beneath the chair, moving in quiet rhythm with her writing hand.

And as we walked away, the image returned—sharper than before.

Violet and Xaden. Older. Standing side by side. Not just as friends.

Something more.

Something powerful.

And unstoppable.

When we finally left the library, we didn’t say much. The afternoon light was long and golden, pouring through the tall windows of the eastern corridor. The stone beneath our boots echoed with every step, but neither of us broke the silence.

We reached my quarters and slipped inside. I shut the door behind us.

Only then did Tavis let out a breath and mutter, “She’s terrifying.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Terrifying?”

“She speaks Old Lucerish and Tyrrish fluently. She’s translating storybooks into common for a public reading by the queen, and she lectures me like I’m the one who needs tutoring,” he said, throwing himself onto the bench near the window. “Fen, she’s eight.”

“She’s also a Sorrengail.”

“That’s what scares me more,” he said. “She should be a miniature version of Lilith. Proud. Untouchable. Blindly loyal to Navarre. But she’s not.”

“No. She’s not.” I leaned against the desk, arms crossed. “You saw it too, didn’t you?”

Tavis nodded slowly. “That steel. That fire. She didn’t even blink when you asked her if she’d stand up to something bigger than her.”

“She stood up to a prince for bullying another kid. That’s not pretend bravery. That’s the real kind.”

“And she didn’t even brag about it,” Tavis added. “Just said it like it was normal. Like… of course she’d do it.”

I exhaled through my nose, thinking. “It’s not just that she’s smart, or brave. She listens. She absorbs everything. She spoke Tyrrish without blinking.”

“And she caught our shift into Tyrrish instantly.”

“We’ve got to be careful,” I said under my breath.

Tavis looked up. “You think she’s a risk?”

“No. But if she can understand it, someone else might too. And more than that…” I moved to the window, eyes drifting toward the eastern towers. “I think she’s a seed. Too young now, but in ten, fifteen years?”

Tavis let out a low whistle. “She could burn down the entire foundation Navarre’s built on.

“If she chose to.”

“If she knew the truth.”

That was the real question, wasn’t it? When the veil finally lifted—when she saw the world for what it truly was—would she cling to the illusion she was raised in?

Or would she step into the fire?

Tavis scrubbed a hand down his face. “You think we can win Asher Sorrengail?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “He and his wife could be powerful allies. Or dangerous enemies. We have to tread carefully.” I exhaled slowly. “Gods, I would love to bring the Sorrengails to our side.”

Tavis was silent for a long beat, then asked, “So… what do we do?”

“We watch. Close. Look for signs—anything that says they’re bendable. I’d welcome it if Asher approached us himself.”

“Violet might, you know. She’s sharp—give her the right clues, the right pieces, and she’ll start asking questions. Maybe even ask her parents.”

“We’re not using Violet,” I said firmly. “But yes. She’ll figure it out eventually.”

I settled into the chair across from him. “So we prepare.”

Tavis nodded slowly, leaning back. He closed his eyes for a second, then muttered, “She really pinched my cheeks, you know.”

I laughed. “Yeah. You deserved it.”

He cracked one eye open and gave a groan. “She scares me, Fen.”

“Good,” I said, voice quiet but certain. “She should scare all of them.”

Chapter Text

Royal hunting has to be one of the most egocentric traditions ever invented. It’s not about the kill. It’s about the brag. Who brought down the biggest beast. Who notched the most trophies. Who looked the most regal doing it.

Tavis and I stood at the front of our tent, watching the sea of nobility prepare. Dukes and duchesses draped their children in leathers and silks. Counts and barons adjusted bows and quivers. Even the generals were here, outfitting their heirs as if they were sending them to battle instead of into a well-guarded forest.

General Sorrengail was fastening the bracer onto her eldest daughter’s forearm—who looked like a smaller, steel-tempered version of herself, all sharp cheekbones and unshakable focus. Asher Sorrengail stood a few paces away, speaking in low tones to their son, Brennan. From what I’d gathered, the boy would soon enter Basgaith to train as a rider. Another future asset for Navarre.

I scanned the field, but one name circled in my thoughts.

Where’s Violet?

Then the horns sounded—sharp and final—and the field fell still.

We all turned—unspoken, automatic—to bow.

King Tauri and Queen Tauri had arrived with their sons. The twins, Halden and Alic, already wore matching smug expressions that mirrored their father’s. Prince Cam, still too young for the hunt, stood beside his mother. Queen Tauri’s hand rested protectively over his as they surveyed their future empire.

The morning was reserved for the children—ten to sixteen. Officially, it was about skill and tradition. But we all knew the truth.

It was about positioning.

Which family’s child would rise? Whose star would climb high enough to catch royal attention? Everyone here knew what was at stake—titles, alliances, or a marriage that bound noble bloodlines to the crown through shared power or secrets. That was why the Tauris hosted these gatherings: to measure the next generation of assets.

It was also why I hadn’t brought Xaden.

Tavis glanced over, clearly on the same wavelength.

“Our boys would’ve dominated this,” he murmured, arms folded across his chest.

“Exactly why they stayed in Aretia,” I replied. “Xaden’s not ready for this level of scrutiny. Not yet.”

Tyrrendor is the largest province in Navarre—my son and his friends don’t get to be invisible. Not truly. And I need Xaden to stay invisible just a little longer. Not an asset. Not a threat. Not yet.

“I miss the kids, though,” Tavis said quietly. “Would’ve been nice to bring them. Even just to watch.”

“Would’ve,” I agreed. “But you know how these things work. They wouldn't just watch—they’d be watched.”

He let out a long breath. “Maybe when we get back, we plan our own hunt. Something simple. Just for the Tyrrendor kids.”

I nodded. “Xaden could use a break.”

Tavis shot me a sly look. “Maybe we invite a certain little girl too.”

I huffed a soft laugh. “I won’t use Violet. But… I will have to ask her parents eventually. About a visit to Aretia.”

A trumpet call brought our attention back to the king.

King Tauri stepped forward, delivering a brief speech about honor, pride, legacy. Wishing luck to the young hunters. And to his sons.

The twins straightened like they were already competing for the crown. I could see it in their eyes—the bloodlust, the rivalry.

As the children rode out—flanked by royal guards and headed toward the forest’s edge—I scanned the group one last time, then glanced toward the Sorrengail tent, frowning.

Something—or rather, someone—was missing.

No small figure with arms full of books, no sharp-tongued girl with observant eyes and a clever glint that could cut through a room.

No Violet Sorrengail.

As if reading my thoughts, Tavis murmured, “Hmm… wonder where Violet is. I’ve got something for her.” He lifted a small pouch in his palm. Marbles.

I arched a brow at him. “Seriously?”

 “What? I just want to be her friend too.” He smirked, unbothered.

“And she’s basically your new best friend,” He added.

And it is my turn to smirk. “Who wouldn’t want to be? She’s smarter than most of the adults here put together. If people had half a clue, they’d be begging her for conversation.”

“It’s their loss,” I said, my tone flat but truthful.

Tavis grinned. “I mean it. I’d like her to meet Garrick. My son could use a friend like her.”

I barked a short laugh. “Please. Once she meets Xaden, she won’t give Garrick a second glance.”

Tavis turned to me, eyes narrowing with that knowing expression I hated.

“What?” I asked, already defensive.

“You’re so damn territorial.” He shook his head, waving the bag of marbles. “Garrick and Xaden are best friends. If she becomes friends with one, she’ll be friends with the other.”

I smirked, stealing the pouch from his hand. “Sure. But she’s going to be Xaden’s friend first.”

Tavis gaped. “Unbelievable. Are you—wait, are you trying to set them up?”

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

It slipped out before I could stop it.

Maybe because I’d already started to imagine her future woven close to ours. Maybe because, in this field full of children being polished into weapons and pawns, Violet still looked real. Untouched by politics or ambition. Smart without trying. Kind without pretense.

And beautiful.

I didn’t say that last part aloud. Not even to Tavis.

Before Tavis could needle me for that slip, a burst of laughter rang out across the hunting grounds—bright and uncontained, like sunlight catching on water.

We both turned.

There she was.

Violet Sorrengail.

Barefoot and wild, her ever-present white dress fluttering as she ran across the grass. Her hair, braided messily down her back, was woven with fresh flowers. She clutched a fistful of flower crowns, chasing after a shrieking Prince Cam and the Aetos boy—Dain, if I remembered right. Marjor Aetos’s son.

“Cam! Dain! Stop moving! You’re going to ruin them!”

Prince Cam zigzagged through the trees like his life depended on it, while Dain was half-laughing, half-desperate. “Violet, please! We’ll have tea, but we are not wearing flower crowns!”

“You can’t play tea without flower crowns. That’s my rule!” she shouted, absolutely determined.

Tavis snorted.

I laughed—really laughed. Then I made the mistake of picturing the scene differently.

Dain’s nervous scowl became Garrick’s awkward grin. Cam’s quick feet turned into Xaden’s longer, more stubborn strides.

But Violet? She stayed the same.

Still chasing. Still fearless. Still herself.

“Gods,” I muttered, watching her launch herself at Cam again, scattering petals. “Can you imagine her doing that with our boys?”

Tavis grinned. “Garrick would let her do anything. Xaden would pretend he’s too cool for it—but he’d wear the flower crown the second she looked away.”

I didn’t answer right away.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

I could see it clearly—Violet commanding the attention of every boy in the field without even trying. Not with volume or arrogance, but just... by being her. Because she didn’t know yet that she wasn’t supposed to be powerful.

And one day, she would be.

Just last night, one of Tavis’s men had brought in a report about her. Not much was known about Violet outside military circles—not because she was hidden, but because she’d been kept safe. Fragile. Sickly from birth.

Something had gone wrong while Lilith was pregnant—some lingering effect from fighting a Venin during her term. The report was light on detail, but what it did say made my jaw clench.

Violet’s bones—fragile enough to break from a fall or even a misstep. Dozens of fractures before her first birthday. Small for her age. Thin. Delicate, while her siblings grew tall and strong.

And yet here she was, sprinting barefoot through grass, chasing boys, climbing trees.

Laughing.

Running.

Living.

Gods.

If Lilith hadn’t fought that Venin while carrying her—if she'd been spared the aftereffects—maybe Violet would have been strong. Whole. Pain wouldn’t be her constant shadow. She wouldn't have to work twice as hard just to be a normal child.

But she did it anyway.

And I admired her for that more than I could put into words.

“I want to help find something,” I said quietly. “Something that can heal her. I want her to live without pain.”

Tavis’s smile faded. “We can try. Do you think the attack had a direct effect?”

“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “But it’s another reason I’ll never forgive the Tauris. While their generals fought for them and helped cover up the truth about the Venin… the Venin grew stronger. They let this happen.”

Tavis nodded grimly. “And now they parade their children around like everything is safe.”

I stared at Violet—now tackling Cam into a pile of grass and giggles, while Dain surrendered and bowed his head for crowning like a reluctant woodland prince.

“I just want them safe,” I murmured. “Xaden. Violet. All of them. A future without Venin.”

Tavis didn’t say anything, but his silence was agreement enough.

***

The nobles gathered once again, this time to observe the ceremonial weigh-in—the moment where the day’s hunt was officially tallied and, more importantly, when everyone pretended the outcome hadn’t been decided before the first arrow flew.

Prince Halden stood center stage beside his identical twin, both boys flanked by grinning dukes and counts who congratulated them with hollow exuberance. Halden’s kill was, of course, the largest. A stag, two hares, and—most conveniently—a sleek red fox he presented proudly to Queen Tauri.

“This fox I present to her majesty. A scarf, for the winter months,” he said.

The queen’s maid held up the limp fox delicately, the queen’s smile painted on like it had been practiced in front of a mirror. She reached out and ran her fingers through Halden’s hair, pride gleaming in her eyes as though he hadn’t needed half the royal guard’s help just to catch his game. The crowd cooed obligingly, their applause more for the crown than the kill.

Not everyone was so impressed.

Across the field, Mira Sorrengail stood stiffly, arms crossed over her chest, a scowl tugging at her otherwise regal features. She was third to the twins in the number of animals brought in—but clearly not by her own choice. 

Asher Sorrengail was speaking quietly to her, trying to soothe her bruised pride, while Brennan stood by in brotherly solidarity.

And then, through the noise and posturing, came something small and pure.

Violet Sorrengail approached her sister, barefoot and beaming, a flower crown in her hands. With the grace of someone too young to know politics, she reached up and gently placed it on Mira’s head.

“You’re the best one for me,” she said, eyes shining. “You’re my winner, Mira!”

Tavis snorted beside me. “Subtle. Real subtle.”

I glanced at him.

“I heard the guards held back the middle Sorrengail so the prince could take the stag uncontested.”

I exhaled through my nose. “What did you expect?”

But my mind wasn’t on Halden anymore. Not on the fox, or the flowers, or the falseness of the field.

It had already drifted—toward a different boy.

A different offering.

Xaden had once brought home a wild black wolf, barely ten years old but already dead-eyed with precision. He’d offered it to Talia, serious as stone, saying, “You said you’re always cold.”

A coat, for the Aretian nights.

Talia had taken the pelt. Of course she had. But the jewelry I gave her—the wedding ring, the sapphires, the fire opal necklace—remained untouched in her closet, like memories she refused to wear. She walked away with her son’s gift, not her husband’s. As if the only bond worth remembering was the one she'd made with Xaden.

My mind snapped back to the present—before I could even begin to unpack the mess of emotions Talia had left in her wake.

Prince Halden was now kneeling before Violet, offering her a squirming white bunny like it was a sacred gift. “Violet,” he said with that insufferable mix of charm and smug pride, “this is for you. I know you don’t like it when I kill animals.”

Violet’s face lit up as she clutched the bunny to her chest. “Thank you!” she beamed, and the prince—ever the performer—bowed low and kissed her hand.

While the others praised the prince thoughtfulness I scowled.

If I’d brought Xaden, that smug little prince wouldn’t have stood a chance.

Tavis leaned in with a grin. “That prince has a crush on her.”

“Like it wasn’t obvious,” I muttered, irritated.

“Ohhh,” Tavis drawled, clearly enjoying himself. “You’re being territorial again. And let’s be honest—Halden might have the edge. He’s known her for years…”

I shot him a glare that was meant to silence, but of course, it didn’t.

“Maybe so,” I said, voice low. “But if my Xaden were here, the prince wouldn’t have a chance to kiss Violet's hand.”

Then I sighed, softer this time, and added, “Fine. I admit it. I kind of want Violet for Xaden.”

Tavis raised a brow. “They’re kids.”

“I know,” I said, rubbing a hand down my face. “I just…” I exhaled slowly. “I don’t know what the future holds, but I want them on the same side. The Sorrengails. Her. I want Violet in Xaden’s future.”

Preferably by his side.

I didn’t say it aloud, but the thought rang clear in my mind. Tavis could mock me all he liked—but that image kept returning. Grown-up Xaden standing beside her. Violet, still fierce and bright and kind, grounding him in a world full of shadows. And I didn’t think it was just intuition anymore.

No.

It felt like something more.

Like the gods themselves were showing me a thread of what could be—and hoping I’d help make it real.

The crowd began to disperse—nobles retreating to their tents or drifting back into the woods for the second round of the hunt. Tavis and I turned to head out when—

“Feeeeen! Taaaavis!”

A small voice rang out like a bell.

I turned just in time to see Violet darting through the tall grass, bunny clutched in her arms, curls bouncing with every step. The braid over her shoulder was still decorated with wildflowers, some already wilting under the sun. I didn’t think—I just reached for her instinctively, steadying her as she skidded to a stop in front of us, breathless and beaming.

“I have a bunny!” she declared proudly, holding it up like a prize.

I scanned the surrounding area quickly, suddenly aware of how visible we were—and how noticeable our closeness might seem. But no one paid us any attention. The nobles were still distracted, caught up in boasts and blunted egos over missed kills. For now, we were safe in the quiet space between moments.

I crouched to her level. “So you do. A little one.”

“Halden gave it to me,” she said with a bright smile, hugging it to her chest.

Irritation flared in my gut at how easily she said his name—Halden, like they were old friends. And maybe they were. The prince did have the edge. He’d known her for years. I needed to get Violet and Xaden in the same space—soon.

Sensing my shift in mood, Tavis shot me a smirk. “Oh, is the prince your boyfriend? Are you going to be a princess now?”

Violet rolled her eyes dramatically. “Ugh, no! Fen said I’m going to be a duchess.”

Tavis’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he turned to me. I ignored him completely.

“She can be a duchess,” I said, meeting Violet’s eyes with a soft smile. Xaden’s duchess, I thought, but didn’t say.

Tavis chuckled and crouched beside me, letting my possessiveness slide for now. “What will you name it?”

Violet looked down at the bunny thoughtfully, then announced, “Venin.”

Tavis and I both froze.

I swallowed thickly. “Oh?”

She glanced between us, clearly confused by our reaction. “Because of its eyes. Look—they’re red. Like a Venin’s.”

A chill crept up my spine.

I reached out slowly and scratched behind the bunny’s ears, gently. “I think… maybe it doesn’t like that name,” I said softly.

“Yeah,” Tavis added, his voice carefully light. “Venins are bad and ugly. The bunny’s cute and pretty. Just like you.”

She tilted her head, considering. “Hmmm. You’re right. Some Venin are ugly. And they’re bad.” She looked back down at the rabbit nestled in her arms. “Okay,” she said at last, smiling. “Maybe I’ll name it Snow instead.”

I exhaled the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“Snow is better,” Tavis said, visibly relieved. “Like its fur.”

But her words lingered.

Some Venin?

I exchanged a look with Tavis.

“When you said some Venin are ugly…” I asked gently, crouching again to meet her eyes. “What did you mean by that?”

Violet shrugged. “I saw them in a book. There were pictures. I read it all the time—it’s my favorite. From my dad’s library.”

I blinked. “You have a book on the Venin?”

“Well… it’s a fairytale book,” she said brightly. “It has drawings and stories. I keep it in my room.”

Tavis’s gaze snapped to mine. I didn’t need him to speak—I could see the alarm written across his face.

That kind of book shouldn’t exist anymore. Not in Navarre. Not in any of the provinces. Books about Venin had been banned, burned, and buried by decree. I’d never even seen one, not in all my years of quiet searching.

But Asher Sorrengail had one?

And he gave it to his daughter?

Or read it to her himself.

That was reckless. Dangerous. Treasonous, depending on who found out.

Asher Sorrengail… you were more of a rebel than we thought.

He’d always seemed like a loyal. Stern. Predictable. But maybe we’d underestimated the man entirely.

I softened my expression and brushed a loose strand of hair from Violet’s cheek. “Do me a favor, little duchess.”

She straightened up, wide-eyed. “Yes?”

“Don’t tell anyone else about that book. Not a single soul. Can you promise me that?”

She blinked. “Why?”

“Because it’s a very special book,” I said carefully. “And special things sometimes attract the wrong kind of attention.”

Her brows drew together, but after a pause, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll hide it better.”

Tavis chuckled low under his breath. “Smart girl.”

She grinned and held the bunny out to me. “Can you hold her for a second? I’m going to get a carrot.”

I nodded, carefully taking the rabbit into my arms. Violet darted off across the clearing, braid swinging as she skipped lightly toward her family’s tent.

The second she was gone, Tavis folded his arms tightly, his expression shadowed. “What was Asher Sorrengail thinking?” he muttered. “Giving a child a book that could get their family killed?”

“Even if it is wrapped in fairytales,” I said darkly, “it might contain truths. Specific details. Things lost to us.”

I shifted the bunny slightly, watching the tent flap sway in the breeze as Violet disappeared inside.

“I want to know exactly what’s in that book,” I said quietly. 

A few minutes later, Violet returned, her small hands full—one with a carrot, the other with a stalk of celery. I lowered Snow to the grass, and we sat together, watching as the bunny nibbled eagerly on the offering.

I wanted to ask her more. About the book. About what she meant when she said some Venin were ugly. That phrasing—some—still echoed in my mind. Did it mean she’d seen more than one? Were there illustrations? Accounts? Descriptions of behaviors, weaknesses?

“She said some,” Tavis murmured. “Which means she either saw more than one in the book… or she’s seen one in person.”

His words hung between us, heavy and unsettling.

We both grew quiet.

She lived practically on the border. Could she have seen one? Actually come face-to-face with a Venin and survived?

The thought made my chest tighten.

I wanted to ask her more. About the book. About what she meant when she said some Venin were ugly.

That word kept circling my mind like a hawk—some.

Were there multiple depictions in the book? Or had she seen something with her own eyes?

Fear and curiosity warred inside me. I wanted to keep her safe within the wards, away from the threat that stalked our lands.

But more than that, I needed to know what she saw.

I looked at her—so small, so bright, so full of life—and felt a fierce protectiveness surge in my chest. My little friend. My duchess-to-be.

But before I could ask, a voice rang out from the far end of the clearing.

“Violet, sweetheart!”

Asher Sorrengail.

Violet jumped to her feet, hugging Snow to her chest, her curls bouncing as she turned.

“Dad! I’m here!” she called, waving with her free hand.

I rose as well, my gaze sharpening slightly as Major Sorrengail crossed the grass toward us. His posture was scribe-proud, expression polite but measured. I met it with the same tempered courtesy.

“Your Grace,” he said, offering a respectful nod.

Violet blinked, startled by the title. Her nose scrunched in confusion.

Your Grace? she echoed under her breath, barely audible.

“Major Sorrengail,” I greeted in turn, extending my hand. “A pleasure.”

He shook it with a firm grip. “I hope Violet hasn’t been any trouble, Your Grace.”

“I haven’t!” Violet cut in, puffing up like a tiny storm cloud.

I smiled. “Not at all. She’s an extraordinary young lady. A joy to talk to.”

I almost added more interesting than most adults here, but held my tongue.

“Glad to hear it,” Asher said, resting a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “It’s getting colder. Time she headed back to the tent.”

He glanced down at her. “Say goodbye to the Duke of Tyrrendor, Violet.”

Her head swung slowly toward me. “You’re the Duke of Tyrrendor?”

I nodded, amused. “I live in Aretia.”

Her eyes lit up with interest. “Like Amari’s Temple, Aretia? Is it really as beautiful as the ones in the books?”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. Curious about an ancient temple? Most children her age were obsessed with sweets and swords.

Asher cleared his throat softly. “Violet, sweetheart.”

She snapped back to attention, gripped the hem of her dress, and gave a practiced little curtsy. “Your Grace.”

I waved it off. “No need for that. Just call me Fen. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Your Grace—” Asher began.

“I don’t mind, Major Sorrengail,” I interrupted gently. “Violet has been an unexpected friend. She’s grown… precious to me.”

“She’s exceptional,” Tavis added with an easy smile. “You’re lucky, Major Sorrengail, to have such daughter.”

Asher’s stern features softened with pride. “Thank you.”

She narrowed her eyes in playful suspicion, then beamed. “Okay. I’ll see you later, Fen! Bye, Tavis!”

She waved with one hand, the other reaching for her father’s. Asher gathered her up in his arms, the bunny squished gently between them. Tavis, still crouched, saluted with a celery stalk.

As they began to walk away, I hesitated. Then called out—

“Major Sorrengail.”

They turned.

“If you don’t mind,” I said carefully, “I’d like to invite Violet—and your family—to Aretia sometime. I’d love for her to meet my son. And maybe she’d like to see the Temple of Amari in person.”

Violet gasped, eyes going wide like sunrise breaking through clouds. She turned to her father, barely able to contain herself.

“Daddy, I want to go. Can we? Please?”

Asher hesitated, clearly weighing the politics and implications—but Violet’s expression could have melted stone.

Finally, he nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace. I’ll speak with my wife about it.”

He turned, walking off with Violet nestled at his side, her bunny still clutched between them.

Tavis and I started toward our own tent.

“Real smooth there,” Tavis said, smirking.

“I told you I want for Xaden to meet Violet,” I muttered, mind already moving a few steps ahead.

“Give me my marbles back.”

“What marbles?” I asked, feigning innocence.

“The ones you clearly stole, my way to get closer to Violet.”

I laughed under my breath but kept my eyes on the Sorrengails in the distance. Now it is up to Asher.

If he truly is the rebel I suspect… we’ll know soon enough.

“I’m excited for Xaden to meet my beautiful little friend.”

Chapter Text

The Temple of Amari rose before me, bathed in light as though the heavens themselves had descended upon it. Marble steps curved upward, draped in cascades of white and violet blooms, their fragrance thick in the warm air. Petals drifted lazily on a golden breeze, each one glinting like it carried a fragment of sunlight.

I was holding someone’s hand. I looked down—Talia.

As if she had never left. Her eyes shone, her smile radiant… but not for me. She beamed toward the sight ahead, joy blooming in her face in a way she never gave me.

Across the open aisle, the Sorrengails stood together. Asher and Lilith, hand in hand—mirroring Talia and me. Mira stood beside a man I did not recognize, lean of build, with a quick, unguarded smile. Brennan lingered behind them, their faces all alight with joy, laughter spilling like soft music under the temple’s ancient arches.

Through the great windows, dragons and gryphons wheeled through the sky, their wings catching the sunlight as if they too were blessing the day.

I wondered whose wedding could draw such a gathering—until my gaze reached the altar.

And there she was.

Violet.

No longer the small girl with a bunny tucked under her arm, but a vision—her silver-tipped hair crowned with Tyrrendor’s jewels, her gown a river of white that seemed to pour light with every movement. She was breathtaking. A woman grown. A bride.

Beside her stood Xaden, broad-shouldered in ceremonial black, his gaze locked on her with a love so deep it made my chest ache. Together, they looked unshakable, forged for this very moment.

The ceremony closed in a swell of cheers, applause echoing against the marble, and then the kiss—full of promise. As the crowd began to part, they found me. Xaden’s hand never left her, his posture protective, unwilling to let her drift even an inch away. Violet reached for me and pulled me into her arms, holding tight as though the years between had been nothing.

She looked up at me, her eyes dancing with that same spark I’d seen in her as a child, mischief hidden behind the light.

“Should I reign him in now, Father?” she teased, her voice warm, her smile unshakable.

Father.

The word rooted me where I stood. My chest tightened, swelling until it felt too full to contain. I had been called many things in my life—Duke, commander—but nothing had ever sounded sweeter.

I woke before dawn, her voice still echoing in my mind, and found myself smiling like a fool in the dark.

Sliding from my bedroll, I stepped out into the cold air, the camp still quiet. My hands found the familiar weight of my sword, and I moved through drills beneath the paling stars, each strike sharp with renewed purpose.

By the time the sun crested the hills, the camp was stirring for the day’s hunt. My plan was already set. Whatever game I brought down, I’d dedicate to Violet.

Because in my dream—or perhaps in my heart—she’d already claimed the best parts of me.

Tavis stumbled out of our tent, squinting at the light and looking mildly bewildered at my mood.

“You’re up early,” he muttered, rubbing at his face.

I was already lacing my gloves, energy buzzing in my veins. “Had a good sleep. And a good dream,” I said, letting a smile tug at my mouth.

That earned me a suspicious squint. “A good dream? Do I want to know?”

I only chuckled and headed toward the breakfast tent, letting him wonder. Some dreams were too precious to speak aloud. Not yet.

***

Tavis and I were tightening our gear when movement on the far side of camp caught my eye—Violet, walking between the two princes and a cluster of other noble children, their silks and fine riding cloaks fluttering in the morning breeze. A neat line of maids trailed behind them, while armed escorts scanned the path ahead.

She moved with the eager bounce of someone itching to ride, her chestnut mare already pawing at the dirt. An infantryman—probably her mother’s aide—stepped forward to help her mount.

I closed the distance in a few long strides.

“Your Grace,” the aides and maids murmured, dipping their heads.

Violet’s eyes went wide before she offered a small, careful bow of her own. “Your Grace,” she echoed, her voice formal and faintly unsure.

I raised a brow. “Aren’t we friends, Violet?”

Her gaze darted nervously toward the adults. I understood immediately.

“Could you give us a moment?” I asked the maids and aides, keeping my tone polite but edged with enough authority to make it a command. “I’ve something to tell this little lady.”

They exchanged a look, then stepped back just far enough not to hear.

The change in her was instant—her whole face lit up. “Fen!”

“That’s better.” I grinned. “Did you get scolded?”

She nodded, her lip jutting out. “You didn’t tell me you were a duke. I was impolite the whole time. I’m sorry—I didn’t know.”

“That’s fine,” I said with a sigh. “I told you, same as I told your father—we’re friends. Friends don’t call each other by titles.”

“But…” She shifted in her saddle. “I got scolded, and then my father and mother argued all night. I must’ve been so disrespectful.”

“They did?” My brow furrowed. “What did they argue about?”

“About going to Aretia. About… being close to you.” Her voice dipped almost to a whisper.

Exactly as I’d suspected—Asher Sorrengail would’ve had words with his wife. The details didn’t matter; just the fact they’d spoken about Aretia was enough to put a quiet hope in my chest.

I reached up, cupping her small cheek. “You weren’t disrespectful, not at all. And sometimes adults argue to work things out, your parents will make up.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She tilted her head. “Hmm. Adults are weird.”

Tavis wandered over, grinning. “Hey, Violet! Fen!” He patted the chestnut’s neck.

“Tavis!” Violet beamed.

“Nice horse. What’s her name?”

“Lightning.”

“Because of your mom’s signet?”

“Nope—because she’s fast as lightning!”

“Ohhh.” Tavis studied the mare. “That so? Want to race later?” He leaned closer to me, muttering, “Six o’clock.”

I barely heard him. My gaze had shifted past Violet’s shoulder—straight to General Sorrengail.

She stood apart from the other escorts, posture a blade in human form. Her eyes, sharp and cold, locked on me with unblinking precision. It wasn’t the calculated assessment of a commander. It was the silent, territorial warning of a mother who had already decided I was a threat.

The weight of her stare settled over me like a shadow, prickling the back of my neck. I refused to look away first.

“Sure!!!” Violet chirped, blissfully unaware of the silent duel her mother and I were locked in.

“You’ll be careful riding Lightning, yeah?” I said lightly, forcing my gaze from the general as I gestured for the aides to return to her side.

“I will,” she promised.

“Good. We need to go, little duchess.” My tone stayed light, but my eyes still burned with the afterimage of that glare.

Beside me, Tavis fixed the lead aide with a level stare. “Take care of her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

Violet gave us a cheery wave. “Have fun hunting!” she called as we turned away, but the warmth of her voice lingered against the cold edge of her mother’s unspoken warning.

Once we were out of earshot, I told Tavis, “The Sorrengails were arguing. Violet said so.”

“That’s good,” he said without missing a beat.

“Yes,” I agreed, swinging into the saddle. “Now let’s go hunt a wolf for my little lady.”

“Sure,” Tavis said with a grin.

We let the other nobles ride ahead, their chatter drifting back to us on the wind—talk of harvest yields, troop movements on the western front, and the coming shift in weather. I preferred the quieter pace. There was no need to rush; the morning was young, and patience always yielded the best kills.

By mid-hunt, I’d already brought down a fine stag. Its antlers were clean and even, the kind that would make the other hunters grumble about luck. I was considering whether to track boar next when movement in the underbrush caught my eye.

A wolf. Big, healthy, with a coat of thick, silver-grey fur. Perfect for Violet.

I signaled to Tavis, and we fell into an easy pursuit, keeping our movements quiet and deliberate. I’d just drawn my bow when something thudded into the ground beside my boot—an arrow, sunk deep into the dirt.

Tavis reacted instantly, stepping between me and the trees, his own weapon half-drawn. “Who the hell—”

We scanned the treeline until a figure stepped into view.

General Sorrengail.

She walked toward us with the same deliberate grace she carried into a battlefield, bow still in hand. Her gaze found mine and locked there—steady, unblinking—for several long beats before she spoke.

“Apologies, Your Grace,” she said smoothly.

I smiled faintly. “No worries, General. Though I admit, I didn’t expect you to have missed.”

Her mouth curved into something too sharp to be friendly, her eyes glinting with something I couldn’t quite name. “You’re right. I don’t.”

The arrow hadn’t been an accident—it was a warning. A message from Violet’s mother.

We stood there, measuring each other in silence. She didn’t have to say she was assessing me; the weight of it pressed against every heartbeat.

“That arrow won't come near you,” she said finally, “if you stayed away from my daughter. Violet is not to be used in any political game or agenda you might have.”

“It is not my intention to use Violet, General,” I replied evenly. “I genuinely adore her. She’s smart, she’s kind… she is my precious friend.”

Something flickered across her expression—approval, perhaps, though buried deep. “Precious she is,” she said. “And it is only natural I protect her from those with ill intentions.”

“I agree,” I said, stepping forward just enough to meet her stance, my gaze narrowing.

“Especially,” she added, her voice cooling another degree, “those who have a reputation for using people to their advantage.”

It hit me then—she knew about Talia. My jaw tightened.

I wouldn’t use Violet. Yes, I wanted her to be my daughter, but I would never force her into it. What I had with Talia was my father’s decision, not mine. And I’d cared for her enough to let her go—because I knew it was what she wanted. She deserved her happy ending.

“That was different,” I said, my voice low. “I won’t use Violet.”

The corners of her mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but perhaps the closest thing she ever offered to acknowledgment.

“We’ll see,” she murmured.

She might have said more, but a voice called her name—King Tauri’s. She gave me one last, sharp look that said it isn’t over, before turning and walking away.

Tavis exhaled sharply once she was out of earshot. “Well, that was… cozy.”

“Let’s go,” I said. “The wolf’s still out there.”

We found it not long after—its coat a striking grey, almost silver in the sunlight. The color caught me off guard, so like Violet’s hair that for a moment I almost hesitated. The creature’s eyes met mine, unafraid, as though it already knew it was meant to fall to me. One clean shot, and it was done.

Not far from where it lay, movement caught my eye. Another wolf—larger, with a sleek black coat so deep it seemed to drink in the light. The same black as Xaden’s eyes. It moved with a predator’s quiet certainty, but when it turned to face me, it didn’t run. Like the silver one, it waited.

It felt… deliberate. As if the hunt itself had conspired to place them in my path, the two furs a reflection of them both—Violet and Xaden—standing together even here.

By the time the horns signaled the end of the hunt, I had the stag and two wolves to my name—more than any other hunter that day.

When the game was displayed before the gathered nobles, I stepped forward. Violet was standing between her brother Brennan and her sister Mira, with her father just behind. The general loomed close, expression controlled but still locked on me.

I stepped forward, the pelt draped across my forearms, its silver catching in the late morning sun. The conversations around us quieted as I went down to one knee before her.

“I dedicate my game to the little lady Violet,” I said, my voice carrying over the crowd. “Our friendship came as a surprise to me… but it has proven itself a gift I treasure. May this pelt keep you warm in the cold, and remind you that you are valued.”

Her eyes went wide, and then she lit up with a smile so pure it could have melted frost.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said with perfect courtly poise, dipping into a graceful curtsy.

Then, as she straightened, she leaned just close enough for her words to be for me alone. “Thank you, Fen!” she whispered, clutching the pelt like it was spun gold.

I gave her a quick wink. “No problem, little duchess,” I murmured back.

Behind her, Brennan and Mira frowned at me in perfect sibling unison, protective walls closing ranks around their sister. General Sorrengail’s stare burned into me, but now there was a subtle shift—still sharp, but edged with reluctant respect.

Asher’s face, however, was unreadable—neither approving nor condemning.

I held Violet’s gaze just a moment longer, committing the brightness of it to memory.

Around us, the crowd began to thin, the excitement of the hunt giving way to quiet chatter and the rustle of tents. The Sorrengails turned back toward their tent, their figures slipping into the canvas shadows.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Prince Halden scowling at me—no doubt because I’d given Violet my game. I raised my brows at him in challenge; he rolled his eyes and looked away.

Turning to Tavis, I gave instructions for the furs to be made into coats—the black for Xaden, the grey-silver for Violet. The the color resemblance to their wedding attire from my dream that morning was too uncanny to ignore. It drew a smile out of me before I realized it.

Tavis noticed, of course. He hummed—long-suffering and suspicious.

“What?” I asked.

“General Sorrengail literally called you out on your marriage of convenience with Talia, and now you’re standing here daydreaming about Xaden and Violet’s wedding,” he said flatly.

I scoffed but didn’t answer.

“You were, weren’t you?” he pressed.

I sighed. “For Amari’s sake, what is wrong with you Riorsons and arranging marriages?”

“Again, I won’t force them,” I said, shaking my head, “but a man can dream.”

Chapter Text

The hunting grounds were already shifting from sport to celebration, the air thick with woodsmoke and the savory perfume of roasting meat. Tonight would be the grand banquet—the final night of the three-day hunt. Afterward came a week of meetings in Calldyr Palace, and then I'm going home to my Xaden. I hoped to have the Sorrengails’ answer to my invitation before then.

Tavis and I were making our way back from the edge of camp when I caught sight of a small figure beneath the wide boughs of an old oak. A familiar crown of silver hair glinted in the fading light, pale skirts pooling around her.

Violet. Alone.

She sat quietly with her white bunny, Snow, nestled in her lap, feeding it carrot pieces with absent care. Her usual brightness seemed muted, as if someone had dimmed a lantern inside her.

But in the tree line beyond, two figures lingered. Hooded cloaks. Bandannas masking their mouths. Only their eyes visible. Watching.

Tavis’ hand went to his sword at once, his stance sharpening. I slowed my pace deliberately, murmuring low, “Quiet. Don’t alarm her.” If they had come for Violet, better they see me choose her side openly. Let them know she wasn’t unguarded.

I crossed the grass and lowered myself beside her.

“Hi,” she said softly, her voice missing its usual spark.

The two men stilled when they noticed me—then, without a word, bolted into the trees.

Suspicious. My pulse quickened, instincts urging pursuit. But I held still. Not yet.

Protect her peace first. Hunt the bastards later.

I reached out and gently patted her head. “Hey. What’s wrong, little duchess?”

She pointed to her knee, the linen wrap stark against her pale skin. “Hurts.”

My chest tightened. Outwardly, she looked like any other child—bright-eyed, careful with her words. But she was hurting, and not in a way most wounds could be mended.

“Does it hurt a lot?” Tavis asked softly, his tone careful, as though afraid the question itself might bruise her.

“Yeah. Sometimes more. I rode Lightning today, so it hurts… more than usual.”

Her words crushed me. This couldn’t be all there was—there had to be something healers could do.

I stood and opened my arms. “Come on. I’ll take you to the healer.”

But she only shook her head, calm and resigned. “It won’t go away. They’ll just make me sleepy.”

I remembered—her rare sickness. No remedy, only the fog of painkillers. At eight years old, she had already accepted what grown men struggled to face.

Tavis’ jaw was tight, his sadness laced with frustration.

“I’ll be fine,” Violet said, trying to smile for us. “Don’t worry. This is nothing…”

The words were too practiced. Too small.

And still, she had the strength to comfort Tavis when she was the one in pain. What a little warrior.

I sighed, then let my voice take on the firm weight of authority—the kind that didn’t allow protest. “Still. At least your father should know you’re hurting.” I scooped her gently into my arms before she could argue.

“I’ll take care of Snow,” Tavis offered.

Violet handed her white bunny over without complaint. “She already had her dinner,” she told him.

“Okay. Can she have dessert?” Tavis teased.

Violet giggled, the sound small but precious. “Snow doesn’t eat desserts, Tavis! Snow’s a bunny—she’s a herbivore. That means she can only eat plants and vegetables.”

Tavis and I both chuckled. At least he’d made her laugh. He brushed her cheek gently with his knuckles. “I know, little warrior. I just wanted to hear you laugh.”

“Gods! I thought you didn’t know about herbivores when you were all grown up,” she said with a perfectly straight face, though I caught the glimmer of mischief in her tone.

Tavis blinked at her, baffled, clearly believing she thought him stupid.

Then Violet burst into laughter. “I was just joking.”

Tavis clutched at his chest in mock injury but laughed too, shaking his head. “You’re going to be trouble one day, you know that?”

The brightness lingered in her eyes as she caught her breath.

“Do you feel a little better now?” Tavis asked gently.

“Yeah. Thank you,” Violet whispered.

“Good. Let’s go,” I said, glancing at Tavis. “Take care of Snow… and the other matter.”

He caught the meaning in my eyes. He’d see to it that the perimeter was swept. Whoever those men had been—whether Calldyr spies slipping past the watch, or Poromiel opportunists exploiting lax security—we would find out.

Carrying Violet carefully against my chest, I made my way to the Sorrengail tent. Only her siblings were there—Brennan sharpening his blade, Mira loosing arrows into a small straw target. Both stiffened the instant they saw me walk in with Violet in my arms.

“Your Grace,” Brennan and Mira greeted, their voices polite but wary.

Brennan, already almost my height despite being barely eighteen, stepped forward to take Violet from me.

“My knee hurts, Bren,” Violet told him, her voice small as she hid her face on his shoulder.

Before he could respond, Mira slid in between us, hands on her hips, her scowl a perfect echo of General Sorrengail’s.

“I found her by the woods,” I said, offering a mild smile.

“Thank you. We can take care of her, Your Grace,” Mira replied—polite, but curt as a blade’s edge.

Protective. Fierce. Honestly, who wouldn’t be?

That reminded me of the men. They needed to know.

“Your parents aren’t here?” I asked.

“No, they’re both in a meeting,” Brennan answered.

I nodded. “May I have a word with you?”

Brennan glanced at Mira. “Get inside with Violet,” he told her.

Mira took her sister into her arms and disappeared into the tent.

“See you later, Fen!” Violet called over her shoulder.

“See you, Violet,” I replied.

Now Brennan and I stood face to face—two men who knew what it meant to guard something precious.

“When we found her at the woods,” I told him quietly, “there were men in disguise. They ran as soon as they saw us.”

Brennan’s jaw tightened. His eyes swept toward the trees, scanning the distance as if he could summon them back by will alone.

“My guards are already searching the woods,” I continued. “If we find anything, I’ll let your parents know. But I think they’re gone—spooked.”

Brennan gave a clipped nod. “Thank you, Your Grace. I’ll tell my parents.”

“Were there attempts?” I asked. I already knew the answer—she was the general’s daughter, after all—but I had to hear it from him.

“Always.” Brennan’s jaw tightened. “And since Violet is playmates with the princes, the probability is more…” He cut himself off, the shadow of fear flashing across his face. He didn’t need to finish. We both knew—if Violet were taken alongside the princes, she would be considered less valuable. And that made her far more vulnerable to harm.

“Anyway. Thank you again, Your Grace,” he said quietly.

I shook my head. “It was nothing. Violet is my friend.”

He hesitated, then said, “Forgive me, Your Grace—it’s just… unusual. This friendship with my sister.”

I exhaled, weary but honest. “I know. Believe me, I have no agenda. It’s just… I’ve had more honest conversations with her than with anyone in the council. For someone who’s been dancing in politics his whole life, that’s rare.”

Something in my tone must have reached him, because a small smile tugged at his mouth.

“She is the best,” he admitted. “If her sickness ever improves, I want to teach her to defend herself. Sometimes I worry she’d sooner protect her kidnappers than herself.”

A huff of rueful laughter escaped me. He wasn’t wrong. Compassion was Violet’s nature—even to those who might harm her.

I clasped his shoulder firmly. “You’re a good brother. Take care of her. And… I don’t know why security felt lax today, but stay sharp.”

His nod was sharp, certain.

I left him there, my thoughts already circling back to the men in the woods. If they returned, I would be the one hunting them.

***

The banquet buzzed with laughter and chatter, the air laced with woodsmoke and the rich aroma of game sizzling over open fires. Lanterns and chandeliers strung from oak beams and high poles cast a golden glow across the clearing, light shimmering over crystal goblets and polished silver. Long wooden tables groaned beneath platters of venison and pheasant, the rough-hewn benches softened with furs. Tapestries hung between the trees to block the evening chill, their colors shifting in the firelight.

I sat among the nobles, my chair positioned beside the Duke of Calldyr.

At first, our talk was harmless—game counts, the hunt, the weight of the stag I’d taken down. But then the duke leaned closer, voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone.

“I heard you dedicated your game to young Lady Violet Sorrengail,” he said with a knowing smirk.

I kept my expression politely neutral. “She’s a precious girl.”

Instead of agreeing, or praising her wit, the man chuckled and dismissed everything but her looks. “Prettiest girl her age in Calldyr. I wouldn’t be surprised if she grows into one of the most influential women in our court.”

My jaw tightened. Yes, Violet was beautiful—but she was more than that. She was clever, curious, stubborn in the best way. A spark of something rare lived in her, something no one should reduce to mere ornament.

My eyes found her across the hall at the children’s table. Boys hovered around her like bees to a flower, their voices animated as they tried to impress her. But she sat still, listening rather than chasing them. I knew why. Her smile was warm, but I remembered her knee wrapped tight in linen, her whispered confession of pain.

Then she caught my gaze and lit up with a smile so bright it eclipsed the lanterns. I couldn’t help but return it.

The duke prattled on, oblivious. “Rumor is Asher Sorrengail may receive an Earl’s title for his and his wife’s service to Navarre. Just a rumor, of course. My son is quite taken with the youngest Sorrengail, but I told him not to compete with Prince Halden. The prince is clearly fond of her. And imagine it—the future queen of Navarre, a scribe! A perfect little power couple in the making.”

I scoffed softly, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “They’re children. A lot can change.” Inwardly, though, my thoughts strayed.

She’ll still meet my Xaden one day. And they’ll wed at the Temple of Amari, just like in my dream.

The duke, undeterred, pressed further. “But you have a son, don’t you? I have a daughter. Perhaps we should introduce them.”

The audacity made my jaw twitch. “Xaden is busy,” I said flatly.

He leaned in with a smarmy grin. “Then perhaps we could visit Aretia—”

“I’m renovating my house,” I interrupted, my tone sharp enough to cut. “No visitors for three years.”

“Well, he could always come to Calldyr instead—”

“No.” My patience had run out. The man couldn’t take a hint to save his life.

I turned back to Violet. The children had risen to play, leaving her alone at the table. Her father, Asher Sorrengail, had joined her, leaning down in quiet coaxing. Her plate was piled with untouched greens.

Tavis appeared then, carrying Snow—the white bunny Violet had entrusted to him earlier. That was my chance. I excused myself from the table, still simmering from the duke’s words, and crossed the hall.

General Sorrengail’s eyes tracked me the whole way—sharp, assessing—but I ignored her.

As I reached them, I caught Asher’s voice low and coaxing. “Just a few bites, Violet. You need them.”

“Your Grace,” Asher greeted me.

“Your Grace,” Violet echoed, her dip of the head overly polite.

I smiled faintly, crouching so we were eye level. “Oh Violet, you didn’t eat your vegetables?”

She scrunched her nose. “I don’t like vegetables.”

An idea sparked—an old trick I’d used on Xaden when he was younger. I leaned toward Tavis, feigning alarm. “Oh no…”

Violet’s eyes narrowed. “Why oh no?”

I glanced meaningfully at Tavis.

He caught on instantly. “Ohhh, right. In the Barren Lands, long ago, when children didn’t eat their vegetables, the Venin came for them.”

Her eyes went wide. “What? Are you lying?” She bit her lip, thinking hard.

Tavis shook his head solemnly. “Not at all. Even Kids of Tyrrendor and other provinces knew that tale.”

Her little face paled. She hugged Snow tighter, then turned to her father. “Dad…?”

“Just eat your vegetables to keep them away, Violet,” I said firmly.

She grabbed her fork and began shoveling vegetables into her mouth with the urgency of a soldier defending a fortress.

Asher hid a smile. “Thank you, Your Grace,” he murmured.

I patted her head. “Slow down, chew your food, Little Duchess.”

“You look like a chipmunk,” Tavis teased.

She swallowed hastily, then stabbed a carrot and thrust it at him. “No time for jokes! Help me, Tavis!”

With a sigh of mock resignation, Tavis leaned forward and let her shove it between his teeth. Asher and I both laughed.

“Stay here with Tavis, Violet,” Asher said, rising.

Violet nodded, already arming her fork with string beans.

Asher’s gaze flicked to me. “I’d like a word, Your Grace.”

I inclined my head, my amusement cooling into focus. “Of course.”

Asher led me away from the noise of the banquet, his hand resting briefly on my arm as if to wordlessly ask for patience. We slipped into a secluded area shadowed by a tall tapestry and trees, the chatter and music of the banquet dimming behind us.

When he spoke again, it wasn’t in the Common tongue but in the clipped, deliberate cadence of Tyrrish.

“Brennan told us about what you did earlier, Your Grace. I want to thank you. We do our best to protect Violet without robbing her of her childhood,” he said.

“Violet is my precious friend,” I replied. “My guards searched the woods, but they were already gone. And I would do it again—for Violet.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy and telling. This wasn’t just about the men in the trees.

Asher’s eyes sharpened. His next words came low, steady.

“Your Grace… I also know about the… group you’re forming.”

“Preparing for what Navarre refuses to acknowledge.” Asher continued, his eyes steady, resolute. 

I exhaled slowly, tension easing only slightly. “It was inevitable. Tyrrendor doesn’t sit under the same comfort of wards as the rest of the kingdom. We don’t have the luxury of denial.”

He nodded, expression grim. “There have been reports—attacks already creeping into Poromiel. Soon, Tyrrendor’s outskirts will be next.”

My heart quickened. I’d been right—the scribes were quietly monitoring and omitting details from the reports. Blind fools. Couldn’t they see it was a recipe for disaster?

“Those reports aren’t recorded?” I asked sharply.

Asher nodded, a deep frown cutting across his face.

“Those complete and real reports are what I need, Asher. To prepare—”

“I know, Your Grace, I… I can give them to you,” he interrupted, the words rushed but edged with hesitation. Then his tone shifted, softening, carrying something personal. For the first time that night, hope flared sharp in my chest.

“But that’s all I can do,” he said—meaning he would help, but not fully stand at my side.

I frowned. A bitter thought pressed in. Maybe he only feels indebted because I saved Violet earlier.

“If you’re helping me because of what happened—”

He cut me off with a firm shake of his head, halting my words. His voice dropped, quieter now, weighted with something far more personal.

“I’ve been researching about them discreetly, Your Grace. For Violet.”

I stilled. For Violet? A memory of the hooded men by the woods flickered through me, and my gut tightened.

“For Violet? Is she in danger?” I pressed.

“No, Your Grace,” he said quickly, though his expression betrayed unease. “I’ve been trying to learn if Violet’s birth… if Lilith’s fever during her pregnancy… might have been caused by contact with a fighting one.”

The thought hit me like a blow. “Her fever while pregnant—connected to Violet’s sickness?”

“It might, Your Grace.”

“All the more reason you need to join us.” I began, another quiet shake of his head.

“Lilith will never agree,” he said flatly. “She nearly lost Violet once. That fear rules her still. She’d rather keep our children buried in the safety of wards, puppets of King Tauri, than risk them beyond it.”

My jaw locked, fury and frustration simmering. “She can’t keep them safe forever. They’ll learn the truth one way or another.”

Asher’s mouth curved into something between a smile and a grimace—wry, sorrowful. “Which is why I want to help you. Quietly. Without her knowledge. I can get you the reports. That’s all I can risk for now.”

It wasn’t enough. But it was a beginning. I inclined my head. “I’ll take whatever you can give me.”

A beat of silence stretched, broken only by the muffled hum of the banquet behind us. Then I asked carefully, “What about my invitation? Is Lilith against that too?”

He sighed, shoulders heavy. “I’m still trying to convince her. Violet, though… she won’t stop talking about the Temple of Amari.” A faint smile ghosted across his weary features. “She dreams of it.”

My chest softened despite myself. Oh, my little duchess. I dreamt of it too. You and Xaden at the Temple of Amari.

I sighed. “It would mean a great deal to me if she could visit. Violet has become… important to me. And if she dreams of seeing the Temple, I’d like the chance to make it real for her.”

Asher’s expression softened, though weariness lingered in his eyes. “I’ll see what I can do.”

We stepped out of the shadows together, slipping back into the golden wash of lanternlight and the hum of the banquet. At Violet’s table, her plate was spotless—every vegetable gone. She sat chatting animatedly with Tavis, Snow nestled contentedly against her side, as if she hadn’t just been tricked into swallowing greens like a tiny warrior defending her fortress.

Asher scooped his daughter into his arms. “Look your grace, I finished my vegetables,” she said pointing at her plate.

“Good job finishing your vegetables,” I told her, letting warmth touch my voice.

She beamed at me. “Good night, Your Grace.”

I inclined my head, watching as father and daughter left the banquet, her small head resting trustingly on his shoulder.

The moment they disappeared, I turned to find Tavis still seated, his expression oddly somber, his gaze lingering on their retreating figures. His face looked pale in the lanterns.

“What is it?” I asked.

He shifted his eyes to mine, jaw tightening. “I think Violet has seen a real Venin. And no one believed her.”

The blood in my veins turned to ice.

Chapter Text

Tavis’s words struck like a blade sliding between my ribs.

“I think Violet has seen a real Venin. And no one believed her.”

The blood in my veins turned to ice. For a heartbeat, the noise of the banquet—the clink of goblets, the laughter, the scrape of chairs—fell away, muffled as though I’d been plunged underwater.

I forced myself to breathe, to keep my expression schooled, though every muscle in my body went taut. Slowly, I shifted my gaze past Tavis’s shoulder, across the glow of lanterns and the shifting tide of silk-clad nobles.

General Melgren stood there. Watching us.

His eyes glinted like a predator’s in the firelight. Then, deliberately, he lifted his glass. The smile that curved his mouth was too smooth, too sharp, as if it had been honed to cut.

It was the kind of smile that said I see you.

Every instinct screamed to move, to react, to draw steel if I had to. Instead, I let my jaw lock tight. “Not here,” I said under my breath, each word clipped and hard.

Tavis didn’t flinch. He gave the smallest of nods, understanding as well as I did that one wrong word in this hall could doom us both.

The celebration roared back to life around us, but the taste in my mouth was ash.

We held our tongues until the celebration finally ended. That night, I nearly broke my own caution, tempted to press Tavis for answers. But when shadows shifted outside our tent, lingering too long, I knew it wasn’t safe.

Did Melgren see me speaking with Asher?

By early morning, as we rode back toward the palace with the rest of the nobles, patience had become unbearable. Tavis and I drifted to the edge of the procession, letting the pack swallow itself ahead of us. Tyrrish guards closed in, forming a quiet barrier, and only then did we switch to our own tongue.

We spoke with casual gestures, the way hunters might recall a kill, though the words carried a weight far darker than any hunt.

“Explain why do you think Violet saw a real one,” I told him.

Tavis drew in a breath. “After you and Asher slipped away, Violet tugged at my sleeve. She asked me if she was coming for her.”

“She?”

“The Dark Wielder,” he said grimly. “Like Violet already knew her.”

A cold sweat prickled my neck.

“I asked if she meant the ones from her storybooks, but she shook her head. She said, ‘No, not pretend. The one I saw at Chakir.’”

My grip on the reins tightened.

“Her parents were busy that day. She’d left her vegetables untouched at lunch—sneaked out instead of eating. She and Dain were playing hide-and-seek around the outpost. She climbed a tree, near the border. That’s when she saw her.”

His voice dropped lower.

“Violet told me, ‘She had long hair, and her eyes were red, like all squiggly with lines. She wore a dark cloak and had a stick like the one in my book. She looked at me and smiled—she had a dimple right here.’” He touched his cheek.

My stomach turned to stone.

“She said the woman tilted her head and asked her, ‘Do you want to come play with me?’”

I swore under my breath.

“Violet screamed, scrambled down the tree, and ran back crying. She told her parents what she’d seen, but she doesn’t remember much after that—just… sleep. When she woke, she was scolded. Her mother took away her book and told her it was just imagination.”

My jaw clenched so tight it ached. Violet’s words weren’t the vague shadows of a child’s fantasy. The dimples. The way she mimicked the Venin’s voice. She had seen one. A woman, human once, turned monster.

“She was so descriptive, Fen,” Tavis pressed. “I believe her. She saw one. And the worst part? It was near the wards.”

“I can’t believe they dismissed it,” I growled. “How could Lilith just—”

“Maybe it wasn’t dismissal,” Tavis interrupted. “Maybe it was protection. If Taurí knew a child had seen a Venin…”

That tracked. It echoed Asher’s words. Lilith’s fear wasn’t paranoia—it was a mother’s desperation. She had already nearly lost Violet once. This would have terrified her.

“I need to speak with Asher again,” I said, the decision already carved into my voice.

Tavis hesitated, studying me. “Did he…?”

“Yes,” I cut in. “To a point. He agreed to help—but not fully. He said Lilith would never allow it.”

Tavis frowned. “So Violet won’t be allowed to go to Aretia?”

I shook my head. “Not unless I can convince Lilith myself. But there’s more. Asher was researching Violet’s condition—he believes it may be linked to Lilith’s fever when she was pregnant. Like your source suggested. Only…” I paused, lowering my voice. “You missed one detail. She fell ill after battling a Venin.”

Tavis froze. “What?” His eyes flicked sharply, mind racing. Then his face twisted. “Fuck! Do you think that Dark Wielder Violet saw… knew who she was?”

That fear coiled cold in my chest. “I don’t know. But it’s possible.”

I let the words hang before adding, “Asher is already working in secret, without Lilith’s knowledge. He promised to supply us with the real reports—the ones scrubbed from the records. He said the Venin are already attacking Poromiel. And soon…” My jaw tightened. “Soon they’ll reach the outskirts of Tyrrendor.”

“Fuck,” Tavis muttered again, his voice edged with dread.

We rode in silence after that, the weight of it pressing between us. As the palace gates rose ahead, torches casting long golden shadows across the stone, unease crawled deeper under my skin.

I dismounted, my boots striking the earth with a hollow thud. But even standing on solid ground, it felt as though the world beneath us had begun to tilt.

Because Melgren’s smile still haunted me. That calm, calculated smile.

Was it the same smile Violet had seen on the Venin?

The thought clawed at me. Something was shifting. The air itself felt heavy, charged.

A turning point was coming—I could feel it in my bones.

***

The council chamber in Calldyr was stifling, heavy with the heat of midsummer. Sunlight streamed through tall arched windows, gilding the long table where every ruler of Navarre’s provinces had gathered. Nobles fanned themselves with silk, beads of sweat glistening along their temples. The air smelled of ink, wax, and tension.

At the far end of the table, Lord Verdan of Luceras leaned forward, the youngest face in the room save mine, though I'm still older by some years. He was the eldest son of Duke Damian, who for decades had been a steady ally of Tyrrendor. Yet the old duke was absent now—rumors of illness keeping him in Luceras—and his son spoke in his place.

“Your Grace,” Verdan said, voice smooth but edged, “Luceras cannot continue paying these prices. Our province depends on imports more than any other. Winters are long. Fields barren. We demand a reduction on grain, barley, root vegetables—all of it.”

I felt my jaw tighten. This was not the voice of his father, who had always understood the balance of give and take between provinces. This was something sharper. Calculated.

“The crops you demand are Tyrrish livelihoods,” I answered evenly. “If I lower the price, villages in Tyrrendor will suffer. You ask me to rob my people to spare yours.”

Verdan’s lips curved faintly, as though that was exactly the reaction he sought. “So you would see Luceras starve while Tyrrendor feasts?”

The words landed like a strike, drawing murmurs from the gathered lords. Heat climbed my neck. I leaned forward, my voice low but carrying. “Do not twist this. My people are no feast-eaters. They live by the sweat of their fields, the turn of their soil. Should I punish them for their labor? Tell me, Lord Verdan, would you ask the same of your own?”

A flicker—there, in his eyes. Satisfaction. He wanted this clash.

I inhaled sharply, forcing myself to lean back, to temper my tone. No. I would not give him what he wanted.

“If you speak for your people, then I must speak for mine. Neither of us is wrong,” I said. “But neither of us can yield without betraying those who depend on us. I cannot do that to Tyrrendor’s farmers.”

The chamber quieted. I caught the exchange of glances among a few of the lords—Lord Rathven of Deaconshire, Lady Selene of Elsum—too quick, too knowing. My stomach tightened. This wasn’t simply about crops.

Verdan inclined his head, his expression unreadable, though his eyes gleamed with something that was not compromise. “Then we are at an impasse, Your Grace.”

“So it seems,” I returned.

We both rose, protocol dictating that neither side storm from the table. He gave a shallow bow and withdrew, his cloak trailing like a shadow behind him.

I remained standing, my hands braced on the table’s polished wood. Duke Damian had been a friend of my Father and mine, steady and measured. Why now, when Luceras had wealth enough, would his son demand prices that would bleed Tyrrendor dry?

Unless someone had whispered into his ear. Unless this was meant not to feed Luceras, but to test me.

My gaze slid down the table, to the other lords and ladies watching, weighing. Some smiled faintly, some looked away. But I felt it—that I was being measured like a blade against a whetstone.

And I could not shake the suspicion that Verdan’s provocation was not his own.

That evening, after the council adjourned, I motioned Tavis to follow me out into the quiet of the palace gardens. Mage light shimmered over still fountains, the scent of summer blossoms doing little to cool the tightness coiled in my chest.

“Verdan,” I said at last, my voice low. “There’s something off about him. It’s not just his demands. He wanted me angry. He wanted the council to see me lose control.”

Tavis grimaced. “I thought the same. And—there’s more. Our men had a clash with his today.”

My head snapped toward him. “What kind of clash?”

“A Luceran guard mocked ours during weapons drill. Said Tyrrish couldn’t hold a line if their lives depended on it. Five of ours answered back. Words turned sharp, and before I knew it, steel was half drawn.” His jaw tightened. “I stopped it before blood was spilled, but the animosity lingers. They wanted that fight, Fen. I could see it in their eyes.”

The pieces slid together, cold and certain. Verdan’s baiting me in the council. His men provoking mine outside of it. All of it too neat. Too deliberate.

“Luceras is trying to provoke Tyrrendor,” I muttered. My hand curled into a fist. “But Verdan doesn’t have the wit for this. Someone is guiding his hand.”

“Melgren?” Tavis asked carefully.

The name curdled on my tongue. “It fits. If he’s caught even a glimpse of what I’m building behind Navarre’s back…” I exhaled slowly, forcing the fury down. “Maybe Asher’s agreement was the trigger. Maybe Melgren finally sees me as a threat.”

“But he doesn’t have proof,” Tavis said.

“Exactly. That’s why he’s using Luceras to smear us among the provinces.”

“Then we’ll have to be careful,” Tavis muttered.

I turned on him, my voice hard. “Pass word to every Tyrrish soldier: no confrontations. Even if provoked. Not a word. Not a blade.”

Tavis’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “I will. Though… I haven’t seen Violet since the hunt.” His gaze swept the courtyard. “We’ve seen Dain, sometimes Prince Cam, but no sign of her. You think she’s still hurting from the horse ride?”

The same worry had been gnawing at me. She was the one person who made these cursed meetings in Calldyr bearable. Without her, the halls felt colder, heavier. Perhaps that was the shadow clinging to me—the absence of a friend I’d come to rely on more than I dared admit.

The days that followed stretched like walking barefoot across glass. Council sessions dragged endlessly, every word polite yet brittle, each glance a dagger in disguise. Verdan’s eyes seemed always fixed on me, weighing, measuring, searching for cracks. The Duke of Calldyr, oblivious—or pretending to be—prattled about crop prices, dismissing complaints with a smug reminder that his province grew rich off fur exports. Oddly, that silenced Verdan’s barbs, though I sensed calculation behind the duke’s smooth facade. He wanted something—my favor, my trust.

And through it all, Violet was nowhere. Not in the library. Not in the gardens. Not tucked into the corners she usually claimed. As though she had been hidden from sight, locked away beyond my reach.

By the third afternoon, Tavis and I had slumped into the lounge, grateful for the rare lull. The fire burned low, shadows stretching long across the marble. Tonight brought yet another banquet. Tomorrow, at last, we would ride home to Tyrrendor.

I leaned back, eyes tracing the carved beams above. “I miss Xaden. I’ll be glad to leave Calldyr tomorrow. But I miss Violet too.”

Tavis stretched his legs, his face somber. “Me too. I miss Garrick, and I’m excited to see him again… but I’d like to see Violet and Snow first before we leave. I wish we could bring them to Aretia.”

“I know.” My chest tightened. “It feels wrong to leave her here with these bastards.” My jaw ticked, teeth grinding.

“Lilith must be keeping us from seeing Violet and Asher. I wonder why?”

“Melgren,” I whispered, the name a curse. “It has to be.”

The thought gnawed like a wolf at bone. If he’d glimpsed my future—seen the path I meant to walk—then every smile, every provocation, every absence was part of the blade he pressed closer to my throat.

And yet I would not yield.

Tomorrow, we would ride home to Tyrrendor, where my son waited—the reason I fought, the reason I endured. But tonight, I would keep my guard raised. For something told me the banquet ahead would not pass quietly.

***

The banquet began like the others—laughter, music, goblets raised in hollow cheer—but my gut told me something was wrong. The air felt too warm, the smiles too brittle. Tomorrow, Tyrrendor would finally return home. I should have been relieved. Instead, my chest ached with a single thought: I hadn’t seen Violet since the hunt. If this place was as corrupted as it seemed, the idea of leaving her behind in Calldyr’s shadows clawed at me. I wished for one more moment with her—just her, without Navarre’s eyes watching.

I lingered at the edge of the hall, cup in hand, scanning the sea of faces. King Tauri stood to speak, his voice carrying over the din. He praised the provinces for standing together under Navarre’s banner, insisting that unity must endure even through conflict. He declared his wish for more of these gatherings, “celebrations of strength and kinship.” The words rang hollow to my ears.

Then the king rose again, scroll in hand, and the hall fell to respectful silence. “By the authority vested in me,” King Tauri intoned, “and by virtue of long and distinguished service to Navarre, I hereby appoint Lilith Sorrengail as Commander of Basgiath War College. Her skill as a rider, her mastery of tactics, and her devotion to our defenses make her uniquely suited to shape the next generation of Navarre’s officers.”

Applause swelled, polite and eager, while whispers circled like birds. The Sorrengails stepped forward—Asher in crisp uniform, Brennan standing like a young warrior already, Mira in a neat dress and braid that made her look like a smaller, sterner version of her mother. Violet’s small hand was tucked into Mira’s, fingers fidgeting with the hem.

And then I saw her.

Violet—dressed like Mira, a braid woven into a crown at her scalp—stood perfectly still. It had been days since I’d seen her; for a terrible moment I’d feared she’d been hidden away. The sight of her, alive and present, hit me harder than I expected. She looked as she always did, only brighter, the light in her eyes as she watched her mother accept the title was sharp and unguarded, pure pride.

At least she’ll be sent to Basgiath, not left at some dangerous outpost where she saw a Venin, I thought. That should have eased something in me. It didn’t. Basgiath is still far from Aretia, far from Xaden, far from where I am. How do I make them meet? How do I make my dream come true, to stitch our futures together when the world kept fraying?

People crowded around the Sorrengails with their congratulations. I lingered at the edge of the hall, cup in hand, content to simply watch. I didn’t want to draw attention. Though part of me longed to speak with Violet again—to tell her we’d see each other soon, that I could visit Basgiath, that our friendship wouldn’t fade even with distance. Deep down, I only hoped she wouldn’t forget me.

That was when Melgren approached. His smile never reached his eyes.

“Your Grace.” He lifted his glass. “Are you not going to congratulate Lilith?” His tone carried just enough edge to suggest he was testing whether I was close to the Sorrengails.

“I’ll wait. She’s not particularly friendly to me.”

He hummed, considering. “Eager to go home, then?”

“As much as one can,” I answered evenly.

His words were smooth, deliberate, each one a calculated prod. “The council has been… spirited, hasn’t it? So many disagreements.”

I met his gaze head-on. “Nothing we can’t resolve at the end of the day. I’m not doing anything wrong. No reason for concern.”

His lips curved in that sly, knowing way. “Wrong is a matter of perspective.” He tipped his glass. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

Then he left me, his smug smile burning in my mind.

Before I could dwell on it, one of Verdan’s aides appeared. “Lord Verdan requests a private word with you, Your Grace.”

I inclined my head. “Tell him I’ll come shortly. I need to find my captain first.”

When I tracked down Tavis, his scowl was already waiting. “Let me guess—Verdan’s looking for you? I’m not letting you go alone with him.”

I nodded grimly. “Let’s get this done and over with.”

We slipped quietly from the hall, following the servant’s directions toward the private chambers Verdan had claimed. And then—just as we neared the archway—I heard it.

“Fen! Tavis!”

A small, bright voice rang down the corridor—Violet’s. She came running, skirts bunched in her fists, with Dain and Prince Cam chasing after her, trying in vain to keep up.

For the first time in days, the weight on my chest lifted. She wasn’t hidden away, she wasn’t hurting—she was here. Radiant. Alive. And she had come straight toward me, as if I were the only one in the hall. My friend.

“Violet!” Tavis called warmly.

I stepped forward, catching her by the shoulders before she could barrel into me. “Careful, little duchess,” I murmured, steadying her.

“We were looking for you,” she said breathlessly, tugging at my hand with surprising urgency. “You have to come with us. We need your help.”

“What kind of help?” I asked.

“Just come,” she insisted, already pulling me toward the gardens.

I shot Tavis a look, brow raised.

He smirked faintly. “Verdan’s done nothing but try to provoke you. He can wait. The little duchess needs us.”

“Well, you’re right,” I admitted.

So we let them lead, following the children into the cool night garden.

“I missed you, little duchess,” I said as we walked. “Where have you been hiding?”

“With Queen Tauri. I finished that book of children’s stories. And then lessons.” Her nose wrinkled. “I was supposed to be on break, but Mom said I should sit in with Halden and Alic.”

Two truths struck me at once—Lilith had deliberately kept Violet occupied, away from me. Perhaps she already suspected Melgren’s hand in Verdan’s provocations.

And Violet herself—bright as flame—was keeping pace with boys older than her, her laughter quick, her mind sharper still. She was clever. Fierce. She had a brilliant future ahead of her.

And gods help me, I wanted to be part of that future. To see her grow, to walk behind her—if not for me, then at least for Xaden.

When we reached the shadow of the trees, Violet stopped, catching her breath, and pointed upward. “Cam and Dain were playing ball. It got stuck up there.”

The ball wedged high in the branches seemed harmless enough, yet unease prickled down my spine. Violet could’ve climbed that tree herself with ease—I’d seen her scale higher. And the prince had guards aplenty who could’ve fetched it for them. Why come find us?

“That’s an easy fix,” Tavis said. He was already halfway up the trunk before I could answer, agile as ever. A moment later, he dropped the ball back down.

Prince Cam caught it with both hands and beamed. “Thank you!”

I, however, wasn’t watching the boy. I caught Violet instead, biting her lip, her little brows furrowed as though she were thinking far too hard. My gut tightened. She was hiding something.

“We should go,” I said quietly, testing her.

“No!” The word shot from her lips sharp as a blade. She startled, realizing her own force, and quickly softened. “I mean… can we play here? Just for a little bit?”

“Violet, we’re supposed to meet someone important,” Tavis reminded her, brushing off his hands.

“You can see him tomorrow morning,” she pressed, eyes shining with urgency. “Please. Just a little.”

Suspicion nagged, but there was no malice in her gaze—only fierce determination. Against my better judgment, I relented. “All right. A few minutes.”

Soon, Tavis, Cam, and Dain were tossing the ball back and forth, their laughter carrying into the night air. Violet, though, stayed beside me, settling at the roots of the tree, skirts tucked neatly around her.

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” she asked, her voice quiet.

“Yes,” I said. “But I heard you’ll be living in Basgiath.”

Her eyes brightened. “Yes! I’m so excited—you know they have archives there.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. Of course she’d be most thrilled about the archives.

But then her expression shifted, growing solemn. “I don’t think my mom wants me to see the Temple of Amari. So, before you leave tomorrow, I have to give you something. Promise you’ll see me?”

Her words landed heavy, final, as though she were already saying goodbye.

“I promise,” I said firmly. “And I’ll speak to your mother. I’ll make her understand.”

But before she could answer, a scream tore through the night. Guards sprinted past, steel flashing, shouts splitting the air.

Instinct seized me—I swept Violet into my arms while Tavis grabbed Cam and Dain. Without another word, we hurried toward the banquet hall, my pulse thundering with dread.

“What’s happening?” Tavis demanded, grabbing the arm of a passing guard as we ran.

The man’s face was pale, his words ragged between breaths. “Lord Verdan—he’s been murdered. In his study. All are to gather in the banquet hall.”

Ice poured through my veins. Verdan. Dead. And I had been meant to meet him.

We entered the banquet to chaos—nobles scattering like startled birds, servants rushing with wide eyes and hushed whispers. At the center of it all stood General Melgren, his voice sharp, locked in furious argument with dukes and duchesses.

“They must have already fled!” Melgren barked, his hand slashing through the air.

Then his gaze snapped to me. To Tavis. To the children in our arms. His words faltered, his face draining of color. For the first time, I saw not confidence but irritation—panic he failed to mask.

“Where were you?” he demanded, too quickly. “I thought you were with Verdan.”

I kept my voice steady, calm. “I was in the garden, playing with Prince Cam, Dain, and Violet. There are maids and guards who can confirm it.”

Tavis set down the prince and Dain, and I lowered Violet gently to her feet.

“Cam!” Queen Tauri cried, sweeping her son into her arms. Relief and reprimand warred on her face as she fussed over him.

Lilith rushed forward, pulling Violet to her side, her eyes darting to me with a guarded edge. Dain slipped to Colonel Aetos, who scowled down at his son, already bristling for reprimand. From the beginning, I had disliked the way Aetos treated his child—discipline without warmth, control without care.

Melgren stepped closer, his tone needling. “But Verdan asked for you. Personally.”

“Yes,” I replied evenly, meeting his gaze, “and Prince Cam needed us first.”

“My ball was stuck in a tree,” Cam interjected, his young voice ringing clear. “I asked Duke Riorson and Captain Tavis to help.”

The boy’s innocence was a blade. Melgren flinched as though struck, the certainty draining from his posture. He had been so sure, so ready for me to be in that room, ready to point the finger at me.

“Enough!” King Tauri’s voice thundered over the din. “I want a thorough investigation—every guest, every servant accounted for. Calldyr will not bear dishonor under its roof.”

The Duke of Calldyr shouted his agreement, his face red with indignation, demanding justice for blood spilled in his halls.

But their voices faded into a distant hum. My attention was fixed on Violet.

She clung to her mother’s side, small hands knotted in the fabric of Lilith’s gown, but her face—her face was all fire. Conviction etched her brow, her eyes sharpened with fury and disgust, fixed squarely on Melgren.

And suddenly, it all fit.

She had known. Somehow, she had sensed the summons to Verdan’s study was a trap. That someone—Melgren—meant for me to take the fall. So she had pulled me into the garden. Not just me, but Tavis too. And she had made certain Prince Cam, heir of Navarre—whose word no one could dare dispute—was there beside her.

Our eyes met across the hall. A quick, conspiratorial smirk curved her lips, triumph sparking in her gaze—just as it had that day she’d taken aim with a marble and shattered the general’s wine glass. I couldn’t help the answering nod I gave her before turning back to the crowd, careful not to let anyone notice the exchange.

At only eight years old, Violet Sorrengail had outmaneuvered the most dangerous man in Navarre—again. And in doing so, she had saved me and Tavis.

My little duchess. Our small, fierce savior.

After everyone was accounted for, the web of alibis quickly closed in. Most nobles had been in the banquet hall when Verdan was killed. Tavis and I had been outside—but with Prince Cam as our witness, and the testimony of several maids and guards, we were dismissed as suspects. Melgren could not pin us.

King Tauri ordered Melgren and the Duke of Calldyr to convene a council and investigate. Soon, the chamber was thick with voices—accusations flying like arrows in the torchlit air. But when the Duke of Calldyr fixed his sharp eyes on Melgren, the room stilled.

“Why so quiet, General?” Calldyr demanded. “Not half an hour ago you were insisting we seize the murderer at once. You must have a lead.”

All eyes swung to Melgren. His jaw flexed, his wine-dark cloak shimmering in the torchlight as though it burned.
“I had, Your Grace,” he said at last, “but it turned out to be… a false lead.”

I leaned back in my chair, a faint smirk tugging at my lips before I could stop it. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. His eyes cut to mine, cold and sharp as any blade—a silent promise. He knew I understood the game he had played. A game in which Lord Verdan’s blood had been no more than a pawn’s sacrifice.

But I could not speak. If I accused him outright, his vengeance would not fall on me, but on the one person who had ruined his scheme—Violet. Melgren might not yet see the threads, but if he dug deeper, he could trace them back to her. I could never risk that. So I kept my smirk, let him stew, and held my silence.

Then the Duke of Deaconshire spoke. “I will return home at first light. My family and I are not safe here.” One by one, others echoed him, voices rising with fear and outrage.

I rose as well. “I, too, have felt an ill omen these past days. At dawn, I will return to Tyrrendor. And, General Melgren—” I let my gaze linger on him, “—I expect to be kept informed of the investigation. Duke Damian and I were good friends. I will send my condolences to his family.”

The meeting adjourned in a storm of whispers and restless footsteps.

I moved through the corridors like a shadow—until Lilith Sorrengail emerged from an alcove, her expression carved from stone, her eyes sharp as tempered steel.

“You should leave, Your Grace,” she said, voice low enough that only I could hear. “And stay away from my family.”

Her words struck deeper than any blade.

“Lilith—” I began, but she cut me down with a look, fierce and unyielding.

“Violet is still young. Ties to you will only endanger her. Tonight should prove that well enough. If you care for her—truly care—you will stay away. For her sake.”

And then she was gone, swallowed by shadow and candlelight.

I stood frozen, her words pressing against my chest until it ached. She was right. Gods, she was right. To protect Violet—my little duchess, my savior—I had to sever the fragile thread between us.

Later, in the solitude of my chamber, I told Tavis what Violet had done.

“Gods above,” he breathed, pacing. “That’s why she kept us in the garden. That’s why she brought Cam. She knew her word alone—and Dain’s—wouldn’t be enough. An eight-year-old child outwitted Melgren.” His voice brimmed with pride.

The pride twisted in me like a knife.

I rubbed my face, forcing steadiness. “Lilith also warned me again to stay away. And after this… I think she’s right. We must keep our distance. To protect her.”

Tavis stilled, understanding dawning. Slowly, he nodded. “Right. To protect her.”

A knock broke the silence. Asher stood cloaked in the doorway, tension carved across his face.

“I’ll be quick, Your Grace,” he said, handing me an envelope. “Reports I thought your faction should see. But this is the last I can give you. Melgren is livid—you’re being watched. My family can’t risk more.”

I nodded gravely. “I understand, but just one more favor. I promised Violet I would see her before I left.”

Asher hesitated, until Tavis added quietly, “We leave at dawn. She would feel betrayed if we left without saying goodbye.”

Finally, Asher inclined his head. “I’ll send a maid to fetch you. I’ll take you to her room one hour before you have to go. But this will be the last time.”

“Yes, The last time.” I murmured, the words bitter as ash. “We'll just say goodbye.”

When he left, silence weighed heavy. For Violet’s sake, it had to be farewell. A goodbye—for now.

Yet even as I tried to accept it, hope whispered stubbornly in me. That one day, when she was grown, we might meet again. That Xaden would know her. That the thread between us, though severed, might yet be rewoven.

For now, I would bow to necessity. I would say goodbye to my little savior.

Chapter Text

The corridors of Calldyr Palace were hushed in the hour before dawn, magelights guttering low. Our footsteps echoed faintly as a maid led us through the dim halls, just as Asher had promised. If I left without seeing her, Violet would be heartbroken—and gods help me, I couldn’t do that to her.

Asher was waiting outside her chamber, grim-faced but understanding. He knocked softly, then slipped inside. I heard his low murmur “Violet, sweetheart, wake up. Someone wants to say goodbye to you.”

Her eyes fluttered open, wide and hazel, finding me at once. Her hair was mussed from sleep, braid falling loose over her shoulder. When she saw me, she bolted upright. Asher retreated to the wall, giving us space. I crouched at her bedside.

“You have to go?” she whispered, her voice rough with sleep.

“Yes, little duchess. Unfortunately.”

Her small arms flung around me, warm and trembling, and for a moment my throat closed. “I will miss you,” she breathed.

“I will miss you too.” I kissed the crown of her head. “And Violet… thank you—for what you did last night. You knew, didn’t you?”

She pulled back, hazel eyes solemn. “I heard them. They're bullies. They were talking bad about you, they want to hurt you. I didn’t know they would hurt Lord Verdan, but I knew they wanted to blame you and Tavis. I couldn’t let them.”

Beside me, Asher inhaled sharply. He hadn’t realized the full truth—how his own child had outmaneuvered Melgren himself.

Tavis crouched down, taking her hands gently and kissing her knuckles. “Thank you, Violet. Truly.”

“You’re my friends,” she said simply. “I couldn’t let them do that to you.”

Tavis’s voice broke with pride. “You’re terrifyingly clever, Violet. I’m honored to call you my friend.”

“Yeah,” she whispered with a tiny grin, “but don’t tell anyone.” It became their secret joke, a spark of light in the dark.

“I won't,” Tavis said with reverent. 

Then she scrambled out of bed, dragging a bag from her little closet. “I have something for you.” She hauled it onto the mattress with solemn gravity, pulling out her treasures one by one.

“For you and Garrick,” she said to Tavis, handing him a small pouch. “Candies. Like the marbles you gave me. I was going to give you biscuits with honey too, but…” She wrinkled her nose, pulling out the biscuits flecked with green. “It’s moldy.” She tossed it toward the hearth, and somehow, the three of us laughed through the ache.

She turned to me next. “I got things for Xaden.” Into my hands, she placed a storybook—the one she’d helped translate. Then a small wooden dragon, Xaden’s name carved into its belly. A handkerchief embroidered with violets and his name in a corner. And finally, a drawing: a little boy and girl standing holding hands before the Temple of Amari, the words scrawled beneath: I hope we can be friends. —Violet.

My vision blurred.

“And this is for you, Fen,” she added, holding out another paper. A family sketched in uneven lines, a man, a woman, and a child standing together. Scrawled beneath: I hope you’ll find your wife, Fen, and live with Xaden happily ever after. —Violet.

She wasn’t just my savior. She had become my friend, the one who listened, who cared. My chest cracked open, but I held myself steady.

“I have something for you, too,” I said, pulling a wrapped bundle from beneath my pack. “For when you’re older. Do you remember the wolf pelt?”

Her brows lifted in surprise.

“I had it made into a cloak. For you.” It was simple; if I’d had more time, I would have embellished it with Riorson jewels.

Her small fingers traced the white fur reverently. “It’s beautiful.”

I draped it over her shoulders. It hung too long on her still-growing frame, but the silver of her hair gleamed against the pale fur. Gods, I wanted to see her wear it when she was grown. I prayed I’d have the chance. My eyes stung despite myself, and when she looked up, her gaze caught the shine of tears.

“Why are you crying?” she whispered, troubled. Then her lips quivered. “We’re not going to see each other again, are we?”

The weight of it nearly broke me. I forced a smile that felt hollow. “Not for a very long time, little duchess. It’s not safe.”

Her chin trembled, but she nodded, brave in the way only Violet could be. Then she flung herself into my arms, clutching me tightly, whispering fierce as a vow into my chest. “Don’t let them bully you. I won’t be there to save you.”

I bent my head, voice rough. “I won’t. This is only goodbye—for now. I promise, we’ll see each other again. I’ll always remember you, Violet. My little duchess.”

“And I’ll always remember you.” Her voice cracked, small and fragile. “I’ll tell them… I have a friend who lives near the Temple of Amari.”

I huffed a broken laugh. To her, I wasn’t a duke, not a commander, not a man conspiring to fracture alliances. To her, I was just Fen, her friend who lived near the Temple of Amari. And I had never been prouder of any title.

We held each other one last time, searing the moment into memory.

“Take care, Violet, my little duchess,” I whispered.

And then—I let go.

Asher sat at her bedside, resting a steadying hand on her shoulder as she wept. Tavis lingered, his face raw with grief, before he followed me into the corridor.

And there—waiting in shadow—stood Lilith Sorrengail.

Her eyes burned like tempered steel. “I will let this pass—for my daughter. But hear me, Your Grace. There will not be a next time.”

She bowed stiffly. I forced the words past my throat. “Take care of her, Lilith.”

We left Calldyr as the sun began to rise, its light too bright for the hollow in my chest.

Hours later, camped by the lake, I sat on a rock staring into the rippling water. Dawn’s pale fire shimmered across its surface as my fists pressed against my thighs.

“What a fucking heartbreak,” I muttered.

I had found a true friendship with an eight year old. And I had been forced to break it.

When we returned to Aretia, I was exhausted, hollow with heartbreak—but before anything else, I needed to see my son.

I found Xaden in the training yard, sparring with his instructor while Garrick and Bodhi looked on. The moment he spotted me, he dropped his stance and ran. As tall as he’s grown, he’s still my boy, and I lifted him easily into my arms.

“I missed you so much,” I whispered against his hair.

“I missed you too, Dad!” he said, his voice bright, though threaded with something heavier.

“Tell me everything I missed,” I asked as we walked toward my chambers.

He did. Every detail of his days, his training, the pranks with Garrick, the meals he liked and didn’t—but never once did he speak of his mother. His tone faltered around her absence, as though silence could hold back the ache. I knew better. He was hurting. Just… getting by. I only hoped he wouldn’t wait for her anymore. That together, we could move on.

As much as I wanted to search for Talia, I owed her freedom. Violet’s words lingered with me—maybe the reason it still hurt so deeply was because I truly loved her.

Xaden sprawled across my bed, still chattering away as I slipped into the bathing chamber for a quick wash. His voice carried on, light and animated, and somehow the ache of leaving Violet dulled beneath his stories of adventures and mischief.

But when I stepped out again, towel around my shoulders, the silence struck me.

“Xaden?” I called softly. “Why did you stop?”

No answer.

I hurried into my clothes and emerged, only to find him perched on the edge of the bed, his small frame bowed, his gaze fixed on something in his hands.

Violet’s drawing.

The one she had given me—the one scrawled with the childish wish that I would find Talia and live happily ever after with Xaden.

It must have slipped from my jacket pocket. He didn’t even glance up, just stared at the paper as if it held the whole world.

I smiled sat beside him. “Oh. You saw that. Nice drawing, isn’t it?”

“Who gave this to you?” His voice was quiet, guarded.

“I met a friend in Calldyr. She’s eight years old, pretty and brilliant. I… might’ve told her a bit of my predicament.”

He looked up, frowning. “Are you going to find Mom—I mean, her?” His tone cracked with pain.

“Do you want me to?” I asked. Gods, if he’d said yes, I would have.

“No.” His answer came fast.

I sighed. “I have to tell you this, Xaden. She left me. Not you. Your mom—”

He shook his head. “I heard Suri and the others talking. About the contract.”

I pulled him into my arms. “I know what it looks like. But listen to me—your mother loves you. That much, I’m certain of.”

“I know,” he whispered. “But… not enough to stay.”

And my heart broke again for my son.

I remembered Violet’s words—to tell my wife I loved her every day. Talia was gone, but Xaden was still here. So I did.

“I love you,” I whispered, pressing a kiss into his dark curls.

He blinked up at me, startled at first, unaccustomed to hearing those words from my mouth. But that would change. It had to.

“I love you too, Dad,” he murmured, the words soft but certain.

I picked up my pack and placed Violet’s bundle into his hands: the storybook she’d carefully translated, the small wooden dragon with his name carved in its belly, the embroidered handkerchief, and the drawing—two children holding hands before the Temple of Amari.

Xaden turned the pages slowly, brow furrowed. “Who gave me these?”

“My friend. The same girl who gave me that drawing,” I said softly. “Violet Sorrengail. She’s only eight, but she’s braver and sharper than most grown men. I wanted you to meet her.”

His eyes lit with curiosity. “Violet,” he repeated, tasting the name as he stare at the drawing she gave him. “She wants to be my friend?”

I nod, “Yes, i told her you'd play tea with her, but you need to wear a flower crown first.”

Xaden smiled “When do I get to meet her?”

My chest tightened. “Not soon. Not for a long while.”

“Why not?” His tone sharpened, as though he’d already decided he wanted to see this girl who had outwitted Navarre’s general.

“Because it isn’t safe. Remember what I told you about the bad people in Calldyr—those who’d sacrifice others for their own gain?”

He nodded. “Yes. You said King Tauri and his minions. Is Violet one of them?”

“No.” My voice was firm. “Her mother is. But not her. She’s from there, yes—but she isn’t with them.” I faltered, unable to admit that one day, she might be.

“How do you know?” Xaden pressed, still studying her gifts.

“Because I knew her. She doesn’t like bullies. Last night, she saved my life. She saved Tavis, too.”

I told him everything—the tree where we first met, how she said I looked sad, how fast she read, how she shattered Melgren’s glass with a single marble. Xaden laughed at that, his shoulders easing. I told him how she pinched Tavis’s cheeks, and his grin widened.

“I want to be her friend too,” he said, clutching the drawing.

“She would love that,” I assured him.

In the weeks that followed, he kept asking about her. What she looked like. What she said. Not just to me, but to Tavis too. He asked when she would come to Aretia.

But as the months passed, her name left his lips less often. Training consumed him. Still, I knew she lingered in his thoughts—I saw it when he stared too long at the little dragon, when he raged at Garrick for stealing the handkerchief as a prank.

One day, he asked quietly, “What if Violet changes her mind? What if she decides she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore—because she’s already friends with the princes of Navarre?”

I reassured him, though doubt gnawed at me. Because in truth, I hoped as desperately as he did that Violet hadn’t forgotten us.

A few years passed, and Violet became the ghost of a promise I no longer knew how to keep for Xaden. From time to time, he still asked about her, even saying he couldn’t wait to turn twenty so he could enter Basgiath and finally meet her.

Guided by Asher’s reports, I buried myself in building our faction—recruiting, strategizing, shaping Xaden into the leader he would need to become. In case our cause outlived me.

When hope of swaying more Navarrians faded, I turned outward—to Poromiel. In Cordyn, I met Viscount Tecarus, heir to the throne. His estate was as opulent as it was suffocating—marble floors polished to mirrors, gilded masks displayed like trophies, cages of exotic birds singing in sorrow.

Over wine, he paraded his “collections.” Trinkets, jewels, relics of old battles… and people. Servants chosen not for skill but for beauty, for strangeness, for how they pleased his eye. Later, as he lifted his gaze toward the stars, he spoke idly of how he loved acquiring rare things. Pretty things. Things no one else could claim.

And gods help me—I thought of Violet.

A little girl with silver tipped hair and hazel eyes, too clever for her years. Brave enough to outwit Melgren. Precious. Unique. If Tecarus ever saw her, he would not see a child to be protected. He would see a jewel to be owned.

The thought chilled me.

That night, I understood with certainty, I could never let myself be entangled with Violet again, not when the allies I now keep would want to keep her. Her world was already dangerous enough—I could not drag her deeper into mine.

The promise I once clung to unraveled in my hands, leaving only the ache of knowing I would break it.

And once again, my heart broke.

***

A year later, we learned the truth of the luminaries—their power, their rarity—and that the Viscount himself possessed one. It changed everything. Negotiations with him deepened, and for the first time since we had known him, his true colors showed.

The revelation came like a blade hidden in silk: he proposed an arranged marriage between Xaden and his niece, Catriona.

I shouldn’t have let him meet Xaden.

My stomach turned. My mind rebelled. I excused myself under the pretense of feeling unwell, but the truth was simpler, harsher—I could not bear to hear it said aloud again. Because in my heart, Violet was the only future worthy of my son. If I allowed this bargain to be sealed, I would be forcing myself to bury the dream I had quietly prayed for.

I watched from a distance as Xaden and Catriona met—two teenagers, fifteen and fourteen. She smiled with practiced sweetness; he stood cold as ice.

“She’s beautiful,” Tavis murmured.

“But she’s not her,” I said flatly.

He gave me a sidelong look and nodded. “Yeah. She’s not Violet.”

“Violet would be thirteen now,” I said pensively. “I wonder what she looks like… if she’s still the same fierce little girl she once was.”

That night, I found Xaden in my chamber at Cordyn, sitting at the desk with Violet’s crumpled drawing in his hands. The ink was fading, the edges worn thin, but he had kept it all these years.

I leaned against the doorway. “Xaden.”

He looked up, frustration etched sharp across his young face.
“She’s nosy. I don’t like her,” he muttered.

“I know,” I said gently. “But you could at least try to be kind. Maybe even be friends with her?”

He scoffed, folding the paper tighter between his fingers. “I really don’t like her.”

“Violet doesn’t like bullies, you know,” I said, and that caught him. His frown deepened, his jaw tight. He folded the drawing carefully and slipped it back into his pocket.

“I’m not bullying her,” he sighed. “Fine. I’ll… pretend to be friends with her.”

“Maybe you two could go for walks. Have tea together,” I suggested, though my own words tasted bitter. I hated the contract, hated the bargain I had signed, but Catriona was an ally—one we couldn’t afford to dismiss.

Xaden shook his head and interrupted me. “I want to go home.”

I sighed, recognizing the conviction in his tone. He didn’t like her—he never would. “Alright. We can go home.”

He stood to leave, but I stopped him with the words Violet had once told me to never withhold. “I love you.”

He paused, looking back at me. “I love you too, Dad. I’ll try to be friends with Cat, but I’m telling you now—I don’t like her.” His voice was steady, certain. Then he walked out, and the door closed softly behind him.

I sank back into my chair with another sigh. The next morning, I told the Viscount we were returning to Aretia—that I would consider his offer.

For months, I delayed. I avoided his summons, sidestepped every demand, refused to answer outright. But then came the news—whispers that Melgren and certain generals had caught wind of my connection to Poromiel’s heir. They had no proof, but suspicion was sharpening its blade.

And I needed Xaden safe.

The Viscount, ever the collector, saw his opening. He promised protection, yes, but more than that—belonging. He gave Xaden a permanent chamber in his house, spoke to him like kin instead of ally. He knew exactly what I needed: a place for my son, if the worst came to pass. And he used it.

Somehow, I think Xaden knew. His dark eyes, sharp and perceptive, watched me as though he already understood the decision tightening around my throat, though he said nothing.

That day, Tavis and I fought. He swore there had to be another way, that we could go back to the drawing board, rethink everything, buy more time. But I kept repeating the same words.

“I have no choice.”

Navarre’s noose was tightening. And all I could see was my son—my son who had already lost too much.

I needed him safe.

When word came that King Tauri would proclaim me a traitor to his inner circle, I signed the contract.

As the ink dried, Tavis left me in silence, disappointment etched into every line of his face. I opened my office door and found Xaden there, glaring—not at me, but at the paper that had just sealed his future. In his fist he clutched the handkerchief Violet had embroidered for him, the one he’d guarded all these years. His knuckles whitened around it… and then, without a word, he turned and ran.

I wanted to call after him. To tell him I didn’t want this either, that I had no choice. I leaned to the wall at the thought of my son ran from me, my dearest friend Tavis turned his back on me, and the hope I once held—that Violet might one day stand beside Xaden—died in my chest.

And my heart broke once more.

***

Two weeks had passed since Tavis had begun speaking to me again—only casually, only about business. The wound between us from the moment I signed the marriage agreement still lingered, raw and unhealed. Xaden hadn’t spoken to me at all.

Especially now, with Catriona here. One of the clauses required her to spend a week each month with Xaden, and this time she had traveled to Aretia. She was meant to stay only a week, but my guards reported riders near our borders, watching Tyrrendor too closely. It wasn’t safe to send her back yet.

Xaden and Catriona were oil and water. He refused to be alone with her, while she trailed him everywhere. Her presence was hard for all of us to stomach, she was aloof and demands to be served at all times, I remembered Violet in Calldyr—the way princes and nobles alike flocked to her side. But with Catriona… it was the opposite. Xaden, Bodhi, Garrick, even little Liam—the kindest of them all, scattered like startled birds when she entered a room. I had once thought all girls her age were endearing, but Catriona was proof I’d been wrong. She was nothing like Violet.

I sat in my office, nursing a glass of whiskey as I sifted through reports of rider sightings near the border, when Tavis burst through the door. I froze this was the first time he greets me with a grin in months.

He carried a parchment as though it were treasure. “Look,” he said, placing it before me. it was an article for all nobles, Navarre's lists of top scholars. At last, a name I had been waiting for appeared. A sketch accompanied the report—a likeness of her at thirteen years old. 

Violet Sorrengail.

I took the sketch in silence. She looked so much the same as the little girl I remembered—silver hair, bright eyes—yet taller now, sharper, her features lengthened into those of a young woman.

“She scored the highest,” Tavis said with a grin. “Almost perfect. That’s why it made the noble news. Says she’ll begin training as a scribe under her father.” He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the lamplight.

“She looks good,” he added more softly. “Healthy.”

My throat tightened as I traced her image with my eyes. “I wonder if she’s still hurting.”

“That’s the thing,” Tavis murmured, his voice gentling. “If she is, no one would ever know. She hides it too well—always has.”

I gave him a sidelong look, my mouth twitching. “You’ve been keeping tabs on her, haven’t you? Reading the articles?”

He smirked, unashamed. “I have. And so have you.”

I chuckled low, because it was true. “Lilith’s done a fine job keeping her out of the spotlight. But Violet’s… she’s a beacon. One way or another, we were bound to find her.”

My chest ached as I stared at the drawing again, longing for the girl it captured. “No one can hide her light.”

Tavis lifted his glass. “To Violet. Brightest of them all.”

I raised mine, my voice rough. “To Violet. My little duchess.”

The toast had barely passed my lips when the doors slammed open.

Xaden stormed in, fury radiating off him, Garrick and Bodhi pale and anxious at his back.

“I want her out of my house!” he roared.

“Catriona?” I asked carefully.

“Who else?” His voice cracked with rage.

“What happened?”

“She went through my things. She threw them away!”

Tavis straightened. “What things?”

Garrick stepped forward, hesitant. “She took Violet’s gifts.”

The words struck like steel. My vision narrowed, heart pounding. No wonder Xaden was this furious. Everyone knew those gifts were untouchable—after the last time Garrick pranked him and hid the handkerchief, Xaden nearly tore the house apart.

Catriona should have known better. As a noble, she had to know better. Touching his things—especially Violet’s gifts to him—wasn’t just careless. It was disrespect.

I set my glass down hard on the desk, jaw tight, and went to find her.

I caught Catriona strolling through the gardens as though nothing had happened, her skirts whispering against the gravel path, laughter spilling with her maids.

“Catriona, may I speak with you?” My voice cut sharper than I intended.

She turned with a beaming smile. “Of course, Father.”

My stomach churned. Father. The word curdled. “Don’t call me that.”

Her smile faltered, but she inclined her head.

“Xaden says you stole his things,” I said evenly, though my hands curled into fists.

She folded her arms with a huff. “I did. I don’t think he should keep trinkets some girl named Violet gave him. He’s betrothed—to me. How could I not be offended?”

Spoken as though she had rights to my son’s soul.

Talia had once stood in the same place she did, bound by duty, but she never acted with such arrogance.

Catriona was wrong. Those weren’t things. Violet’s gifts weren’t scraps or baubles—they were lifelines. Kindness stitched into cloth, hope scrawled in ink. A thread of light my son had clung to when the world gave him none.

“You are not his betrothed,” I said, forcing calm I barely felt. “Not yet. The contract takes effect when you turn twenty. Even so—those gifts are his treasures.”

“Treasures?” she scoffed. “That drawing was nothing but childish sticks. And the handkerchief? Sloppy. A practice piece. I could make one far more beautiful for him.”

The air went still. My pulse roared in my ears. How dare she. She knew nothing—nothing of the thought behind those stitches, the heart poured into that drawing. She didn’t care for my son, not truly. To her, he was a prize. To Violet, he had been a boy worth seeing.

“Where are they?” My voice was steel.

“In the trash, where they belong.” She smirked.

I saw red. My control shattered.

“Out.” The word ripped from me like a snarl. My voice carried across the garden, sharp enough to slice stone. “I want you out of my house. Now. You are no guest here—you are a thief. I’ll write to your uncle myself. You will not set foot in Aretia again until you understand the weight of what you’ve done.”

Her mouth opened in shock, but I had already turned, summoning Poromiel attendants with a flick of my hand. “Pack her things. The guards will escort her to the gates.”

Then I called every servant in Aretia to scour the refuse until Violet’s gifts were found—because I would not let my son’s light be dimmed by her cruelty.

When I returned to my office, Tavis sat on the couch with the article open, showing Violet’s likeness to Xaden, Bodhi, and Garrick. For the first time, my son was seeing her face—not a story, not a promise, but proof she existed.

Xaden’s jaw clenched as he stared at the sketch, unblinking. Bodhi and Garrick leaned closer, awe in their expressions.

“So she’s real?” Garrick asked, glancing at Tavis.

“Of course,” Tavis said with a quiet smile. “I told you she was smart, she scored highest on an exam.”

“She’s really pretty. What’s her name again?” Bodhi added.

Without a word, Xaden took the sketch from Tavis, holding it as though it might vanish. His voice was low, steady—but it trembled with something deeper. “Her name is Violet Sorrengail.”

And gods help me, my chest cracked at the sight of him, because I knew this paper might be all he ever had of her, if could not find the gifts.

“I told Catriona to pack her bags,” I said softly. “She’ll leave in the morning. She won’t set foot in Aretia until...”

Xaden finally looked up at me, his eyes dark, grief burning behind them. “Just in Aretia?”

“I want her gone. Not just from this house or Aretia. From my life.”

“You know that isn’t possible…” I tried, my voice weak.

“Because you sold me to Poromiel.”

The words weren’t shouted—they were spoken like a death sentence. And then he walked out, Violet’s sketch pressed against his chest, without looking back. Bodhi and Garrick trailed after him in silence.

Tavis touched my shoulder gently. “He’ll come around.”

“I hope so,” I muttered, though I wasn’t sure if I believed it.

***

Years later, the truth of our faction could no longer be hidden. I was branded a traitor to Navarre, my name spoken with venom, my people condemned as rebels. Navarre continued to lie to its own, cowards protecting themselves at the expense of all. They should never blame me for seeking peace for my people.

Before we were cornered by Tauri’s forces, I left Xaden in Cordyn with the Viscount, every precaution in place should we be captured. I had to leave him there to fight. He was furious—furious at being left behind, furious that I was returning to Tyrrendor where he knew I’d be hunted. He demanded to fight at my side or else for me to abandon the fight I had begun.

But I could not. I had to do this for the future—his, Violet’s, my people’s. Xaden was too young to understand that I fought so that he would never have to bear the brand of “traitor” for fighting the real enemy. For me to fight, he needed to be safe. He begged me, even wept, asking me to stay.

And still—I left him. In doing so, I broke both our hearts.

When I returned to Aretia, battlefield after battlefield awaited us. We were driven into caves for safety. And then, on one of those blood-soaked fields, fate brought me face-to-face with Brennan Sorrengail.

He was no longer the boy I had once spoken to for Violet’s sake—he had grown into a dragon rider, fierce and unyielding. Steel rang as our blades met, but every strike I delivered was measured. Hurting him meant hurting Violet, and I could not wound her through her brother. From the way Brennan moved, I knew he felt the same.

“How is Violet?” I asked.

“Don’t talk about her!” he shouted, fury twisting his voice.

“She is my friend,” I reminded him.

“You manipulated her into thinking that. You’re a traitor!”

Our swords clashed again, sparks flying.

“If you think I’m a traitor,” I pressed, “then tell me what makes me one?”

“You were in league with Poromiel. You let those gryphons into Navarre—”

“You truly believe Poromiel is the enemy?” I cut in, my voice sharp. “Come on, Brennan. You were always smarter than that.”

His strikes faltered. Hope sparked in my chest. He was thinking.

“You had doubts, didn’t you?” I asked.

He growled but did not deny it.

“Then why didn’t you ask your parents? Or rather—why didn’t they tell you?”

Realization flickered across his face, but before either of us could speak further, a horde of Venin descended. “Dark Wielders!” Tavis shouted.

The battlefield stilled as riders turned toward the new threat. One Venin lunged at Brennan. I killed it, its stolen dagger falling at his feet. Brennan paled at the sight, the truth dawning in his eyes.

“These are the real threat to the continent,” I told him, kicking another back.

“I…I don’t understand…” he whispered.

“Venin are real, Brennan.” I pressed a dagger into his hand. He hesitated, sensing the magic within the blade, then used it to kill one himself. The shock in his eyes was undeniable.

“What are you doing, Sorrengail?!” his captain bellowed.

“They’re Venin—we have to fight them!” Brennan shouted back.

The captain started to argue, but a Venin struck, draining a lieutenant and his dragon before their horrified eyes. The others hesitated only a moment before nodding to Brennan. I ordered Tavis to arm them with daggers. The captain abandoned them.

“Coward!” I roared after him, then turned back to the fight.

Side by side, Brennan and I carved through the Venin. He fought like only a Sorrengail could—fearless, relentless. For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine: perhaps one day I could bring his family to our side. Perhaps Lilith and Asher would follow.

When the last Venin fell, we regrouped in the caves. We shared food, speaking truths Navarre had denied them—the Venin were real. Their blood stained our jackets, undeniable proof. Tauri and Melgren could no longer hide this from the riders who had seen it firsthand.

Later, Tavis and I spoke with Brennan privately. I had to ask. “How is Violet?”

Brennan would not meet my eyes. “She’s fine.”

“Still sick?” Tavis asked. He nodded.

“Has she…has she asked about me? About us?” The question had haunted me since we left. I wondered what Lilith had told her about me, about her friend who once lived near the Temple of Amari. Had she kept asking when she could visit me and Xaden, the way Xaden still asked about her?

Brennan shook his head slowly, sorrow shadowing his face.

“They made her forget about you,” he said.

Those words gutted me.

Once more, the fragile hope I had clung to—that Violet still remembered, that somewhere deep inside she carried the memory of our friendship—shattered like glass.

And my heart broke all over again.

That night, while the riders and my faction slept in the cave, I sat on a fallen log just outside the firelight with Tavis. A flask passed between us, its burn doing little to dull the ache in my chest. Violet had forgotten us—forgotten me. The weight of that truth was heavier than any battle I’d fought.

We traded stories in hushed voices, mourning aloud a friendship that still lived in our minds but no longer existed in hers.

“Remember when she stood on a chair and pinched my cheeks?” Tavis said with a broken smile.

“Yeah, you could not believe that she was translating a storybook,” I countered teasingly.

“Oh come on she is eight,” he said with a scoff.

“As if you didn't have a clue the first day we met her on that tree, she was reading big hardbound book,” I added, a laugh catching in my throat before it dissolved into silence.

Footsteps crunched on gravel, and Brennan emerged from the shadows. His face was unreadable, but his eyes told me he’d heard more than enough. I offered him the flask. He took it without a word, drinking deep before he finally spoke.

“You must think badly of my parents,” he said quietly, “for what they did to Violet’s memories.”

I scoffed, bitterness rough in my throat. “Lilith never liked me one bit but I didn't expect her to erase Violet's memories.”

Brennan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “They didn’t have a choice.”

He lifted his gaze to the treeline, voice softening as he began. “As soon as you left, Violet asked for you. She cried for days. Even when we moved to Basgiath, she never stopped asking when she could visit Aretia. She wanted to see the Temple of Amari, to meet Xaden and Garrick. She kept asking…and then one day she stopped. We thought she moved on.”

He paused, staring at the bark of a tree as though it held the memory.

“We didn't now she’d been studying maps,” he continued. “Trying to figure out how to get to Tyrrendor. And then—one night—Mira found her bed empty. She packed her things and left Basgiath. Security was thin because of the change in command. She slipped out the gates and into the forest, almost as far as the hatching grounds. We scoured Basgiath for her, but the dragons found her first.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “My mother’s dragon, to be exact. Violet was asleep, curled up with the hatchlings. My mother carried her out herself. When she woke…” Brennan’s voice broke, “she cried and cried. Nothing we said could comfort her. Finally, my parents decided she couldn’t go on that way. That she would keep putting herself in danger as long as she remembered you.”

His hand tightened around the flask. “So they asked Major Mitchel. His signet doesn’t just erase events from someone memories—it erases people. Entirely. She forgot you ever met, she might know your name because you are the Duke of Tyrrendor but she would not remember your face.”

The words hit me like a blade between the ribs. I pressed a hand to my chest, as though I could ease the physical pain tearing through me. Part of me understood—Violet had almost been lost. If she hadn’t been made to forget, she might have tried again. Again and again until she was killed.

But knowing it was done with reason didn’t dull the agony.

“So if we see her now,” Tavis asked hoarsely, “she wouldn’t even recognize us?”

Brennan only nodded.

Tavis’s face crumpled. He handed me the flask back, his shoulders shaking as he stumbled toward the cave, sobbing openly.

I stayed on the log a while longer, Brennan silent beside me, the weight of everything pressing down until I finally rose and followed. I lay down in the dark, but sleep never came.

I was too disappointed in our circumstances. Too gutted.

Too broken.

Morning broke gray and heavy over the camp, a hush clinging to the mist like a warning. We were still hollowed out from the night before—Brennan’s confession about Violet had left all of us shaken. I was still nursing the ache when the warning cry went up.

Navarre.

They came hard and fast, riders against riders, the clash of steel and wings tearing through the stillness. There was no time to think, only fight.

The other riders recognized Brennan almost instantly, their jeers cutting through the din.

“A Sorrengail fighting with traitors!” one spat.

“Switch sides while you still can!” another shouted.

Brennan didn’t answer. He just fought.

Then they surrounded him. I saw it happen as though through water—the glint of a blade, a blur of motion, the wet sound of steel sinking into flesh. Brennan staggered, eyes wide, blood blooming dark against his leathers before he collapsed.

My heart sank like a stone. “Brennan!” I shouted, surging toward him.

Two of the riders froze, their faces paling as they saw the blood pooling beneath him. “Fuck! General Sorrengail will kill us!” one hissed.

The other smirked, cold and calculating. “We didn’t kill Brennan. Fen Riorson did.”

And just like that, I understood. Their plan was already in motion—to pin Brennan’s death on me.

Tavis lunged at them with a roar, cutting through their ranks, while Naolin—one of Brennan’s own squadmates—dropped to his knees beside me. His hands glowed faintly as he pressed them to Brennan’s wound.

“He’s long gone,” I said, voice raw.

“No. Not yet,” Naolin ground out through clenched teeth.

I wasn’t a rider; I didn’t understand what he was doing, only that it cost him something—power poured from him like water from a broken vessel. I wanted to stay. I wanted to see Brennan breathe again. But more riders were escaping. If I didn’t move, they’d regroup.

I eased Brennan’s head into Naolin’s lap, my fingers lingering for a heartbeat, and rose. “Hold him,” I said, and turned back into the fight.

When the last of Navarre’s forces finally retreated, the air was thick with blood and ash. I stumbled back toward where I’d left them and froze.

Brennan was breathing—shallow, but breathing. Naolin, however, lay slumped beside him, his skin gray, his chest still.

My throat closed. Naolin had given everything to pull Brennan back from the brink.

I barked orders through the haze of grief. “Suri. Felix. Take him to Aretia. Hide. Pretend you’re dead. We can’t protect him if they know he’s alive.”

They nodded, already moving.

We had prepared for this moment, mapped every contingency, every escape. We’d sworn to protect our children—even if it meant dividing ourselves, even if it meant dying in the dark to buy them time.

I split the faction. One group, with Suri and Felix, to stay hidden in Tyrrendor, to live in shadows and keep the children safe. The other, with me and Tavis, to keep fighting, to draw the fire.

A week passed. Our numbers thinned. Navarre believed Brennan had died by my hand. Lilith would lead the hunt now. She had told me once, her voice cold as steel “I’ll let it pass for my daughter, but there will be no next time.”

There would be no mercy when she came for me.

I told Tavis and the others to leave, but they refused, stubborn to the end. Yet even as I prepared myself for what was coming, one wound remained untended, one ache too deep to ignore. I want to see my children.

I could not go to Poromiel to see Xaden. But I could slip into Basgiath, I could see Violet.

Just once, before the end.

***

Tavis came with me. We rode through the forest on restless horses, the branches clawing at our cloaks as if to drag us back. Every hoofbeat was a drum of dread and yearning, the knot in my chest tightening with every mile we closed on Basgiath.

By the time we reached the town near the the college, we were ghosts—hoods low, names buried, moving from alley to alley. We stayed there, hidden, until we found an opening. Basgiath, we learned, opened its kitchens to the homeless on Saturdays, offering food as a gesture of goodwill.

It was our chance.

We dressed as beggars—ash smeared across our faces, ragged cloaks thrown over our leathers—and slipped in with the others. The guards barely spared us a glance as we were herded into the kitchen. The food was plain but hot, and after months of scraps it tasted like a feast. Tavis and I ate in silence, bowls emptied in seconds, the hunger clawing at us enough that we risked a second serving.

We kept our heads bowed, but our eyes never stopped scanning—searching for a flash of silver hair, a familiar shape in the crowd, anything that could be her.

But no Violet.

When the meal ended, we murmured thanks, then shuffled toward the exit with the rest. My hope had already begun to sink when—there, across the courtyard—a glint of silver stopped me cold.

Violet.

She stood in the open air, too far for words, but the sight of her hollowed my chest. Silver hair catching the light, tears cutting fresh lines down her cheeks. Mira walked beside her, close enough to steady her, both of them bowed beneath grief. They spoke briefly, then turned toward the main building.

And then—her eyes found mine.

For one breathless instant, hope surged. I searched her face for the girl I had carried in my heart—the little duchess with the braid falling loose, the smirk of triumph when she’d knocked a marble into a wineglass, the small hands pressing gifts into mine.

But there was nothing.

No recognition. No flicker of warmth. Only cold distance.

Her gaze slid past me as though I were no one. Worse—as though I were someone else entirely: Fen Riorson, traitor, murderer, the man who had taken her brother from her. Not Fen, the boy she once saved. Not the friend she had once wanted to see happy with his family.

The memories crashed over me sharp and relentless—her laughter as she tossed moldy bread into the hearth, her stubborn little chin lifted when she swore she would protect me and Tavis, the faint weight of her arms around my neck when she whispered goodbye.

I had carried those moments like treasures. And now they cut me to pieces.

My throat burned. My chest hollowed. When I turned away, it was not only surrender I walked toward, but the burial of the last fragile hope I had carried all these years.

She no longer remembered me.

But I would never forget her.

A week after slipping into Basgiath, Tavis and I remained hidden in a small inn on the outskirts of town. Word had reached us that our comrades had been captured. Search parties were combing the region, so we stayed low, waiting. I lingered near a bookstore where I thought she might go. It was foolish hope, but it was all I had left.

Another week passed.

That afternoon we sat outside the shop disguised as beggars. Tavis handed me a paper bag of our food; an apple rolled free, tumbling across the cobblestones. I glared at him, but he only shrugged.

Then a cloaked figure stooped to pick it up.

When she straightened, the world stopped.

It was her.

Violet. Thirteen now, taller, sharper—the child I had known tempered into someone fiercer, though her eyes were swollen from crying. She still carried the aura of a duchess, even in a simple cloak.

She approached, holding out the apple with a small smile. “You dropped this,” she said softly.

I stared, stunned. Tavis was no better.

Violet tilted her head, studying us, then signed something with her hands—quick, fluid. Of course she knew sign language. She must have thought we were mute.

“You dropped this. Do you need help?” she signed.

My throat tightened. Good thing I still remembered the language. I shook my head quickly. “Uhmm…no, thank you, young lady,” I managed.

She blinked in surprise at my voice. “Oh! I’m sorry, I thought you were—”

“It's fine, no worries,” I reassured her.

A group of boys in cloaks called from across the street. “Violet, let’s go!” one of them shouted.

I caught a glimpse of a familiar sandy hair, arrogant face under a hood—Prince Halden. I turned slightly so he wouldn’t see me. Another boy’s voice drifted over, dripping disdain “Violet, stop talking to mute beggars. Who knows what diseases they carry.”

Violet’s cheeks flamed. “Alic, you pigface—say sorry!” she snapped.

Tavis and I huffed a quiet laugh at her anger. She hasn't change, she might not recognize us but she would defend Tavis and I from bullies.

“I don’t want to,” Prince Alic muttered smugly.

Violet turned back to us, frustration tightening her mouth. We both scrambled to smooth our faces.

“I’m so sorry about my friends. That one is a jerk,” she said with grimace.

“Then you need new friends, young lady. You don’t need to spend time with jerks like him,” I replied gently.

She sighed, glancing down. “I don’t have other friends,” she murmured.

My heart ached. I wanted to tell her, I am your friend. If you can find your way to Tyrrendor, find your brother, he is still alive, find Xaden, be his friend. I would die a happy man knowing you both have each other.

But of course, I said nothing. She didn’t even recognize Tavis or me. It would only confuse her. I cursed myself in silence. I hadn’t prepared for this moment, hadn’t thought of a single word that might reach her. A clue. A sign. Anything.

“Violet, we are going to be late,” Prince Halden called again.

Violet groaned, irritation flashing across her face. “I have to go… If you need help, Basgiath opens its kitchens on Saturdays. We—they give out food.”

Tavis and I nodded in unison. “Thank you,” we said.

She smiled once more, turning back to her companions. And I felt the moment slipping like sand through my fingers. I wanted to stop time—to tell her everything. To tell her I didn’t see her only as a friend but as a daughter of my heart, one who was meant to stand beside Xaden. To remind her of the promise she once made: that she would reign him in, be the anchor he deserved. If only she could remember. If only she could call me father.

“Take care, little duchess,” I murmured before I could stop myself.

Her head snapped back, confusion flickering in her eyes.

My pulse thundered. Tavis’s hand closed around my arm, dragging me away. “We should go,” he hissed.

But as we slipped into the alley’s shadows, I heard her whisper, puzzled and soft as a memory breaking the surface “Little…duchess?”

***

A little over three days after Violet picked up the apple, Tavis and I were caught in the marketplace. Lilith herself led the hunt—she’d found us buying fruit. We fought, of course; two against a garrison is a fool’s business, and numbers told the tale. They pinned me to the cobbles, face to the earth. Her breath was close, honed and cold.

“Remember what I told you when you left Calldyr?” she whispered.

I managed a smirk. “You said you wouldn’t let me get away next time.”

“You killed my son,” she said, every word a stone. “And you were lurking near my daughter.”

“I only wanted to see my friend,” I said. The words caught in my chest; the air tasted tight and small. She hauled me up. “Stay away from my daughter, Fen. I will capture you for Brennan. But go near Violet again and I will kill you in an instant.”

They threw us into the dungeons bound and mute. When they slammed the cell door, Lilith stood there, the map of grief and iron on her face. She leaned close, voice flat as a blade: “Violet doesn’t remember you. She knows you as her brother’s murderer.” Then she left.

I kicked the bars until my foot stung.

Hours later Tavis was shoved into my cell, bruised and breathing like me. “You okay?” I asked.

He nodded. “You?”

“Fine.” The answer felt like a lie we both accepted.

A day passed with no interrogation—like the magistrates had already decided our guilt without ceremony. “We’re going to die, aren’t we?” Tavis asked.

I only nodded. I had folded away parts of myself that could be spared and made a quiet, uneasy peace with what was coming.

The next day they transferred us to Calldyr. In the new cells we found our comrades—hollows of men who shared the same looks, the same reserve. We exchanged brief, knowing glances.

That night voices carried through stone. Melgren’s voice, gravel and demand, argued for spectacle: make them watch. “We have the children,” someone said, and curses cracked from Tavis and me. Boots scraped; a muffled jeer. They wanted a reaction. We snarled until our throats were raw. “They’re fucking cruel,” Tavis spat.

Then, unexpectedly, Lilith’s voice—low, decisive—cut through the clamor. “Enough. No one will touch the children. They are under my protection.”

We breathed. For the first time in hours there was a ragged relief. But the prisoners’ comfort was thin. Why were the children here? Why was Xaden—who should have been safe in Cordyn—among them? The questions clenched like fists in my stomach.

Melgren kept pushing. He wanted the children brought out to witness. Lilith fought, harder than I expected. “You’re too soft, Lilith,” Melgren sneered. “You don’t have a child—your opinion means nothing.” Lilith’s reply was fiercer than I’d imagined possible. They left, and the corridor hummed with the echoes of their fight.

Later, she came to the bars of our cell. For a rare moment her armor of grief softened. “I did what I could,” she said, resting a hand on the iron where I could see it. Words failed me, so I said the only thing I had: “Thank you.” She turned to go, and I asked, “When?”

She paused. “The day after tomorrow,” she said, and left.

We cried that night. We lay in the thin dark and listened to our breathing, the bone-deep kind that counts out the hours until something happens. The day came.

They marched us into the square. The city air tasted metallic; the crowd smelled of sweat and fear. I scanned for Violet like a man hunting a ghost. There—at the fringe—pressed to Lilith’s side. Her braid was the same, the face still far too young for the cruelty around her. Tears tracked down her cheeks.

Hope slammed into me so hard it felt like a blow. I wanted to call her name, to shout that Brennan lived, that he’d been saved, that she could run to Aretia with Xaden and be safe. I wanted to tell her everything and trust her with it all.

I let the words drown. I could not risk dragging her mind into this blood—couldn’t risk Lilith’s wrath turning into something worse if I broke the law in front of her daughter. So I swallowed the rescue and left it to ghosts.

At the crowd’s edge our children stood—pale boys with small hands clenched so tight their knuckles showed. Tavis swore until his voice shredded. I watched Xaden—eighteen, a jaw not yet broken into a man’s but lined like iron with what he’d been forced to learn—and a prayer I could not pray settled in my chest.

Melgren stepped forward, smirk like a blade, and read our names. “Traitors,” he spat. “Sentenced to die.”

If I could have moved I would have snapped his neck with my own hands. Instead I sneered and shouted, “Cowards!” Tavis and the others joined in. Cowards! the sound rose from us—small, furious, useless—and the crowd hissed.

Melgren’s dragon reared. The heat of it rolled through the square like a living thing. The beast inhaled; the world bent to a single, punishing point. I braced for fire—waiting for the bite, the collapse, the end I had rehearsed in a hundred lonely ways.

And then—nothing. No heat, no flame. The square dissolved into the choking dark of a room. I was sitting bolt upright in a bed, sweat slick against my skin, heart hammering like a trapped bird.

The nightmare broke like ice across my ribs. I was awake. But the hollow it left felt very, very real.

Chapter Text

I woke with my chest burning and salt on my skin. For a long, stupid second I didn’t know where I was—then the low rafters, the faint scent of Calldyr’s extravagance, the silk of the pallet under me all came rushing back. I felt the ache of the dream like a bruise: the dragon’s breath, the square full of our children, Violet’s face blank with hatred. My hand went to my face and came away wet. I had been crying in my sleep.

A frantic knock rattled the door, then Tavis’s voice cut through. “Fen? What the—? I heard you screaming.”

He stood in the doorway, rumpled and miserable, but alive. My best friend was alive. Relief crashed through me so hard I nearly fell. I launched across the room and clutched him like a drowning man clinging to driftwood. He smelled of smoke, horses, and something steadier than the world.

“You’re alive, I’m alive, we’re alive,” I breathed into his shoulder. “It was only a dream. Only a dream.” But the words felt thin, useless.

Tavis shoved a curl from my forehead, half-annoyed, half-terrified. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

I shook my head. “Nothing.” But when I looked around, the wrongness pressed in—I wasn’t in Tyrrendor.

“I...where are we?” I asked.

“In Calldyr,” he said slowly. “For the duke’s meeting. What is going on?”

The room was still dim; dawn hadn’t yet touched the windows. I sat heavily on the edge of my bed, calculating years, possibilities. Either I’d woken eight years in the past—or I’d just seen my future.

And gods, if it was the future, it was fucking terrible. I couldn’t let it happen.

The dream felt like it had been five years long. Five years of fighting of watching everything fall apart, series of little heartbreaks that and ending it of Melgren's Dragon burning us alive with our children watching crying.

I let out a ragged laugh that sounded like a sob.

“Again—what the fuck is wrong with you?” Tavis demanded.

I swallowed hard. “I had a nightmare. A really bad one, Tavis. It… broke me.”

He searched my face. “Tell me.”

“I can’t.” My voice cracked. How could I tell him? That I’d seen my son’s life torn apart? That I’d felt him slipping through my fingers? “I can’t let it happen again.”

“You said it was only a dream.”

But the need inside me surged, urgent and undeniable. “Xaden,” I said, almost choking on the name. “Bring him. Get him here as fast as you can.”

Tavis blinked, taken aback. “Are you sure? You said—”

“I’m sure.” My voice was raw. “I miss him. Gods I miss my son!”

“Right.” His tone shifted—back to business, always steady when I wasn’t. “I’ll send for someone to fetch him.” He paused at the door, studying me. “Try to sleep, Fen. You look like a madman. We leave in five hours for the hunt.”

I nodded, though sleep was impossible. My mind raced with ways to change what I’d seen, to bend fate toward something better. I clung to another dream, the one I knew was meant to come later tonight—the dream where Xaden married Violet in the temple of Amari, not Catriona, who he despised. That was the future I would chase. That was the future I would carve.

When the sky finally lightened and we set out for the royal hunt, illusion struck again. The grounds unfolded exactly as I remembered—the tents pitched in orderly rows, horses tethered, nobles milling about their encampments. The dream coiled in my chest.

Tavis caught me staring, my mind replaying it all like a prayer.

Once our tent was settled, I drifted to the place I knew she would appear. If this truly was another chance—an opportunity to relive the past and carve a better future—then she had to come.

I counted the beats of my heart. One. Two. Three… eight.

And then, as if the gods themselves granted mercy—she came.

Violet barreled across the grass with Dain and Prince Cam at her heels, skirts flying, cheeks flushed. My heart seized. Before thought could catch me, her name tore from my chest.

“Violet!”

She beamed, and in the next heartbeat she was colliding with me. “Oh, hi Feeeen!” she cried, throwing her arms around me.

Relief hit so hard it nearly knocked me to my knees. For a moment, everything that had been tight and aching in my chest simply… broke loose.

I cupped her small face in my hands, memorizing the warmth of her skin, the spark in her eyes. Gods, she was real.

“I missed you, little duchess,” I whispered, and my voice cracked in spite of myself.

She blinked up at me, puzzled. “Huh? We saw each other yesterday.”

Her innocent confusion sliced deeper than any blade could.

Tavis laughed softly, stepping in to ease the tension. “Forgive him, Violet. He had a nightmare.”

“Oh? Was it bad?” she asked, tilting her head in that way she always did when she was genuinely concerned.

“It was,” I said quietly, forcing a smile.

That’s when I felt it—the prickle of being watched. Lilith’s shadow stretched across the grass behind her, sharp and cold, a silent warning wrapped in maternal instinct.

Tavis gave me a subtle nudge, and I released Violet, though every part of me resisted.

“Run along now, Violet,” he said gently.

“Okay! See you later!” She grinned, bright and blinding, before darting after the boys again—her laughter ringing through the clearing like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

And I stood frozen, breathless, it might be just a dream or I have traveled time but knowing how much I'd suffered I vow it would end differently this time.

Tavis hooked an elbow in my ribs and dragged me toward the tent. “What the hell was that?” he asked.

“Long time ago I had a dream,” I said. “Not that nightmare last night—another one.” My voice dropped to a whisper, but the conviction steadied me. “The one with Violet and Xaden—married, in the Temple of Amari. It felt… right. I’ve been carrying it for a long time.”

Tavis blinked, searching my face. “O...okay? You mean you dreamt about Xaden and Violet’s wedding? And then what?”

“I want that future,” I said. I stood straighter. The ache from the nightmare hardened into something fierce and sweet. “If I have to tear the world apart to get them that future, I will. I’ll make it happen.”

Tavis’s jaw worked. He glanced toward the place where Lilith had been watching—her eyes like blades. “You sure about that, Fen?”

I nodded. “I am, because the alternative was fucking horrible.”

The day unfolded as I remembered. Horns sounded, and the field stilled. King Tauri and Queen Tauri arrived with their sons. The twins, Halden and Alic, already wore matching smug expressions that mirrored their father’s. Prince Cam, too young for the hunt, stood beside his mother.

Children between ten and sixteen lined up for the trial. Last time, I hadn’t brought Xaden to Calldyr—I refused to see him paraded as an asset before nobles and leaders, measured like livestock. But circumstances were different now. This time, I wanted him here. I wanted him to know Violet not just through stories and sketches, but in truth.

“Where’s Xaden?” I asked.

“On the way,” Tavis said. “I told them to come directly here instead of the palace.”

Too bad he wouldn’t be part of the hunt. He would’ve bested them all—Halden included, even if the prince resorted to cheating as he had before.

Tavis folded his arms, clearly thinking the same. “He would’ve dominated this.”

“In the past, that’s exactly why I kept him away,” I admitted. Then I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter. We know who would have won.”

A trumpet blast pulled our attention back to the king.

King Tauri stepped forward, his speech short but heavy with the usual pageantry—honor, pride, legacy. He wished the young hunters luck, especially his sons. The children rode out, flanked by guards, vanishing toward the forest’s edge.

I scanned the field, anticipation crawling under my skin. Tavis opened his mouth, right on cue.

“Wonder where Violet is…”

I cut him a sharp look, jerk my head to where I knew she'd be.

Running across the grass barefoot, her white dress billowing, her braid loose and messy down her back. She clutched a bundle of flower crowns against her chest, chasing after a shrieking Prince Cam and Dain Aetos.

“Cam! Dain! Stop moving, you’re going to ruin them!”

Cam darted through the trees as if his life depended on it, while Dain stumbled, laughing and pleading. “Violet, please—we’re supposed to look dignified!”

“Not until you wear your crowns!” she shouted, fierce with determination.

Tavis snorted. “Wait. How did you know?”

I only smirked at him.

Instead, I asked the same question I once had. “Can you imagine her doing that with our boys?”

Tavis’s grin split wide. “Garrick would probably let her do anything. Xaden would pretend he’s too cool, but the second she looked away, he’d wear the crown.”

Laughter burst out of me—free and unguarded—as I turned back toward our tent. It was exactly the same answer he’d given me before. Another proof, that I had gone back in time or that the dream had been a premonition.

I decided to test it. As the day wore on, I wagered with Tavis that Prince Halden would win the hunt. He scoffed like I hadn’t already stacked the deck. Then I told him I could even predict the kill. He gave me a skeptical look, but agreed.

“A stag, two hares, and—most conveniently—a sleek red fox he’ll present to his mother,” I said. Tavis grinned, wagering ten gold and his finest wine.

When the hunt ended, the scene unfolded exactly as I’d said. Prince Halden stood center stage beside his identical twin, flanked by dukes and counts eager to bask in reflected glory. His haul was impressive: a stag, two hares, and—of course—the sleek red fox.

“This fox I present to Her Majesty,” Halden declared with smug charm. “A scarf, for the winter months.”

I elbowed Tavis, whose face had gone pale. “How…?”

“I told you,” I said simply. “I had a dream.” Then I pointed across the field. “Look—there. Violet’s about to crown her sister.”

Sure enough, Mira Sorrengail stood stiff and scowling, arms crossed over her chest. She had taken third place behind the twins, though clearly not by choice. Asher was murmuring comfort, Brennan standing silently at her side.

And then Violet appeared. Barefoot, beaming, clutching a flower crown in her small hands. With the grace of innocence, she placed it gently on Mira’s head.

“You’re the best one for me,” she declared, eyes shining. “You’re my winner, Mira!”

“Like a premonition dream?” Tavis asked under his breath.

“Yes,” I murmured. “And I’m trying to change it.”

He eyed me sidelong. “You think fetching Xaden here will change things?”

“I hope so,” I said. And left it at that.

I scowled when Halden knelt before Violet, offering her a squirming white rabbit. “Violet,” he said smoothly, “I know you don’t like it when I kill animals, so this one is for you.”

Her whole face lit up as she hugged the creature close. “Thank you!” she beamed, and the prince—ever the performer—bowed low and kissed her hand.

I scoffed, waiting for what I knew would come next.

Sure enough, as the crowd dispersed and nobles drifted away, a familiar call rang out.

“Feeeeen! Taaavis!”

I turned in time to see Violet darting through the tall grass, rabbit clutched tight, curls bouncing, wildflowers slipping loose from her braid. Instinctively, I reached for her as she skidded to a stop, steadying her.

“I have a bunny!” she declared proudly, holding it aloft like a prize.

We fell into easy chatter—Violet boasting about her rabbit, Tavis teasing if she’d be a princess one day, only for Violet and I to correct him firmly: she was going to be a duchess. She confessed she’d named the rabbit Venin at first, until we convinced her to call it Snow instead. She mentioned Asher’s book about Venin, and I gently reminded her not to show it to anyone.

A voice rang out from the far end of the clearing, steady, scribe-proud, exactly as I remembered.

“Violet, sweetheart!”

Asher Sorrengail.

Violet jumped to her feet at once, hugging Snow to her chest. Her curls bounced, and her smile was so bright it almost hurt to watch.

“Dad! I’m here!” she called, waving with her free hand.

And there it was again—the same sight, the same pull in my chest. I rose too, because I already knew how this was going to go. The Major would walk across the grass, posture straight as a ruler, expression polite but never unguarded. And I, the Duke of Tyrrendor, would meet him with equal courtesy, though my heart was still tangled around his daughter.

“Your Grace,” he said with that clipped nod. Right on cue.

Violet blinked at the words, her nose scrunching the same way it had before. Your Grace? she whispered under her breath, confusion making her voice small.

I felt the twist of amusement I’d felt last time and gave the same answer, the one that had lodged itself in my memory like a splinter.

“Major Sorrengail.” My voice stayed even as I extended my hand. “A pleasure.”

His grip was firm—predictably so. “I hope Violet hasn’t been any trouble, Your Grace.”

“I haven’t!” she puffed up like a little storm cloud, just as indignant now as she had been then. Gods, she never changed.

I smiled. Same words, same tone. “Not at all. She’s an extraordinary young lady. A joy to talk to.”

I remembered this specific conversation with Asher in the past. Should I let it go on as it was in the past or should I change something?

Asher gave his careful nod. “Glad to hear it. It’s getting colder. Time she headed back to the tent.”

He glanced down at her. “Say goodbye to the Duke of Tyrrendor, Violet.”

And just as before, her gaze slid toward me, slow, almost reluctant. Her eyes widened.

“You’re the Duke of Tyrrendor?”

I nodded. “I live in Aretia.”

Her wonder bloomed, lighting her face like the sun breaking through clouds. “Like Amari’s Temple, Aretia? Is it really as beautiful as the ones in the books?”

That, too, was the same. Her curiosity had been sharper than any blade—piercing straight through. Most children her age wanted sweets or swords. She wanted temples. History. Wonder.

I smirked, lifting an eyebrow. She had no idea how rare she was.

“Violet, sweetheart,” her father prompted, trying to reel her back.

Violet obeyed, though with clear reluctance. She pinched the hem of her dress and gave me that same little curtsy, practiced but half-hearted. “Your Grace.”

I waved it away, repeating the words I’d clung to like a vow. “No need for that. Just call me Fen. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Your Grace—” Asher started, wary as ever.

“I don’t mind, Major Sorrengail,” I cut in softly, just like before. “Violet has been an unexpected friend. She’s grown… precious to me.”

Tavis chimed in, his voice carrying the same warmth I remembered. “She’s exceptional. You’re lucky, Major Sorrengail, to have such a daughter.”

And right on time, Asher’s stern features cracked, pride softening the edges. “Thank you.”

Violet narrowed her eyes in playful suspicion, testing me even now. Then she beamed, light flooding her face.

“Okay. I’ll see you later, Fen! Bye, Tavis!”

She waved with one hand, slipped the other into her father’s, and let herself be gathered into his arms, bunny and all.

And I stood rooted, watching them walk away, the ache in my chest echoing the same way it had the first time. Tavis saluted with a celery stalk, making Violet giggle, but I barely noticed.

Because even knowing what would happen, even reliving it as if fate had pressed repeat, I still didn’t know if I could change what came after. The uncertainty pressed heavier than armor, sharper than any blade.

That night, when camp quieted and the fire sank to embers, I found myself reluctant to close my eyes. A childish fear clung to me, absurd for a man of thirty-five, yet real all the same. What if the nightmare returned? What if I was dragged back to that future, where I lost everything?

But if memory served… tonight wasn’t meant for horror. Tonight would be the other dream—the one of promise instead of grief.

Violet in white, her silver-tipped hair crowned with Tyrrendor’s jewels, Xaden’s hand never left her. Then she reached for me and pulled me into her arms, holding tight as she looked up at me, her gaze softening as she called me Father.

I clung to that, willed it into being as I surrendered to sleep.

Because if fate had truly given me a second chance, then this time I would fight tooth and claw to make sure that dream became reality.

***

The first thing I did upon waking was check my surroundings. Canvas walls. The scent of pine smoke and damp earth. My lungs filled easily—no weight on my chest, no choking darkness. Relief flooded me. I was still in Calldyr’s hunting grounds. Still thirty-five. Still the Duke of Aretia. Not yet the forty-year-old traitor who haunted my nightmares.

But disappointment quickly followed. No dream at all. No wedding dream. No Violet calling me Father. Everything since yesterday’s nightmare had replayed exactly as before—except this. Was it a sign that things were already changing? Or worse, that fate was slipping beyond my grasp?

Either way, my resolve hardened. I would not let the nightmare win.

I dressed quickly and went to find Tavis. He spotted me first, a grin tugging his mouth as he approached.

“I just received news,” he said. “Xaden and Garrick are near. They’re with Tarcila.”

My brows rose. That was fast. “It usually takes a day and a half days to reach Calldyr. Three with carriages.”

“They’re fast,” Tavis said with a shrug, utterly unconcerned. “Tarcila said Xaden’s eager—riding nonstop. Our boys were in the saddle as soon as they could walk. I’m not worried.”

I exhaled sharply, masking my unease. “I just hope they’re careful.”

Breakfast blurred past in a haze of bread, cheese, and restless thoughts. Soon enough, it was time to prepare for our own hunt. And just as I knew it would, the moment came—Violet.

She moved with the eager bounce of someone itching to ride, her chestnut mare already pawing the dirt. An infantryman—likely one of her mother’s aides—stepped forward to help her mount.

I closed the distance in a few strides. “Leave us,” I told the aides, dismissing them with a flick of my hand. Violet deserved comfort, not scrutiny.

She turned those wide eyes on me, guilt flashing. “I got scolded,” she admitted, cheeks pink. “And I’m sorry for not knowing you’re a duke.”

I softened my voice. “It’s fine. Your parents will make up soon enough.”

Tavis wandered over, grin easy as ever. “Hey, Violet! Fen!” He patted the chestnut’s sleek neck.

“Tavis!” Violet beamed.

“Nice horse. What’s her name?” he asked, tugging at the reins like a man appraising a knight’s blade. Tavis would tease me about being territorial, but I knew the truth—he was protective too.

“Lightning,” she said proudly, patting her horse.

I tilted my head, lips quirking. “Hmm. Let me guess—because she’s fast as lightning?”

Her gasp was audible delight. “How did you know?”

“Just a guess,” I said, cutting a sidelong glance at Tavis.

“Ohhh.” He studied the mare, smirking. “That so? Want to race later?” Then he leaned close, muttering in my ear, “Six o’clock.”

But my gaze had already shifted, caught like a hawk in a snare.

General Sorrengail.

She stood apart from the other escorts, posture sharp as steel. Her eyes—cold, unyielding—locked on me with unblinking precision. It wasn’t the calculated assessment of a commander. It was something older, fiercer. A mother’s territorial warning: You are too close to my child.

The weight of it settled over me like a shroud, prickling the back of my neck. I refused to look away first.

“Sure!!!” Violet chirped, blissfully unaware of the silent duel raging between her mother and me.

“I have a surprise for you,” I said, tearing my eyes from the general.

Her curls bounced as she leaned forward eagerly. “What?”

“Xaden and Garrick are on their way. They might arrive this evening.”

Her gasp was pure joy, followed by a groan as she clapped both hands over her mouth. “I haven’t finished—” She cut herself short.

My pulse caught. The handkerchief? The drawing? If my nightmare truly was a premonition, it would be one of those. It warmed me to know she was thinking of him already, just days after I’d told her about my son.

“You haven’t finished what?” Tavis pressed.

“It’s a secret,” Violet said primly.

“Oh, come on, I’m your friend.”

“I’ll tell you when it’s finished,” she countered.

Tavis chuckled. “All right, fair enough.”

“You’ll be careful riding Lightning, yeah?” I asked, gesturing for the aides to return.

“I will,” she promised, eyes earnest.

“Good. We need to go, little duchess.” I kept my tone light, but the burn of the general’s glare lingered, carved into the back of my mind like a scar.

Beside me, Tavis fixed the lead aide with a hard look. “Take care of her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

Violet gave us a cheery wave. “Have fun hunting!”

Her warmth lingered, but it couldn’t thaw the cold edge of her mother’s silent warning.

Just like before, Tavis and I walked the narrow path toward the forest in silence. The morning air was crisp, laced with pine and the distant chatter of nobles readying their bows. My boots crunched over the damp earth as I replayed every moment that had already happened—the same exchanges, the same glances, the same rhythm of fate looping back on itself.

Everything was following the pattern of my dream.

I found myself wondering—if I could remember every detail, could I change the outcome? Should I approach General Sorrengail before she cornered me mid-hunt this time? Or would that only make things worse? Whatever I did, I needed to be careful not to draw Melgren’s attention. If he saw me speaking to Asher or Lilith, suspicion would grow.

“Fen! Fen!”

Tavis’s voice cut through my thoughts.

I blinked, realizing I’d stopped walking. “Huh?”

He frowned. “You didn’t even hear me calling you. What are you thinking about so deeply?”

I hesitated before answering. “I’m thinking… how I can change our future.”

Tavis’s brow furrowed. “Was our future that bad in your dream?”

A bitter laugh escaped me. “Bad enough that I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.” Then, after a pause, I added, “Well, maybe on Tauri and Melgren.”

Tavis snorted, but my gaze had already shifted ahead—to where Lilith and Melgren’s party rode at the front of the column.

I caught Tavis’s arm and pulled him behind a line of trees, close enough to see but not be seen. “Stay quiet,” I murmured.

Their voices carried easily through the cool morning air.

“I see the Duke of Tyrrendor has taken quite the liking to your daughter,” one of Melgren’s high-ranking aides said with a smirk.

“Indeed,” another chuckled. “Yesterday he practically ran to her.”

Melgren’s laugh cut through the group like a blade of mockery. “Careful, Lilith. Next thing you know, he’ll have kidnapped your daughter and raised her as his own.”

The men laughed—an ugly sound, cruel and careless.

My jaw clenched. Tavis’s did too. Bastards.

So that was it. That was the seed of Lilith’s anger, the reason she warned me so coldly the first time. Not because she truly believed I was a danger—but because of this gossip, this filth.

If they only knew how wrong they were. How Violet would one day outsmart them all. Note to self—tell Tavis what happens in the premonition. How Violet saves us all.

Lilith turned her head slowly toward the men, her gaze like drawn steel. Then, without a word, she raised her bow, loosed an arrow, and struck a stag through the eye. It collapsed instantly—right between the two aides who’d been laughing.

One of them coughed; the other stammered, “We were only joking, General.”

Melgren clapped, his grin wide and false. “Good shot, Lilith. First kill of the day!”

She smirked. “Yes. One of the Sorrengails’ many traits—excellence. And I’d advise you,” she added, voice cold as winter steel, “to avoid joking about my child’s safety again. Especially when yours have the brain capacity of a pea and would likely welcome a kidnapper.”

The aides paled, unable to meet her eyes.

Melgren only chuckled and waved a hand. “Enough talk. Let’s hunt. No more jokes.”

I couldn’t help the faint smile that tugged at my lips. Just like before, she’d said she would capture me for Brennan—but kill me for Violet. That fire of hers was something to respect.

We waited until they’d moved deeper into the forest. I knew what came next. This was where Lilith would find me—and deliver her warning. The same one she’d given before.

Only this time, I planned to counter it. To make her see me differently.

If fate was offering me a second chance, I would damn well take it.

We hung back, letting the main hunting parties scatter through the woods. I let Tavis focus on tracking the stag while I waited for Lilith’s arrow—the signal of our encounter. After that conversation, I’d find and catch the white and black wolf for Violet and Xaden. The pelt Violet never got to wore last time, I’d make sure she did, this time—with Xaden beside her.

We walked a little farther and stopped at the spot I knew it would happen. The air thickened with the scent of pine sap and damp leaves.

I slowed my pace, feeling it before it happened—the shift in the wind, the whisper of a drawn string.

Then came the sound I’d been waiting for.

Thwip.

The arrow struck the tree beside my head, close enough that the fletching brushed my ear. Bark splintered and scattered across my shoulder.

I didn’t flinch.

Last time, I’d nearly drawn my blade on reflex. This time, I turned slowly, meeting the glare I knew would be waiting for me.

Lilith Sorrengail stood a few paces away, bow raised, expression sharp as carved stone. Last time, she spoke first—so this time, I beat her to it.

“I see you prefer warnings to greetings, General,” I said evenly, brushing a fleck of bark from my cloak.

“Some men need reminding of boundaries,” she replied, lowering the bow but not the frost in her eyes. “Especially ones who take an interest in my daughter.”

I smiled to myself. Different words, same meaning. Some things changed—but not enough.

“I understand where you’re coming from, General,” I said, meeting her gaze steadily. “But I’m not a threat to Violet. If anything, I want to keep her safe—because she’s my friend.”

Her brow arched. “You think I’ll take your word for that?”

“No,” I admitted. “But you’ll trust your instincts. And they’ll tell you I’m telling the truth.”

She said nothing, but her grip on the bow eased—just slightly.

I stepped closer, slow and deliberate, letting her see my face clearly. “Your daughter is… remarkable. She spoke to me like a person, not a duke or a soldier. You don’t need to fear my intentions.”

“What exactly are your intentions, Duke of Tyrrendor?”

“To be her friend,” I said simply. “I’m not seeking alliances through her. I only wanted to be her friend—the way she was to me when I didn’t even realize I was at my darkest.”

Violet was the only one who made me admit I was sad about my wife leaving. I thought I was fine—expected it, even—after Xaden turned ten. I was ready for her to go. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“I want to help find a cure,” I said quietly. “For Violet’s sickness.”

That earned me silence—sharp and immediate. The forest itself seemed to still.

“She told me enough for me to start looking,” I continued carefully. “There are healers in Tyrrendor—old ones, they might help. If there’s something that can help her… I intend to find it.”

Lilith’s bow lowered fully now, though her posture stayed rigid. “You expect me to believe you’re doing this out of goodwill?”

“No,” I said truthfully. “But out of our friendship—I owe Violet my life. She saw something in me I didn’t see in myself. I don’t take that lightly.”

Her gaze sharpened, assessing me as if she could cut through the layers of my intent. Then, just for a heartbeat, something softened in her eyes—worry, perhaps, or weary hope.

“She doesn’t need your pity, Duke.”

I gave a low laugh. “Violet is far too precious to be pitied,” I said. “She’s too rich in spirit—and too loved—to deserve that. A cure and friendship, that’s all I’m trying to give her.”

Lilith’s jaw worked, the faintest crack in her iron control. Then she exhaled—a slow, deliberate breath that sounded almost like surrender.

“As her mother, there is nothing I want more than to see her healed,” she said quietly. “But I also have to protect her.”

“I’m aware,” I replied, my tone softening. “Please… let me help.”

Her expression hardened again, the brief flicker of warmth shuttered behind the armor of duty. “Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, voice clipped. “Help us find a cure if you must—but do it from afar. Some distance would be… appreciated.”

I inclined my head. “Understood, General.”

She hesitated, just long enough to make me wonder if she wanted to say something more. Then she turned sharply, signaling her aide. “Melgren’s party is close by.”

As she disappeared into the trees, her soldiers falling into step behind her, her final words carried back through the branches.

Tavis emerged from the brush, whistling low. “Well,” he muttered, “you’re lucky she aimed for the tree.”

I glanced at the arrow still buried in the bark, the shaft quivering slightly. “She always does.”

I looked back toward the direction she’d gone, then toward the sky breaking through the canopy above.

One step changed.

Maybe that was enough to start unravelling fate’s hold.

The hunt was nearly over when I found them—two wolves, one white as snow, the other black as midnight, circling the same stag. I took them both down with clean shots, their pelts a mirror of light and shadow.

Now, standing in the clearing, the weight of the hunt behind me, I stepped forward, the pelts draped across my forearms. The silver sheen caught in the late morning light, drawing the crowd’s attention as I knelt before her.

“I dedicate my game to the little lady Violet,” I said, my voice carrying easily over the hum of nobles and soldiers. “Our friendship came as a surprise to me… but it has proven itself a gift I treasure. May this pelt keep you warm in the cold, and remind you that you are valued.”

Her eyes widened, and then that smile—radiant and unguarded—bloomed across her face, the kind that could melt the heart of even the frostiest noble in Calldyr.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said with flawless courtly grace, dipping into a curtsy that made half the court murmur in approval.

Then, as she straightened, she leaned closer, voice small and bright as birdsong.

“Thank you, Fen!” she whispered, Brennan clutch the wolf pelt for her.

I couldn’t help the grin tugging at my mouth. “No problem, little duchess,” I murmured back, low enough for only her to hear.

Around us, the chatter resumed, nobles dispersing, the excitement of the hunt fading into the soft rustle of tents and distant laughter. The Sorrengails turned toward their pavilion, the fabric doors swallowing them whole.

I caught a flicker of movement from across the field and turned.

There he was.

Xaden.

My son stood near the edge of the camp beside Garrick, dust on his boots and exhaustion shadowing his face, but his eyes—those storm-dark eyes—were locked on me.

For a heartbeat, I couldn’t move. After all these strange, looping days of waking to what might be fate or madness, he was the first face I’d longed to see.

I ran to him. The world narrowed to the sound of my boots striking dirt, and before he could speak, I swept him into my arms.

“I missed you, son!” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. I lifted him and spun once, ignoring the startled sound that left him. Gods, he’d grown.

He blinked up at me, surprised, almost ready to protest. His arms hovered awkwardly before wrapping around my neck, and for a moment—just a brief, perfect moment—it felt like time had bent backward to give me something I’d lost.

Tavis laughed behind me, scooping Garrick up in turn, earning a squeal from his son. Tarcila, ever the practical one, appeared soon after, shaking her head with a soft smile.

“Inside the tent, Your Grace,” she said quietly. “People are staring.”

Reluctantly, I set Xaden back on his feet. His hair was still damp from the ride, cheeks flushed pink from wind and excitement. For a moment, I simply watched him—my son, my legacy—and saw something flicker in his eyes I hadn’t seen before. Curiosity… and something sharper, something uncertain.

He tugged lightly at my sleeve. “Dad?”

“Yes?”

He tilted his chin toward the Sorrengails’ tent, where Violet stood talking animatedly to her sister, snow melting in her gloved hands, laughter bright as a bell.

“Who is she?” he asked.

It was a simple question, but there was a subtle edge beneath it—something only a father would catch.

I looked down at him, at the way his small hands fisted at his sides, at the confusion tightening his jaw. And despite everything—despite the ache in my chest and the strange sense of excitement tugging at the edges of my mind—I smiled.

“She’s a friend, Xaden,” I said softly. “A very special one. One I’d like you to meet.”

He frowned, humming in quiet disapproval. “Hmmm.”

I chuckled under my breath. “You will be friends,” I said, half certain, half wishing it so.

He looked away, but I caught the scowl he tried to hide. In my dream—my premonition—he had liked her once.

I believed, deep in my heart, that he would again.

And as I watched them—my little duke Xaden walking toward our tent, and little duchess Violet laughing across the clearing—a quiet thought took root in my mind. Fragile, insistent… like a whisper from something greater than fate itself.

Is this where it begins?
The turning of the tide?
My chance to change everything?

- XADEN –

10 years old

It had been two weeks since my mother left.

At first, I thought she’d come back. I waited every day and night by the window, eyes burning from crying so much, hugging the teddy bear and blanket she made for me. I used to count the hours until I’d hear her voice again. But the house just kept getting quieter.

Father’s people came and went, but I never thought she would. Bodhi and Garrick kept asking me to play, but I couldn’t. What if she came back and I wasn’t there? So I stayed by the window, quiet and hopeful, waiting for a miracle that never came.

And then, two nights ago, I heard the truth.

I wasn’t supposed to. I was walking past Father’s study when I heard Suri and one of the aides whispering. They said they’d expected my mother to leave—after all, she had fulfilled her contract.

My mother had signed a contract. Her job was to give the province of Tyrrendor an heir and stay only until he turned ten.

Me. I was the contract.

The words cut through me like a blade. I pressed my back against the cold wall, listening even when I didn’t want to. Every word made it worse.

That night, I cried again—so hard my chest ached. But when the sun rose, I swore I wouldn’t cry anymore. Not for her.

She loved me once. I know she did. But it wasn’t enough to make her stay.

I folded the blanket and tucked the teddy bear away in the closet—just like I did with my hope and love for her. Maybe one day I’d forget about them, too.

Now, all I had left was my father.

He’d been gone almost a week for some summit in Calldyr. The house felt emptier without him. I missed his voice—firm, but always threaded with warmth—the way he ruffled my hair when he thought I wasn’t looking, and the sound of his boots on the marble floors that meant I wasn’t alone.

So when the messenger arrived during dinner and said I was being summoned by my father to join him in Calldyr, I didn’t even wait to finish eating. I packed so fast my hands shook.

Garrick, of course, wanted to come too. His father was there as well. He’s my best friend, and he hates being left behind almost as much as I do. Bodhi cried to aunt to let him come with us, but she wouldn’t let him.

I begged Major Cardulo to leave immediately. “I miss him,” I said. “Please—let’s go tonight, Major.”

Major Cardulo looked at me for a long moment before she finally nodded. Maybe it was pity in her eyes, or maybe worry—I didn’t know. I only knew I didn’t want to wait another night. When she suggested we take the carriage, I shook my head. I wanted to ride myself. A carriage will only slow us, I needed to see my father.

We rode hard for an entire day, stopping only when the horses needed water. My legs ached and my palms burned from the reins, but I didn’t care. I loved the wind against my face, the thunder of hooves beneath me—every mile bringing me closer to him.

By the time we reached the royal hunting grounds near Calldyr, the horns were sounding to mark the end of the hunt. A Tyrrish aide met us at the edge of the field, took our horses, and led us toward a long row of white tents. The air smelled of woodsmoke and fresh earth. Nobles in fine clothes mingled with soldiers, children darted between carriages, and laughter rolled through the open clearing.

“So this is Calldyr?” Garrick asked, eyes wide.

“We’re in the royal hunting grounds,” Major Cardulo replied.

“His Grace and Colonel Tavis are still with the main party,” the aide told us. “But they should be returning soon.”

Garrick handed me his flask, and we shared a few sips of water while we waited. The hunters were returning with their prizes—stags, boars, and a few hares. Garrick was already guessing which his father had caught when a stir rippled through the crowd.

Curious, I stepped closer, Garrick right behind me.

And then I saw him.

My father.

But not as I’d ever seen him before.

He was kneeling.

Kneeling before a little girl with golden-brown hair but the tips are silver, her dress as bright as sunlight through leaves. In his arms lay a silver wolf pelt, draped across his forearms like an offering.

The crowd fell silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

“Is she a princess or something?” Garrick whispered beside me.

“Navarre doesn’t have a princess,” I told him quickly. I’d studied the royal family—there were only three princes: the twins, Halden and Alic, who were my age, and Prince Cam, who was three years younger. No princess. No girl like her.

“I dedicate my game to the little lady Violet,” my father said, his voice carrying clear and warm over the clearing. “Our friendship came as a surprise to me… but it has proven itself a gift I treasure. May this pelt keep you warm in the cold, and remind you that you are valued.”

The girl’s eyes went wide. Then she smiled—a real, bright smile that made everyone around her soften, like she’d brought spring into the forest.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, curtsying perfectly.

And something inside me cracked.

My hands curled into fists before I even realized it. My throat burned. My father—the only person I had left—was smiling at her like that.

Who was she?

Why was he kneeling for her?

The world blurred at the edges. I could hear Garrick saying something, but it faded under the rush of blood in my ears. My chest felt tight, and I didn’t know why. I didn’t even have words for it, but I knew what I felt.

That girl—Violet—was stealing my father.

And I didn’t like it one bit.

Chapter Text

-FEN-

The fire burned low inside the tent, its glow painting soft amber light across the canvas walls. The scent of roasted meat and spiced vegetables lingered—a small comfort after a long day’s ride.

Xaden and Garrick ate like boys who hadn’t seen food in days, barely saying a word between bites. When the last of the stew was gone, they cleaned up quickly under Tarcila’s sharp eye, washing their faces and hands before curling up in their bedrolls. Within moments, both were asleep, their breathing deep and steady. Exhaustion had finally claimed them.

I sat across from Tavis and Tarcila, a cup of tea warming my hands. For a while, none of us spoke. The quiet hum of the camp outside filled the silence—the low murmur of voices, the occasional crackle of fire.

Finally, I broke it. “You arrived earlier than I expected,” I said, glancing toward the flap where the boys slept. “I thought you wouldn’t reach Calldyr until tomorrow.”

Tarcila smiled faintly. “You can thank your son for that, Your Grace. He insisted we leave that night we receive the message. He missed you.”

My chest tightened at the words—warmth and guilt twisting together. “He… said that?”

She nodded. “He did. Though, truth be told, he’s been quieter than usual. Focused. Training harder than I’ve ever seen him. I think—” she hesitated, glancing at me, “—I think he’s stopped waiting for Talia.”

Xaden had stopped waiting for Talia—because he knew about the contract she’d agreed to.

I looked toward the small partitioned space where my son slept, his silhouette faintly outlined against the canvas. The truth of it sank in my chest like a stone.

In my dream, he’d said he believed his mother loved him… just not enough to stay.
And my heart broke all over again for my little boy.

I rose slowly, setting my cup aside and moved toward the flap that separated us. I lifted it just enough to see inside—Garrick sprawled on his side, Xaden half-turned toward the wall, one hand tucked beneath his cheek. Peaceful. Unaware.

I swallowed hard.
After that dream—after that glimpse of ruin and loss—I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him behind in Cordyn while I was being hunted.

This time, I promised myself, I would seek peace—but also his happiness.
No more strategic marriages.
No Teacarus niece.

This time, I would live through what I was planning.
I would live to see my son happy.

The apostasy would still come—I could feel it in my bones—but I would make certain it ended differently. In our favor.

I was still standing there when Tavis joined me, his footsteps soft against the rugs.

“You’ve been acting strange since you woke from that dream,” he murmured, folding his arms. “I know you’re trying to shoulder it alone, but you don’t have to.”

I exhaled, the weight of my decision pressing tight against my ribs.

“I can only help you if I know what’s going on,” Tavis said quietly. “What happened in your dream?”

I hesitated, eyes never leaving my son. Then, softly, I said, “It wasn’t just a dream, Tavis. It was a warning… or maybe a gift. A glimpse of what’s to come—or what could have been.”

I gestured toward a quieter corner of the tent, one where no one could overhear. He followed and we sat.

He frowned. “Start from the beginning.”

So I did.

With the camp hushed and the night stretching long, I told him everything.

I spoke of the dream—the premonition that had shaken me to my core—a life that felt too vivid to be false. I told him that on the final night of the hunt, during the banquet, I would meet with Asher to discuss forming the group that would one day become our rebellion—and how that very act would make Melgren see us as a threat worth destroying.

I told him how Melgren, ever the viper, had conspired with Verdan—provoking me at the council meetings, sending Luceran infantries to clash with ours, painting us as reckless and dangerous. And how, on the last day of the dukes’ council, Verdan was murdered—Melgren’s trap—and he tried to pin it on me and Tavis.

And how Violet—little Duchess—had outsmarted him. How she saved us from that snare, her courage buying us a fragile reprieve.

But it hadn’t lasted.

I spoke of what came after—the heartbreak that followed when we left Calldyr. How the years turned friendship into distance, warmth into silence. How Violet had forgotten us—not by choice, but because she’d gone ahead to Tyrrendor herself, forging an alliance with Viscount Teacarus of Cordyn. Signing Xaden’s future away to the man’s niece.

And how, in the end, I was branded a murderer—blamed for the death of Brennan Sorrengail.

My voice broke when I told him of the end—of standing in the square with chains biting into my wrists, the stench of smoke and ash thick in the air. Of Melgren’s dragon opening its maw, fire pouring over us as our sons watched—helpless.

Of Xaden’s eyes, empty of hope.
Of my own.
Of how real it had all felt—the pain, the terror, the regret.

When I finally fell silent, the only sound was the wind pressing against the tent walls.

When I finally fell silent, the only sound was the wind pressing against the tent walls.

Tavis sat frozen, eyes glinting in the dim light. I could see the understanding settle over him—the way it clicked into place. He finally knew why I’d woken pale and trembling that morning, why I’d summoned Xaden to Calldyr without hesitation.

After a long moment, he spoke softly.
“And bringing him here… you think it’ll change that?”

I nodded slowly. “I do.” My voice came out rough, low. “I can’t explain it, but something about that dream—the way it ended—it felt like a warning. Like the gods were giving me a second chance. If I change the steps that led there… maybe the end will change too.”

Tavis’s gaze flicked toward the partition where the boys slept, unaware of the storm that had nearly claimed them in another life.
“And you think Xaden meeting Violet is part of that change?”

A faint, wistful smile tugged at my mouth. “I know it is. I don’t know how or why, but everything in me tells me their paths are bound. Together, they’ll change everything we couldn’t.”

Tavis studied me for a long time, then sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re either blessed or cursed, my friend. But if what you saw was even half true… then I’ll follow your lead. I don’t want Garrick to suffer—watching me die like that.”

I smiled, weary but grateful. “Then this time,” I murmured, glancing once more toward my sleeping son, “we live to see us win.”

***

The next morning, I woke early. The camp was quiet, the air still carrying the chill of dawn.

I paused by the partitioned space where Xaden and Garrick slept—both boys bundled under blankets, their breaths even and deep. A maid lingered nearby, whispering, “Should we wake them, Your Grace?”

I shook my head. “No. Let them sleep. They rode without rest yesterday—they’ve earned it.”

Stepping outside the tent, I found the light soft and golden as the camp began to stir. Servants moved between tables, steam rising from kettles and pans. I poured myself a cup of tea, picked up an apple and began plating breakfast for Xaden—bacon, bread and a handful of berries I knew he liked.

Then I saw her.

Violet sat at one of the benches near the edge of the dining area, chatting animatedly with Dain and Prince Cam. Her legs dangled from the bench, too short to touch the ground and sunlight danced over her silver-tipped hair. I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. She looked radiant—pure warmth and light.

“Good morning, Violet!” I called.

She turned, her face lighting up. She hopped off the bench and trotted toward me, her smile bright enough to rival the dawn. “Good morning, Fen! Xaden will arrive today, right?”

I chuckled. “He’s already here—sleeping in our tent, actually.”

Her eyes widened. “He is?”

“He even brought Tavis’s son, Garrick. I’ll introduce you when they wake. You remember your promise, don’t you?”

She straightened proudly. “Of course! I didn’t forget. I even stayed up late last night because I wanted to give Xaden something.”

That made my heart swell. She was genuinely excited—so open, so kind. Maybe, I thought, this was it. Maybe this was where everything began to change.

“Oh? And what would that be—”

But I stopped mid-sentence when movement caught my eye.

Xaden was walking toward us, still half-asleep, hair tousled, his expression already shadowed by that familiar, brooding look.

“Dad,” he muttered, voice rough with sleep.

“Xaden, good morning, son!” I greeted warmly.

“Morning,” he replied flatly.

I gestured between them. “I’d like you to meet my friend—Violet.”

Violet beamed. “Hello, Xaden! Nice to meet you!”

“It’s Lord Xaden,” he said coolly. “And I don’t need new friends.”

My smile froze. Violet blinked, confusion flickering across her face before hurt crept in.

“Xaden, that’s not very kind,” I said, keeping my tone even. “She just wants to be your friend.”

“I already had enough back in Aretia,” he muttered, eyes hard. “I don’t need more.”

The words hit like stones. Violet’s smile faltered. She tried to shrug it off, but her voice quivered when she spoke. “It’s okay, Fen. If he doesn’t want to be friends, that’s fine.”

“No, Violet—he—” I started, but she cut me off, forcing a small, trembling smile.

“I have other friends anyway,” she said softly, turning away. She waved to Dain and Cam, who hurried after her as she walked off—small, quiet steps that somehow felt heavier than they should.

I stood there for a long moment, watching her go—the bright hope I’d felt just moments ago slipping through my fingers like ash.

I turned to Xaden, jaw tight. “Inside. Now.”

We returned to the tent. I dismissed the servants and waited until the flap fell closed before facing him.

“Why were you rude to her?” I asked, keeping my tone even. “I never thought you to be like that. Violet only wanted to be your friend.”

His eyes flashed. “And you believe that?”

“Of course I do,” I said, confused. “She’s a good little girl. Once you get to know her, you’ll see—”

“She wants to be friends because she wants to steal you from me!” he shouted, voice cracking with raw emotion.

The words cut straight through me. I knelt and pulled him into my arms. “No, son. No one can steal me from you. You are my son. Nothing will ever change that.”

But he stiffened, trembling with anger and pain. “I was her son too,” he whispered. “But she left.”

Before I could say another word, Xaden tore away and ran out of the tent.

I sank to the floor, the weight of it all pressing down on me. My thoughts drifted to Violet—her bright smile dimming, her small shoulders drooping as she walked away. And Xaden’s scowl… the sharp edge in his tone.

He saw her as competition. When there shouldn’t have been any.

His anger wasn’t truly about Violet. It came from somewhere deeper—an old wound, raw and unhealed. The kind only a child carries when their mother walks away.

And I didn’t know how to heal that kind of pain.

After a while, I pushed myself up and left the tent. I needed to think—to talk to someone who might understand.

I found Tavis near the practice field, watching Garrick laugh with a few Tyrrish squires. At the edge of the clearing, Violet sat quietly beside Dain and Prince Cam. She smiled when they spoke, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Tavis noticed my expression and frowned. “Something happened.”

I exhaled, rubbing a hand over my face. “Xaden met Violet.”

“Oh.” His brow furrowed. “That bad?”

“She was kind—cheerful as ever. But Xaden…” My chest tightened. “He was cold. Dismissive. Told her he didn’t need more friends. Corrected her for not calling him Lord Xaden.”

Tavis winced. “He did that?”

I nodded grimly. “And when I asked him why, he said she’s going to steal me from him.”

Tavis sighed deeply, shaking his head. “So that’s why, when I introduced Garrick to her, she seemed distant—even to me.”

“She tried to hide it,” I said quietly, “but she was hurt. I don’t know how to fix this, Tavis.”

“Give them time,” he said gently. “They’re children. Xaden’s still bleeding from Talia’s absence, even if he won’t admit it. And Violet… she’s got a heart too soft for her own good. She’ll forgive him eventually.”

I looked down at my hands, remembering the way Xaden had trembled in my arms. “I just don’t want her to be the one hurt because of us. And I don’t want Xaden to keep believing someone’s going to take his father away.”

Tavis laid a steady hand on my shoulder. “You can’t protect them from everything, Fen. And you can’t force friendship. If you truly believe they’re meant to balance each other—to fight beside each other—then they’ll find their way.”

I managed a tired smile. “You’re right. I can’t force it. I just thought… it would be easy.”

Tavis chuckled softly. “Nothing worth having ever is. Kids are stubborn—especially ours. But if they’re truly fated, they’ll find their way.”

I laughed under my breath, though the ache in my chest lingered. My gaze drifted back toward the clearing, where Violet bent over a scrap of parchment, drawing quietly.

“Maybe you’re right,” I murmured. “They just need time.”

Tavis nodded. “And maybe a bit of guidance—quietly. No pushing.”

I sighed, glancing toward the tent where Xaden still hid away. “No pushing. For now.”

But as I watched Violet lift her face to the sunlight, that same quiet, dangerous hope stirred in my heart again.

My gaze lifted toward the horizon, where morning light broke through the clouds.

Amari, I thought silently to the goddess who might’ve sent me that dream.
Am I doing this right? Am I truly changing our fate?

-XADEN-

The word burned in my chest—too big, too heavy. I didn’t even answer him. I just ran. Out of the tent, past the guards who gave me strange looks but didn’t stop me. I didn’t care where I was going—just somewhere no one could see me.

I couldn’t believe it. My father actually wanted me to be friends with that girl—Violet.

Friends. With her.

The woods were quiet, the air sharp with pine and earth. I found the lake by accident, its surface smooth like glass. I picked up a rock and hurled it. It skipped once before sinking.

I wanted to cry. Gods, I wanted to. But I couldn’t—not out here. Not where anyone might see me. What if she saw me? What if she laughed? Tears were weakness. And weakness made people leave.

So I threw another rock. Harder.

Yeah, maybe I’d been rude to her. Fine. But Father didn’t have to scold me in front of her. He didn’t understand—he couldn’t. She wasn’t trying to be my friend. She wanted something. She wanted him.

He said no one could steal him from me because I was his son… but that didn’t stop her from leaving, did it?

Everyone always wanted something. No one was kind just to be kind. Why would she be any different?

I kept throwing rocks until my arm ached, until the anger drained into something smaller and sharper. Then I brushed off my hands and started back toward camp.

Laughter reached me before I saw them—kids, maybe a dozen, chasing each other around the clearing.

And there she was.

Violet.

She darted between them, her feet barely touching the ground. Her eyes—hazel, bright and alive—seemed to catch everything good in the world.

She laughed at something one of the boys said and I hated how it made my chest feel weird.
If she were my friend, would I laugh like that?
Probably not.

She already had so many friends. So why did she need to be mine?

Then a man in white robes waved her over. She ran to him, shouting, “Dad!” He lifted her easily, spinning her around like she weighed nothing.

A woman joined them—short hair, black leathers, a rider’s stance. She smiled and kissed Violet’s cheek.

“Mom! Can I ride Lightning today?” Violet asked, eyes wide with excitement.

The woman nodded and another figure came—a tall young man holding the reins of a horse, followed by a girl who looked like Violet but older.

So that was her family. Her real family.

I stood there, something twisting hard in my chest. She had both her parents. A brother. A sister. She had everything.

And still, she wanted my father’s attention?

“She’s greedy,” I muttered under my breath. “I won’t be her friend.”

I turned and headed back toward camp. Garrick spotted me first, running up with his usual grin. He held out an apple like a peace offering.

“Where’ve you been? I’ve been looking for you,” he said.

“I just went for a walk,” I muttered.

He nodded, taking a big bite of his apple. “My dad introduced me to that pretty girl yesterday. She seemed nice.”

I froze. My hands clenched. “Who? Violet?”

“Yeah! You’ve met her?” Garrick grinned.

“Yes.”

That was all I said—short, sharp.

He didn’t notice the way I glared past him, toward the camp where her laughter still floated on the breeze.

Now she wanted to steal him too, huh?

I would never let her.

Later that afternoon—I didn’t want to go.

When Tarcila said Garrick and I should join the other children while the adults went hunting, I almost argued. I wasn’t a child—not like them. But Father gave me that look—the one that said it wasn’t up for discussion.

So here I was, standing beside Garrick while the aide introduced us to the others.

There were about sixteen kids, all nobles or officers’ children, maybe between seven and eleven. And, of course, she was there.

Violet Sorrengail.

Her hair was braided to the side, a few silver-tipped strands dancing in the breeze and framing her pretty face. She wore a clean riding outfit that looked far too fine for the dusty camp, and in her arms, she cradled a small white bunny like it was something precious.

She looked… different.

Not the same bright, laughing girl from yesterday. She didn’t even glance my way. Her face was calm, but her eyes—distant. Like she’d built a wall between us.

Good. She should stay behind it.

The maid kept talking, listing names and titles I barely heard. I caught a few—Prince Halden, Prince Alic, Prince Cam, Dain Aetos. Apparently, they were all part of Violet’s little circle.

Figures. She really did have plenty of friends.

Three kids came up to Garrick and me after the introductions.

“This is Lord Stuart of Morraine and these are Tommy and Ivy,” the maid said.

“Hello,” I said flatly.

Garrick, ever the diplomat, grinned and waved. “Hi! Nice to meet you!”

They smiled back, liking him instantly. People always liked Garrick. He made it easy.

I glanced toward Violet’s group. They were already mounting their horses. She was trying to climb onto hers but had to ask an aide for help. He held out his hand to steady her as she swung one leg over the saddle.

A quiet scoff escaped me.

She can’t even get on her horse by herself, I thought bitterly. And yet somehow she’s the one who stole my father’s attention.

We started along the protected trail that circled the camp. Tommy and Ivy began whispering to Garrick and me, explaining the “unspoken rules” among the noble kids.

“Those from the provinces stick together,” Ivy said softly. “The Princes and Calldyr kids usually keep to themselves. You don’t want Prince Halden or Prince Alic noticing you too much—they get… mean.”

“Works for me,” I muttered. “Means we won’t have to sit near them.”

Garrick, of course, ignored that completely.

“She seemed nice,” he said suddenly.

“Who?” I asked, though I already knew.

“Violet,” he said, smiling a little.

“She is,” Stuart mumbled shyly.

“She’s nice and smart,” Ivy added with a beam.

“And pretty,” Tommy added.

Garrick tilted his head. “Then why’s she always with those princes if they’re mean and she’s nice?”

“Because she’s secretly mean,” I whispered to Garrick.

He scoffed, but Tommy shrugged. “Because they all grew up together. Her mother’s General Sorrengail and her dad’s one of the top scribes. They’ve been stationed in Calldyr for six years now.”

Stuart nodded. “And Prince Halden doesn’t like it when new people talk to her.”

That made me glance up again. She was smiling at Dain, laughing softly at something he said.

I felt that same tight twist in my chest.

Why does everyone like her? What’s so special about that girl?

Before I could say anything else, Garrick nudged his horse forward—straight toward her group.

“Garrick,” I hissed, but he didn’t listen.

“Hello, Violet!” he called brightly.

She turned, surprised at first, then smiled. “Oh! Hello, Garrick!”

Her voice was soft, kind—even after how cold I’d been earlier. Prince Halden and Alic rode a little ahead, leaving her with Dain and Prince Cam.

I stayed back, watching.

They chatted easily—about their horses, about how far they were allowed to ride. Garrick asked her what her horse’s name was.

“Lightning,” she said with a small grin. “Because she’s fast as lightning.”

I couldn’t stop the quiet scoff that escaped me.

Everyone turned.

She lifted her chin, eyes narrowing slightly. “Is something funny, Lord Xaden?”

I smirked. “Fast as lightning, huh? Want to prove it?”

Her brows drew together. “Prove it how?”

“A race,” I said. “You and me. Winner gets a wish from the loser.”

Dain frowned immediately. “That’s not fair, Lord Xaden. She didn’t even—”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” I cut in, my tone sharp. Then, glancing back at Violet, I added, “Unless you’re too scared to lose. I thought you said your horse was fast as lightning—or were you lying?”

Her cheeks flushed, but her voice was steady. “I’m not lying. I accept. And if I win, you’ll grant my wish.”

I scoffed. “As if you’ll win against me.”
Still, something in her stubborn stare made my pulse quicken.

The maid sighed and raised a hand. “All right then—on my count. Ready?”

We both nodded.

“Go!”

We took off.

For a few heartbeats, she actually kept up—her little mare faster than I’d expected. But then I leaned forward, urging my horse harder. The wind tore past my face and before long, Lightning began to fall behind.

When I reached the finish line—a line of stones near the creek—I turned back. She was still riding hard, determination written all over her face, braid whipping behind her. She slowed to a stop a few paces away, breathing fast.

“See that?” I said, trying to sound smug instead of winded. “I won.”

She huffed, trying to catch her breath. “Fine. What’s your wish?”

I looked at her, at the pink in her cheeks, the spark still in her eyes—and said the first cruel thing that came to mind.

“I wish for you to stop talking to me, Garrick and my father.”

Her mouth parted slightly. “Why?”

“Because I don’t like you.”
The words came out flat, heavy. A lie that tasted bitter.

Her face fell and for a moment, she just stared at me—hurt flickering across her expression before she swallowed it down.

“You win,” she said quietly. “So… I’ll stop talking to you.”
Her voice wavered, but she kept her head high.

“Xaden!” Garrick shouted. “That was rude! She was just being nice!”

I ignored him, even as something in my chest twisted.

Violet turned her horse around. “Come on, Dain, Cam.”
They followed her without a word, both shooting me looks colder than the wind off the mountains.

When they disappeared into the trees, the woods suddenly felt emptier.

Tommy, Ivy and Stuart stared at me like I’d done something unforgivable. Garrick just shook his head.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

Because the truth was—when Violet’s eyes shimmered like she was about to cry, something inside me cracked.

And I hated that it did.

 -VIOLET-

8 years old

I tried to play with Dain and Cam after our horse ride. Really, I did.

They could tell I was sad and kept trying to cheer me up—running around the clearing, picking wildflowers, handing them to me so I could make flower crowns. Normally, I’d be laughing and chasing after them, but today my chest felt heavy. Like someone had dropped a stone inside it.

I tried to smile for them. I laughed when they laughed, but it sounded wrong—too quiet, too small.

“Vi, come on!” Dain called. “You’re it!”

“Just a minute!” I said back, forcing a smile I didn’t feel.

But I couldn’t. Not really.

After a while, I told them I was tired and went back to the tent.
The moment I slipped inside and the flap fell closed behind me, everything I’d been holding in came pouring out.

Hot tears ran down my cheeks before I could stop them.

I pressed my hands over my face, but it didn’t help. His words kept echoing in my head.

Because I don’t like you.

“How could he be so mean?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I only wanted to be his friend.”

It was the first time anyone had ever told me they didn’t like me.

Everyone always said I was kind, or polite, or smart.

But not him. Not Xaden.

He didn’t like me, but why?

“Maybe it’s my hair,” I murmured, grabbing a lock of it and twisting it between my fingers. Brown with silver tips—it always made me look different from the other kids. “It is strange…”

Or maybe it was because I was weak. My bones weren’t strong like Mira’s. Maybe he didn’t want to be friends with someone who had to be careful all the time.

When I’d told Fen it was okay that Xaden didn’t want to be my friend, I didn’t mean it. I just didn’t want to cry in front of him. But now the words stung and I couldn’t stop crying.

My pillow was already damp when I remembered the handkerchief.

I reached under my pillow and pulled it out carefully. It was small—white, with uneven stitches along the edges. I’d stayed up late last night to finish it, my fingers sore from the needle. I’d embroidered tiny purple violets in the corner and just below them, Xaden’s name.

I traced the letters with my fingertip. I wanted to give him something to remind him of our friendship since he would go home to Aretia and I will stay in Calldyr.

“Should I still give it to him?” I whispered. “As a peace offering?”

But what did I even do wrong? I can't change my hair or my bones.

The sound of the tent flap rustling made me quickly wipe at my cheeks. Mira stepped inside, her black leather uniform dusty from training. She froze when she saw me.

“Violet,” she said softly, crouching down. “Why are you crying?”

“It’s nothing,” I mumbled, looking down at the handkerchief in my hands.

Mira tilted her head. “Nothing? You’ve got tears all over your face, Vi.”

I bit my lip, trying not to cry again.

“Did someone make you cry?” she asked gently.

I shook my head, but she didn’t believe me. She never does.

“Mira…” I whispered after a while, “have you ever met someone who doesn’t like you?”

That surprised her. “Yes,” she said after a pause.

My eyes widened. “You have? But you’re Mira! Everybody likes you.”

She smiled a little, though not the way she usually does. “You can’t please everyone, Vi. Some people won’t like you and that’s okay. It doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you.” She brushed her thumb over my cheek, wiping away another tear. “And sometimes people are hurting and they see the world in a different way.”

Her words made me think about what Fen had told me—that Xaden’s mother had left.

Maybe that’s why he’s angry.
Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want new friends.
Maybe he sees the world differently because he’s sad.

Mira pulled me into a warm hug and I buried my face against her shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and lavender.

“Come on,” she said softly after a while. “Dinner’s almost ready. I think they made your favorite biscuits with honey.”

My head popped up. “Really?”

“Really,” she said with a small grin. “Let’s go before Brennan eats half of them.”

A tiny giggle escaped me, the heaviness in my chest lifting just enough to let me breathe again.

“Okay,” I whispered, folding the handkerchief carefully and tucking it into my pocket.

Maybe I’d take Xaden’s name off it and give it to Mira instead. She deserved it, my big sister who was scary to others but gentle and kind to me.

Xaden didn’t want anything from me. And if staying away would make him less sad… then I would. I wouldn’t talk to Fen or Garrick or him. I wouldn’t even look their way.

Maybe then he’d feel better.

Chapter Text

-XADEN-

After the race, I didn’t see Violet again. I told myself I wasn’t looking for her because I felt a sting in my chest after the race. I kept insisting it was only so I could avoid her, it is not because I might have made her cry.

I saw Cam Tauri and Dain Aetos running around camp, but no silver-haired girl with them. So I went back to my tent to rest, pretending I didn’t care.

That night at dinner, I spotted her sitting as far from our tents as she could manage. Her eyes were red—like she’d been crying.

Something in my chest sting.
She did cry.

Everyone was there the other nobles, soldiers, riders, even the royals. The camp buzzed with laughter and music, the air thick with the smell of roasted meat and spice. But all I could think about was how she never once looked my way. I know because not because I was watching her, her hair is just too silver and shiny. That’s what I told myself

She sat with the princes, her sister and that Aetos, smiling faintly at something Prince Cam said. Tavis waved her over. “Violet!” She just smiled at him but didn’t move. Tavis frowned and my father looked confused. Beside me, Garrick exhaled sharply. 

Then Tarcila brought out one of her Tyrrish dishes—a hearty soup—and my father stood up. He took a bowl and motioned for me to follow. I forced my face into something neutral, confident, unaffected.

He walked up to her table and offered it to her. “Try this, Violet. It’s a Tyrrish dish.”

She turned politely, her voice calm but distant. “I’m quite full, thank you, Your Grace.”

Then she turned back to her sister, breaking a piece of bread to dip into her stew. She didn’t even glance at me.

My father looked puzzled by her reaction. I just shrugged, pretending not to care.

I told myself it didn’t matter. I got what I wanted, didn’t I? I wanted her to stay away. To stop trying to take what was mine.

So why didn’t it feel good?

When we returned to our table, I sat beside Garrick, pushing the food around my plate while Tavis murmured something about how Violet might just be tired—or maybe her knees hurt from riding. I frowned. She hadn’t fallen or anything.

I stayed quiet through the rest of dinner, pretending everything was fine while my father talked beside me. But inside, I felt… heavy. Like I’d swallowed a stone.

When the meal ended and the camp settled for the night, Garrick and I washed up and lay down on our bedrolls. The quiet stretched thick between us until he finally spoke.

“You went too far today,” he said quietly. “She wouldn’t even talk to my dad.”

I turned away. “No, I didn’t.”

“She didn’t deserve that, Xaden. You should apologize.”

“Why should I?” I muttered.

“Because I know you,” he said. “You’re not mean. And you lied—you don’t really not like her.”

“I do,” I said quickly. But even to me, it sounded hollow.

He sighed. “You say that now. But you’ll feel bad later.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to admit that maybe I already did.

That’s why I had to stay away from Violet Sorrengail.

The next day, I did just that. I made sure Garrick stayed with me too. But after lunch, while the adults went off to hunting and some meetings, all the kids were gathered again. No horses this time, just an open space near the camp. Some climbed trees, others threw stones or chased each other around.

I stayed by the edge of the trees with Garrick, sitting in the shade. I told myself I wanted to nap, but instead, my eyes kept drifting toward Violet.

She was sitting with the three princes and Dain again, the white bunny in her lap. The sunlight caught the silver at the tips of her brown hair, making it shimmer. She looked peaceful—too peaceful. I told myself again I wasn’t watching her. But I was.

When she stood to practice archery, I pretended not to care. But I noticed every shot she took. And when she switched to throwing daggers—every single one hit dead center. Perfect aim. Garrick clapped, grinning.

That was when Prince Halden noticed us.

His eyes snapped toward our direction, sharp and cold. He muttered something to Alic, then marched over, face tight with anger.

Garrick and I stood up as he stopped in front of us. Alic followed behind him, arms crossed.

“My brother told me you were mean to Violet,” Halden said, his voice dripping with arrogance.

I raised a brow, glancing past him toward Violet. She was watching us, her face pale, eyes wide with alarm.

“So what if I was?” I shot back.

Halden’s chin lifted. “You should know your place.”

“Oh, I do,” I said evenly, stepping closer. “I’m the Heir of Tyrrendor. And she’s just a general’s daughter.”

His smirk widened. “But Violet will be the future Queen of Navarre.”

We were so close I could feel his breath. The way he said it—like it was already decided—made something hot twist in my chest.

“I don’t think so,” I said coldly.

Halden chuckled, low and cruel. “My mother will make sure of it, she gives me everything I want. Of course—” his eyes gleamed as he leaned closer—“you wouldn’t know, would you? Since your mother left you.”

Something inside me snapped.

Before I could think, my fist connected with his face.

The sound was sharp—bone against bone. He staggered back, shouting. Alic lunged at Garrick, but Garrick swung first, punching him square in the jaw.

Everything blurred after that.

Halden swung again, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t care that he was a prince. I saw red. Why did he have to mention my mother? My fists kept flying—one, two, three—until the guards came rushing in, grabbing us, shouting.

Then I heard her.

“Stop it! Stop it!”

Violet’s voice. Shaking. Desperate.

I froze. My chest heaved, my pulse thundering in my ears. Halden’s lip was bleeding. So was mine.

Violet stood a few steps away, Cam and Dain beside her. Her eyes were wide, worried. Not angry—worried.

Was she worried for me? Or just guilty because this started with her?
It didn’t matter. I wouldn’t have hit Halden if he hadn’t said what he did.

The guards dragged us apart, still shouting about whose fault it was, who let the fight happen.

But all I could hear was Violet’s voice echoing in my head—her crying, her plea.

“Stop it.”

And for the first time since I’d met her… I felt her concern. Genuine and real.

-FEN-

I’d been stuck dealing with the other Dukes all day. We only broke for lunch before diving right back in—discussing patrol rotations, border strategy and supply lines. The others argued about hunting routes and game yields, but their voices barely reached me.

Because my mind was elsewhere.

Last night, I’d tried to bridge the rift between Violet and Xaden. I’d even brought Xaden along, hoping he’d see for himself that Violet wasn’t trying to steal me away from him that she was kind, gentle and meant well. But Violet had politely declined my invitation.

Polite. Calm. Distant. She called me Your Grace again.

And that distance has only grown since.

I’d faced war councils colder than this breakfast table.

Violet sat between Cam and Dain, her little back straight, her plate barely touched. She didn’t look up when I passed by, didn’t smile, didn’t even frown. Just stared down at her bread like it had personally offended her.

And then it hit me—she wasn’t just quiet. She was ignoring me.

“Morning, Violet,” I said softly.

She looked up for only a moment, gave a small nod and went back to eating. No words. Just another too-fast bite, crumbs on her lip.

Cam shot me a sympathetic look, while Dain placed a hand on her shoulder—like I was someone she needed protection from.

That stung more than I cared to admit.

I forced a smile and stepped away, only to hear Tavis behind me. “Good morning, Violet,” he said warmly.

And she answered him. “Good morning, Tavis.”

I froze mid-step, irritation flaring hot beneath my ribs. She greeted him—but not me.

What in Malek’s ass did I do?

I didn’t even know.

I’d tried giving her space, thinking she’d come to me when she was ready. But every time I caught her gaze, she turned away. No running up to me with her little stories about Snow or the book she is currently reading, no questions about the Temple of Amari or if Xaden would like to play. Just… silence.

And gods, that silence was louder than any storm her mother could summon.

By midday, I couldn’t stand it anymore. During our break, I found myself wandering near the Sorrengails’ tent, pretending to check the perimeter—but really, I was just hoping to run into her.

I didn’t. Brennan said she was elsewhere playing.

She hadn’t said a single word to me all morning. Not even one of her polite, measured smiles. I told myself it was nothing, that she was simply tired. But the quiet gnawed at me, hollow and cold.

I missed her. I missed my little duchess—the only child bold enough to scold the Duke of Tyrrendor for not being affectionate enough with his wife and son.

All I wanted was for her and Xaden to be friends. For them to understand each other, to see that the other wasn’t a threat. I’d even started picturing that far-fetched wedding in Amari’s temple someday, Riorson and Sorrengail united.

But this morning? It felt like that future was slipping further away.

So when the messenger burst into my tent—breathless, pale and trembling—I barely registered his words at first.

“Your Grace—your son. He got into a fight. With Prince Halden.”

My blood turned to ice.

The air left my lungs and the council meeting, Violet’s silence, even my own irritation—all vanished in an instant.

I didn’t waste a second. I ran.

By the time I reached the campgrounds, chaos had already erupted—guards shouting, children whispering, maids fluttering around in panic. Then I saw him.

Xaden.

Blood smeared his lip, his fists still clenched, eyes blazing with that furious, wounded fire I knew too well. Beside him, Garrick had a bloody nose but stood tall, defiant. Across from them, Prince Halden struggled against the guards’ hold, his lip split and his expression twisted with rage. Alic hovered near him, scowling, a bruise forming on his jaw.

And off to the side—Violet.

She looked pale and shaken, clutching that little white bunny of hers like a lifeline. Her wide eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

“What happened here?” I demanded.

No one spoke.

Xaden glared at Halden, his jaw tight, the air between them charged. Halden sneered but said nothing.

“Someone answer me,” I repeated, my voice cutting through the noise.

Violet hesitated, then took a small step forward. “They—” she started, glancing toward Xaden.

He looked at her, not in anger, but with something unreadable. Whatever it was, it made her stop. She closed her mouth, lowered her gaze and said nothing.

My chest ached. She wouldn’t even speak to me now.

Halden twisted in the guards’ grip and snapped, “I’ll explain to my father.” Then, to my disbelief, he took Violet’s hand and led her away.

Xaden’s eyes followed them, his expression darkening.

I crouched before him, wiping the blood from his lip. “Are you okay?” I asked quietly.

Xaden shook his head, “I'm so angry,” my instinct tells me he was provoked.

Tavis was at Garrick’s side, trying to piece together what happened, but before anyone could explain, a guard informed us that the king had summoned us.

I took Xaden’s hand as we walked to the royal tent. I didn’t know the truth of what started the fight—but I knew my son. He wouldn’t strike first unless provoked.

Inside, King Tauri stood like a storm barely contained. Tavis and I positioned ourselves behind our sons as the king’s voice thundered through the tent.

“Do you understand the position you’ve put us in? A prince and the heir of Tyrrendor brawling in camp?”

Halden had a bruise beneath his eye. Xaden’s lip was split. Garrick looked miserable and Alic—smugly innocent—stood stiff as a statue.

“What happened, Halden?” the king asked.

Halden only shrugged. “It just happened.”

My temper flared. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, I know my son. He wouldn’t resort to violence unless he was provoked.”

I expected the king to press further—to demand the truth, hand out fair consequences. But instead, Halden leaned close and whispered something to his father.

King Tauri’s expression softened almost instantly. He sighed. “You have to apologize, Halden.”

Halden smirked faintly. “I apologize for what happened, Your Grace.” he said, the words hollow and forced. Then he and Alic left the tent without another glance.

I stared after them in disbelief. He apologized to me not to Xaden who deserves that apology not me.

“Boys will be boys,” the king said finally, dismissive. “Let’s just… let this slide, Fen.”

My jaw tightened until it ached.

This—this was how they were raised. No accountability. No consequence. And people wondered why there were whispers about the princes’ cruelty.

Gods help Navarre if this is its future.

Tavis and I left King Tauri’s tent with Xaden and Garrick in tow, both boys silent and bruised. We brought them straight to the infirmary, where the royal healer cleaned their wounds and muttered about “reckless heirs” under his breath.

When it was done, I led them back to our tent. The silence between us was heavy—thick enough to choke on.

“Everyone out,” I said quietly once we arrived. The maids and guards slipped away without question until only Tavis, Garrick, Xaden and I remained.

I turned to the boys. “Tell me what really happened. Because I know neither of you started that fight.”

Garrick’s eyes were already drooping with exhaustion, but he looked to Xaden, waiting for him to speak.

Xaden hesitated. His gaze stayed fixed on the floor, shoulders tense. Then he took a small step forward.

“It started because I was… mean. To Violet.”

My brows furrowed. “Mean how?”

He told me everything—about the horse race, the wish, the teasing—and then about Halden confronting him afterward. When he reached the part about what Halden said, his voice cracked.

“…he said I wouldn’t know what it’s like because my mother left me,” he whispered, eyes dark and trembling with rage. “I was so angry, Dad.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

The air around me seemed to still—tight, sharp and dangerous. I clenched my fists at my sides, forcing the words out through my teeth. “He said that to you?”

Xaden nodded, silent.

A curse burned at the back of my throat. The son of a king, spitting venom like that—and at my boy? My heir? The anger in me was hot and clean, the kind that made your vision sharpen. I wanted to storm back to Tauri’s tent and make him hear what kind of sons he was raising.

Tavis must have sensed it because he placed a hand on Garrick’s shoulder. “Come on, son,” he said softly. “Let’s give them a moment.”

As they left, I caught Garrick’s quiet confession: “I fought Alic because he tried to help Halden fight Xaden.”

Tavis squeezed his shoulder. “You were a good friend, Garrick.” Then they were gone.

I turned back to Xaden. He stood stiffly, his lip still bleeding faintly, his pride more wounded than his skin. I stepped forward and pulled him into my arms.

“Are you angry at me?” he mumbled into my chest.

“Not at you, son,” I said quietly. “He doesn’t have the right to say that. Not ever.”

He went still and then I felt him lean against me—rigid, fighting tears he didn’t want me to see.

I smoothed his hair back. “I know it hurts, what he said. But you have to be careful, Xaden. He’s still a prince. You can’t let your anger rule you, no matter how cruel the words.”

He didn’t answer, but I could feel the tremor of his breath.

After a long pause, he whispered, “I was mean to Violet. I think I made her cry. But she… she looked worried about me—I mean us.”

I exhaled slowly, watching the flicker of the campfires outside through the tent flap. “Yes, you were mean and I didn’t like that,” I admitted. “I didn’t raise you to be cruel. Not to her. Not to anyone.” But that doesn't give Halden right to say those words to Xaden.

“I know,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

“You should apologize to her,” I told him, keeping my voice calm but firm. “I understand why you lashed out. You were trying to protect yourself before someone else could hurt you. But that’s not who you are, Xaden.”

He sniffed, a small sound of acknowledgment. I tightened my arms around him.

“Your mother leaving—that wasn’t your fault,” I said quietly. “She left me, not you. And if she’d had a choice, she would’ve taken you with her. I love you, son. We’ll figure this out together.”

He nodded against me, the tension slowly draining from his shoulders.

And as I held him, I couldn’t help but think of Violet—the girl who gave kindness so freely—and my son, who didn’t know how to trust it yet.

I just hoped it wasn’t too late for them. Because even then, I believed that someday, the boy who feared love and the girl who embodied it would find their way back to each other.

-XADEN-

Dinner was loud that night—too loud. The kind of noise that pressed against your skull until you wanted to shout just to make it stop.

My father and Tavis were busy again and Tarcila told us to sit with the other kids. “Show them you’re good boys,” she said. “Make peace.”

My talk with Dad earlier had helped. I felt lighter, like maybe I could start over. But I'm not yet ready to apologize to Violet. Not when she was always with those princes.

All the kids gathered near the big fire, though Violet and Prince Halden were nowhere in sight. Maybe that was for the best. I didn’t want to see either of them after what happened. Garrick and I sat with Tommy, Stuart and Ivy. No one really spoke. Even the laughter from the adults sounded fake—forced.

I just wanted to eat and leave.

Garrick stood to get more food and I was halfway through my bread when I noticed Alic walking behind him—too close, that smug look on his face.

Before I could say anything, Alic’s foot shot out.

Garrick stumbled. The plate flew from his hands and hot stew splattered across my shirt.

The table went dead silent.

For a heartbeat, I just stared at the mess dripping down my chest. My fists clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms. Every part of me screamed to stand, to hit him, to make him stop smiling.

But my father’s voice echoed in my head: Don’t fight again, Xaden.

So I didn’t move.

Alic frowned, like my silence offended him. He straightened, his cronies lining up behind him like a pack of cowards.

“What’s wrong?” he sneered. “Can’t even stand up for yourself now?”

He grabbed a mug of water and tilted it above my head—slowly, like he wanted everyone to watch.

And then—

“Alic, Don't!”

Her voice cut through everything.

Violet.

She stood between us, small and fierce, her hands balled into fists. The firelight caught the silver threads in her braid.

Alic blinked, surprised. “But he was mean to you first.”

“I know,” Violet said, her voice shaking but steady. “And you’re being mean to him now. I don’t like it. Please just let him be.”

Alic scowled, dropping the mug with a dull thud. “Fine.” He muttered something under his breath and stalked off.

Violet turned to me.

I glared at her, trying to look cold—hard. Who said she could defend me? I didn’t need her help. I didn’t need anyone’s help.

She hesitated, like she wanted to say something. Then she sighed, reached into her pocket and placed something small and soft in my hand.

Without another word, she walked away.

I frowned, stew still sticky on my shirt, pride burning in my chest. I didn’t want to look at whatever she gave me. But my fingers moved anyway.

It was a handkerchief.

White, neatly folded. A tiny embroidered violet bloomed in the corner and beneath it—my name.

XADEN

The letters were a little crooked, uneven—but they were mine.

Something twisted deep in my chest. My throat felt tight. My face was hot.

Garrick leaned over, rubbing at his nose with his sleeve. “What’s that?” he muttered.

“Nothing,” I said quickly.

I stared at the stitches—the careful effort, the thought behind them.

She made this? For me?

I didn’t know what to do with the feeling that came with that thought—too big, too strange, too warm.

So I folded the handkerchief fast and shoved it into my pocket before anyone else could see. But I could still feel it—soft against my palm, like the smallest, quietest apology I didn’t deserve.

Stuart and Garrick helped me clean up. Dinner was ruined. My shirt was a mess, sticky and cold where the stew had soaked through. Garrick kept grumbling about Alic being a “spoiled brat,” while Tommy fetched a bucket of water and a rag.

As I scrubbed at the stain, Stuart spoke up quietly, his voice cautious. “Alic’s always like that,” he said, frowning. “He and Prince Halden do whatever they want. They always bully people. Once, they tripped me into the mud in front of everyone.”

I looked up. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” he said with a small shrug. “But Violet did. She stood up for me. Just like she did for you. I didn’t even know her then.”

That made me pause. She stood up for Stuart, too.

Stuart’s ears turned pink. “She told them to stop picking on me. After that, Alic doesn’t bother me much when she’s around. She’s… really nice.”

The way he said it made something sharp twist in my chest.

I tried to sound casual. “Did she give you a handkerchief too?”

He blinked. “What? Oh—no. She just smiles at me sometimes. Talks to me when Alic and Halden aren’t nearby.”

So no handkerchief.

I exhaled slowly, the tightness in my chest easing into something strange and smug.

She hadn’t made one for him. Just for me.

I didn’t know why that mattered—but it did. The thought made my heart thump faster, my palms sweaty, my face hot all over again.

I stood abruptly, muttering something about needing air. Dinner was ruined anyway. Garrick followed, though I wished he hadn’t.

Because all I wanted was to be alone—just for a minute—to pull that handkerchief from my pocket and look at it again.

The tiny violet. My name, stitched just for me.

It felt like a secret.

Our secret.

And for the first time since my mother left, I caught myself smiling.

Chapter Text

-XADEN-

The next morning at breakfast, my eyes automatically searched the crowded tables for the girl with silver-tipped hair and that pretty, careful smile. I hadn’t even realized I was doing it until my chest tightened when I didn’t see her right away.

It had become a habit—looking for her the moment I stepped out of my tent, though before, it was only so I could avoid her.

But today felt different.

Today, I wanted to find her. I needed to talk to her—to make sure it hadn’t been a mistake. That she really had stitched my name onto that handkerchief. That it wasn’t just a misspell or a mix-up. She's eight years old and loves to read according to Tavis clearly she knows a how to spell. Why does it bothers me if she misspelled? I wouldn't have thought of it until Garrick suggested it.

Last night, when Garrick and I returned to the tent, Tarcila took one look at me and frowned. “Gods, what happened to your clothes?”

Before I could even open my mouth, Garrick blurted out every detail. “Alic tripped me and spilled food all over Xaden.”

Tavis, who’d just come in, frowned. “Those princes are bad eggs. Did you two fight him again?”

“No, we didn’t,” Garrick said quickly. “Then he almost poured water on him, but Violet stopped him!”

Tarcila hummed amused . “That girl—well, she’s brave.”

Tavis chuckled. “That she is. And I’m proud of you both,” he said, giving me a nod before kissing Garrick’s head. “You didn’t retaliate.”

I said nothing—just washed up and changed into a clean shirt.

When Tavis and Tarcila started talking quietly near the fire, Garrick and I began rolling out our bedrolls. The tent felt smaller at night, the soft flicker of the mage light throwing shadows against the canvas walls.

Garrick leaned closer, whispering, “Are you gonna talk to Violet tomorrow? What did she even give you, anyway?”

I lay down, staring up at the tent ceiling where the fabric rippled gently with the night breeze. “It’s a secret,” I said, my voice barely above a murmur.

Garrick frowned. “Why? I’m your best friend—we share secrets.”

He wasn’t wrong. We did share everything jokes, stolen sweets, even fears we’d never say out loud to anyone else. But this felt different. I didn’t know why I wanted to keep it just between Violet and me. Maybe because I was still… startled. Startled that she’d stood up for me when she didn’t have to. Startled that someone like her had shown me kindness I hadn’t earned.

“Come on,” Garrick pressed, nudging my shoulder. “Are we keeping secrets from each other now?”

I sighed, then turned toward him. Slowly, I pulled the handkerchief from under my pillow. The white fabric caught the dim light, the edges slightly frayed but neatly folded. I didn’t know why I felt proud showing it to him—but I did.

“A handkerchief?” Garrick squinted.

“Look closer,” I said, trying to sound casual but failing. My thumb brushed over the uneven stitches. “She stitched my name on it.”

Garrick’s mouth fell open. “A girl made that for you? And you were mean to her.”

The words hit harder than I expected.

I looked down at the crooked letters again. The thread was a little messy, the lines uneven—but it was mine. She’d taken the time to make something for me. Me.

“I know,” I muttered, the guilt settling in my stomach like a stone.

The truth was, I didn’t understand why she’d done it. Maybe she didn’t want to steal my father. Maybe she really was just… kind. Too kind. And I didn’t deserve it—not after how I’d treated her. But the thought of giving it back made something in my chest twist.

I slipped the handkerchief back under my pillow and closed my eyes. The fabric was soft against my fingertips—soft like her voice when she’d told me, Don’t.

“I wonder why,” Garrick mumbled sleepily.

I had the same question.

“I guess I’ll ask to her tomorrow,” I said quietly.

Garrick yawned. “Maybe she spelled it wrong. Maybe it was supposed to say Halden.”

I sat up and glared at him. “No—it clearly says Xaden. My name.”

He grinned, already half-asleep. “What if she asks for it back?”

“She won’t,” I said too quickly. “It’s mine now. My name’s on it.”

“Okay, okay,” he mumbled, drifting off. “Guess that means I get to talk to her too… finally be her friend.”

His words faded as his breathing slowed.

But I couldn’t sleep.

I kept turning over in my mind the image of her standing between me and Alic—small and fierce, silver hair catching the sunlight, her voice steady even when mine hadn’t been. I’d been cruel to her. And she’d still defended me.

Lying there that night, her handkerchief tucked beneath my pillow, I realized I didn’t understand Violet Sorrengail at all.

Why had she defended me? Shouldn’t she have been glad to see Alic bully me? Shouldn’t she want nothing to do with me?

And what if she really had misspelled my name? What if the handkerchief wasn’t meant for me at all?

The thought hit harder than it should’ve. The idea that she might’ve meant Halden, not Xaden, unsettled me more than anything Alic and Halden did.

It shouldn’t matter.  But gods, it did.

Now, as I scanned the rows of breakfast tables, one thought pressed at the back of my mind—I needed to talk to her. I didn’t know what I’d say, but I had to try.

My stomach twisted. Should I do it now? Maybe later, when she wasn’t surrounded by others. Gods, please don’t let her be with Alic or Halden.

Then I saw her.

She was sitting with Dain and Prince Cam, quietly eating eggs and bread, her little white bunny curled in her lap like a snowball. She looked small between them, her hair tied back in a neat ponytail that swayed each time she moved.

I wondered if her hair would feel as soft as the fabric of my handkerchief.

For a moment, I just stood there, my resolve faltering. She looked so calm, so far removed from the mess yesterday. The handkerchief she’d given me felt heavier in my pocket—a quiet reminder of the kindness I hadn’t deserved. That strange, heavy feeling returned—the one that started when she handed me that handkerchief, I couldn’t look away.

Finally, I forced myself to move. Garrick followed as I walked over and sat across from them. The instant her hazel eyes met mine, her whole expression changed. She dropped her gaze and started eating quickly—too quickly—before pushing her plate away like she couldn’t stand to stay a moment longer.

Before I could say a word, she stood.

She didn’t look at me.

Dain and Cam both scowled, pushing back their chairs. I was about to call her name, but Dain’s glare could’ve cut glass. “Leave her alone,” he said sharply.

I clenched my jaw. Garrick started, “We just wanted to say hello—”

But Dain cut him off, voice rising. “You wished she wouldn’t talk to you. Remember?”

Before I could snap back, Violet tugged gently on Dain’s sleeve. “Don’t,” she said softly. “It’s fine.” Then she turned to me and gave a small, polite curtsy, her eyes unreadable.

And she walked away. Cam and Dain followed—her ever-present shadows.

All day, I told myself it didn’t matter. But I kept noticing her anyway—how she ran after them laughing, insisting they wear flower crowns, how they actually did, how her laughter carried in the wind.

She didn’t look at me once.

And somehow, that bothered me the most.

By afternoon, the camp had quieted. Garrick was off helping Tavis with something, and I found myself wandering near the trees when I saw her.

Violet sat beneath an oak, her little white bunny hopping around her skirts, sunlight catching the silver tips of her hair. She looked... peaceful. Untouchable.

For a long moment, I just watched her, debating with myself. I didn’t deserve her attention—not after how I’d treated her. But the silence between us was driving me insane.

I took a breath and walked toward her anyway.

When she saw me, her eyes widened, then narrowed in irritation. She stood immediately, brushing off her dress. “Come on, Snow. Let’s put you back in your pen,” she muttered, her voice cool, pretending I wasn’t even there.

I stepped in front of her, shoving my hands into my pockets, my thumb brushing the handkerchief she’d given me. “Wait—don’t go.”

She stopped but didn’t say a word, her chin tilting up, stubborn and defiant.

I tried small talk, awkwardly. “So... your bunny’s name is Snow?”

Nothing. Not even a blink.

I sighed. “All right, I revoke my wish. You can talk to me now.”

She just looked at me—blank, unimpressed, as if she was already bored of this conversation I was desperately trying to have.

Fine. If she wouldn’t talk, maybe I could at least get a reaction.

I pulled the handkerchief from my pocket and held it out. “So, you made this, huh?”

Her lips parted slightly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. Then she reached for it—finally, a reaction.

I grinned and held it just out of reach. “Nope. You stitched my name on it, see? That means it’s mine. Although your embroidery—” I smirked a little, teasing— “could use more practice.”

The glare she shot me could’ve set me on fire. She was furious—and adorable. I almost laughed. Almost.

But still, she didn’t speak.

“I know I wished you wouldn’t talk to me,” I admitted, lowering my voice, “but... it’s actually annoying that you listened.”

She stepped around me, clearly done with this. Instinctively, I reached out and caught her arm. “Violet—”

“Let go!” she hissed, twisting hard.

Before I could react, she pinched me—hard.

“Ow—hey!” I yelped but didn’t release her fast enough, so she kicked me square in the shin.

“Gods—! You’re a violent little thing!” I groaned, hopping back on one foot.

She glared up at me, eyes blazing, then turned sharply and stomped off, clutching her bunny to her chest like a tiny warrior storming away from battle.

I stood there rubbing my shin, not angry—if anything, amused. She was infuriating, unpredictable, impossible... and I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

“Violent Violet,” I muttered under my breath, half-grinning. Maybe I’d keep teasing her until she actually talked to me again.

But the thought barely formed before something rough and cold wrapped around my mouth from behind.

I tried to shout, but the gag stifled my voice, the foul smell burning my nose. Strong hands grabbed me, dragging me backward. I kicked, thrashed, bit—anything—but they lifted me like I weighed nothing.

And then the world went dark.

-FEN-

I sat at the long wooden table, hands clasped tight, pretending to listen as the council droned on about supply routes and troop rotations. My mind wasn’t on numbers or men. It was still stuck on yesterday.

King Tauri’s dismissive words echoed in my skull: “Boys will be boys. Just let this slide, Fen.”

As if Xaden’s pain—his mother’s leaving, a wound still raw—used by Halden as a weapon—was nothing more than a childish scuffle to be brushed aside.

My jaw tightened. Xaden is strong even for his age; I’ve spent years teaching my son restraint, discipline, values. He doesn’t strike without reason. And when Halden taunted him about his mother, he had every reason. But of course, Tauri hadn’t cared to hear a single word of it.

And then there was Alic—dripping with his father’s arrogance. My hands curled into fists just remembering what Tavis told me, what our boys whispered to him and Tarcila: how the prince humiliated my son in front of everyone at dinner. I’d wanted to throttle him myself.

Those twin princes are rotten at the core.

I needed to speak with the king soon. Raising sons who bully the weak would not strengthen our kingdom—it would rot it from within.

I sighed, rubbing at the bridge of my nose. Tavis had also told me how Violet stepped in—how she stood up to Alic, fierce and unflinching, her courage cutting sharper than any blade. That girl… she’s always had a way of defending others, even when she didn’t have to.

I wished Xaden could see that. Appreciate it.

I remembered how she outsmarted Melgren in that dream—how she saved Tavis and me from being framed in her own clever way—and now here she was, standing up for Xaden.

I was proud of my little duchess. And proud of my little duke, too. She’d faced down the bullies, and he’d held his temper.

Was I the only one who saw it—the perfect balance between them? I could already imagine her reigning him in, him steadying her, the two of them supporting each other.

They would be perfect.

Still, the tension between the two of them had grown heavy, like a storm waiting to break. Violet wouldn’t speak to Xaden—or to me. She’d been avoiding us both.

How do you make two children understand they’re better together without forcing it?

That thought was still gnawing at me when the tent flaps burst open.

Tavis stumbled in, pale and breathless. “Fen—it’s Xaden. He’s gone.”

My head snapped up. “What do you mean, gone?”

“We’ve searched the training yard, the supply tents, even the mess hall. Garrick hasn’t seen him since midafternoon. He’s—he’s nowhere.”

I was already on my feet, my chair scraping hard against the floor. “Check the stables. The stream. Anywhere he might brood.”

“I already did,” Tavis said, his voice breaking. “He’s not there.”

The world seemed to narrow.

I barreled out of the tent. Guards and servants froze as I passed, sensing the shift in the air.

“Xaden!” I called, scanning the camp’s edge.

Only wind and distant chatter answered.

Then something white caught my eye near the old oak by the perimeter. I moved closer—and froze.

A small white bunny hopped in the grass, its fur streaked with dirt.

Snow.

Violet’s bunny.

My blood ran cold.

For one long, paralyzing heartbeat, I couldn’t breathe. The memory of my dream—the cloaked men near that same oak, Violet sitting beneath it—flashed like lightning in my mind. How could I have forgot about it?

I knelt and scooped the trembling creature into my arms. It pressed itself against my chest, heart hammering beneath its soft fur.

“Tavis!” I roared, my voice cutting through the camp like a blade.

He came running. “What is it—?”

I held up the bunny, my voice a low growl thick with dread. “Notify the Sorrengails. Now. I think Xaden and Violet were taken.”

Within minutes the camp became controlled chaos. “Alert everyone!” I ordered, striding through the rows of tents. “No one leaves this perimeter until we find them!” My voice stayed level—steady and commanding—even as panic clawed at my ribs.

Tavis barked orders to the scouts. “Search every edge of the forest, check the stream, the east ridge, the wagon routes—go!”

Word spread fast. Brennan, Mira and Asher were already searching for Violet, Lilith was at a nearby outpost but heading back. Mira, Violet's older sister usually so composed like her mother, came running in, lips trembling as she hugged Snow to her chest and shouted Violet’s name. Asher and I exchanged a look that said more than words: two fathers whose children had been taken. “We will find them,” I told him, to reassure him and to steady myself. Brennan pressed a cloak into my hands. Rain was starting; everyone tugged cloaks around their shoulders. “When my mother comes,” Brennan said, voice low, “she comes with a storm.” I nod understood then.

“Look for tracks,” I told the men. “If they took the children, they’ll need horses or a cart. Find fresh ruts or prints leaving camp. No one crosses the hunting grounds unnoticed.”

Tavis ran up beside me, mud streaking his boots. “We found cart tracks heading west. Fresh.”

My blood chilled. “Show me.”

We followed the tracks through the outer ring of the camp, past the supply wagons and into the thickening forest. The ground told the story clearly—scuffle marks, crushed grass, a drag line, a smear of dirt. It looked like they’d been grabbed, carried, shoved into a box or chest, then loaded onto a wagon. Three horses were missing too.

If they’d been put to sleep… it had to be with chemicals.

I cursed under my breath. Too much of that could keep a child under for hours—long, heavy, dangerous hours. Violet was so small. If she inhaled more than Xaden…

My chest tightened.

I just hoped they were together. At least then they wouldn’t wake up alone. And if they stayed asleep until we found them maybe they wouldn’t be as frightened.

“Bastards!” Tavis snarled, echoed by several of the Tyrrish guards. None of them could fathom someone bold or foolish enough to kidnap the heir of Tyrrendor.

I knelt and raked my gloved fingers through the churned soil. “The tracks split… they went into the woods. Clever bastards.”

Then the wind shifted—low and electric.

A deep, resonant roar rolled across the camp and the earth shuddered. Every head turned.

On the horizon the sky darkened; lightning cracked the clouds apart. From the storm a shadow descended—massive wings cleaving the lightning-lit air.

A dragon tore through the sky and landed with a gust that whipped tents and banners. Soldiers stumbled, shielding their eyes.

Lilith Sorrengail dismounted like a storm given flesh. She wasn't just a general—she was a mother whose child had been taken. Her black cloak snapped behind her like thunder, and her eyes burned with a fury that could bend the sky itself.

Her aides scrambled to her side, heads bowed, ashamed—and terrified.

“Can someone explain how my daughter is missing?”
Her voice cut through the wind, cold and precise as a blade.

One aide stammered out the report: Violet had been sitting by a tree with her bunny—then she was simply gone.

Tavis stepped forward, explaining the tracks we’d found, the missing horses, the likelihood they’d been put to sleep with chemicals.

The sky rumbled at the same moment Lilith’s expression darkened. Then the rain came—sharp, punishing sheets—her fury made manifest.

I met her gaze. Parent to parent. “We will find them.”

Her jaw clenched. She looked toward the treeline as the storm gathered around us. Soon there would be fog; the ground would slick. Good. It would slow the kidnappers. It would leave tracks.
For once, I was grateful Lilith Sorrengail was on my side.

Asher stepped beside her and took her hand—silent strength, a partner’s steadiness. A husband’s. I swallowed hard. Talia used to hold my hand like that. Maybe not out of love, but out of unity for Xaden’s sake. I missed it—missed her—more than I liked admitting.

But this was not the time to miss my wife.

Xaden only had me now. His mother might have walked away, but I was still here. I was the one he woke to, the one who taught him, the one who picked him up every time the world tried to break him.

He had me—his father, who would do everything for him.

Everything.

“We followed cart tracks west,” I said. “One cart. four of maybe six men, judging by the boot prints. They haven’t gotten far.”

Lilith’s eyes snapped back to me—fierce, knowing, lethal.

“Then they’ll wish they hadn’t.”

She relayed something to her dragon with a single, sharp gesture. The beast growled and launched upward with a crack of air and light.

“Scouts on every sides!” I barked. “Tavis, take ten with you north—cut off any escape!”

Lilith strode to the forest edge. Rain soaked her cloak. “If they harm my child,” she murmured, “I’ll hunt their families down.”

I fell into step beside her, sword already drawn, the storm howling around us as if answering her rage.

I saw her again—the Lilith from my premonition dream, the one who had hunted me when she believed I’d harmed her son. But this time, we were on the same side. Our children were gone. Taken.

Lilith Sorrengail: the woman whose fury could bend storms, whose heart—when provoked—could bring ruin. She would hunt for her daughter with the wrath of a god, and she would destroy anyone in her path.

And I understood her, because I would do the same for Xaden.

Those bastards had better pray we found our children quickly and unharmed.
No gods.
No mercy.
Nothing in this world would save them from us.

-XADEN-

I woke to darkness.

Wood creaked around me as I tried to move. My shoulder slammed against something hard—rough edges, splintered corners. A box? No… a chest. I was inside something.

Pain flared down my arm, sharp and hot. My heart pounded so loudly it drowned out every other sound.

The last thing I remembered was Violet—her hair swinging as she walked away, my shin still throbbing where she’d kicked me—and then… hands, a rag, the awful smell.

I’d been kidnapped.

I tried to shout, but the gag bit into the corners of my mouth. Panic clawed up my throat. The air felt too tight, too thin. I fumbled at the cloth with shaking fingers and yanked it free—my hands weren’t tied. That somehow made it worse. If they didn’t bother binding me, what did they plan to do once we arrived?

I’d never been afraid of the dark before. The dark used to mean safety—quiet nights beside my father’s fire, the soft hum of his voice when he told stories before bed.

But this wasn’t that kind of dark.

This dark pressed in from every side, heavy and alive with the sound of wheels turning.

I was being taken away.
Away from Father.
From Garrick.
From everything I knew.

My chest ached. My breath came too fast. I pressed my forehead against my knees and whispered through the darkness, desperate for something to hold onto.

“I’m alone. I’m alone. I’m—”

Something warm brushed my hand.

I stilled.

A small hand slipped into mine, soft, warm and trembling but steady.

“You’re not alone,” a voice whispered, so close it barely sounded real.

Violet.

I turned toward the sound of her voice, toward the small hand still holding mine. I blinked into the dark, my heartbeat stumbling. “V-Violet?” I tried to say, but the lump in my throat turned it into a broken whisper.

“Yes,” she breathed back. “I’m here.”

Her words wrapped around me like a light I couldn’t see but could feel. The shaking in my limbs eased, just a little. I squeezed her hand—hard—terrified that if I let go, she’d disappear.

As my eyes slowly adjusted, a faint outline took shape: the curve of her cheek, the silhouette of her small frame, her silver hair—still in a high ponytail but messy now from the struggle.

How had she gotten here? She’d walked away. I saw her leave.
Did she… come back for me?

The thought settled in my chest—deep, warm, and startling—like a flame catching in a place that had always been ice.

For the first time since my mother left, I didn’t feel completely abandoned. Violet was here. With me. We were trapped in a chest, kidnapped, being wheeled to gods-knew-where… but I wasn’t afraid. Not the way I had been.

Because I wasn’t alone.

Violet came back for me.

And in the strange, quiet realization bloomed—soft and unnerving and impossibly precious.

I felt… chosen.

Chapter Text

 -VIOLET-

Ugh, he is so annoying and confusing. I thought he didn’t even want me talking to him—so why does he keep bothering me?

And how dare he tease my embroidery? It was my first time doing it, of course it wasn’t perfect. Did he know how late I stayed up, how my fingers hurt from the tiny stitches? I won’t embroider ever again. Not for him. Not for anyone. Well... maybe for Mira... and Brennan... and my mom... and my dad. But that’s it. I’m never doing it again.

My cheeks burned with embarrassment. His name had been a little crooked—okay, a lot crooked—but he didn’t have to laugh at it. I should’ve given it to Mira instead of Xaden.

I stomped through the grass, muttering under my breath and clutching Snow close. My bunny’s soft fur brushed my cheek and my anger started to melt—just a tiny bit.

Then I heard something.

A muffled sound.

I turned.

My heart froze.

A man had Xaden from behind, an arm tight around his neck, a dirty cloth pressed over his mouth. Xaden kicked, thrashed but he was smaller than those men and then his legs went limp.

“No, no, no, no!” My chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe.

I should have run. I should have shouted for help. But if I did, they might be gone before anyone came.

So I did the first thing I thought of.

I set Snow carefully on the ground. “Stay,” I whispered.

Then I grabbed the biggest stones I could find and threw one with all my strength. It hit one of the men right in the eye.

He screamed, clutching his face.

“Hey! Let him go!” I shouted, throwing another rock. My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. Maybe someone would hear. Maybe Mira or Brennan or anyone—

But then rough footsteps came at me fast. I was surrounded by two more.

A large hand grabbed my arm and yanked me backward.

“Let me go!” I kicked, fought, twisted. “My mom is going to kick your butt!”

The man laughed a low, awful sound and shoved a wet cloth over my mouth. It smelled sharp and sour. I tried to hold my breath, but the world spun and went black.

When I woke, it was pitch dark. The air was tight. Wooden boards pressed against my shoulders.

Then I heard him.

Xaden.

His voice was small and cracked. “I’m alone. I’m alone…”

My heart clenched.

“You’re not alone,” I whispered, feeling around until I found his hand. It was shaking.

He flinched, then held on so tight it almost hurt.

“V-Violet?” he whispered.

“Yes,” I said softly. “I’m here.”

I rubbed my thumb across his knuckles, the way Dad does when I cry.

The box jolted and rattled. We were moving. A cart. I could feel it in the floorboards.

We were being taken away from camp, from Mom, from everyone.

I closed my eyes. Aimsir, please find us. Please.

Then Xaden spoke again, his voice thin with something between fear and confusion. “I saw you leaving. Why… why did you come back?”

Did he think I’d just stand there and watch while they took him?

I turned toward the sound of his breathing in the dark. “Why would I not?” I said softly, as if it were the simplest truth in the world.

He didn’t reply. But I could feel him looking at me, trying to make sense of an answer that should never have needed explaining. It made something small and sad bloom in my chest, that he could even imagine people would just leave him. We were silent for a while, the darkness in the box we are in 

Then I heard it, the faint patter of rain. A few drops at first. Then the sky opened.

Thunder rolled so close it rattled the wooden walls around us. Xaden flinched, but I… I breathed in. The tension in my shoulders melted.

The storm didn’t frighten me. It soothed me.

The sound of rain meant Mom was close.

Her signet let her control the weather—she could make a room cold or warm, make sunshine appear, or call down a drizzle like it was nothing. And every time she came home from a mission, she used a warm, gentle rain to tell us she was back. Dad would smile and Mira, Brennan and I would rush to fix our rooms or brush our teeth, pretending we’d been ready for bed the whole time.

So when I heard the rain now, something inside me lifted.
It felt like the sky was whispering to me: She’s coming. She’ll find you.

But this wasn’t a warm drizzle.

This was rain slapping the ground so hard it echoed.
Cold.
Heavy.
Loud.

Mom wasn’t just coming.

She was angry.

And when she was angry, she always brought the storm with her.

I knew that better than anyone.

Once, Mira and Brennan got into a fight—like a real one—not just bickering. Mira punched him and his nose started bleeding. I’d never seen so much blood. I screamed for Mom and she came running.

She came with the storm that day, too.

Lightning cracked the sky, thunder shook the house and Mom burst through the door like a tornado wearing armor.

And now, hearing the sky roar again, it sounded like home. That same feeling rushed over me—relief, safety and just a tiny flicker of fear for the men who took us.

I let out a shaky breath. I hadn’t been kidding when I told them my mom would kick their butts.

She was already on her way. I could feel it.

“It’s okay. We’re going to be okay, Xaden,” I whispered.

His hand twitched in mine. “How do you know?”

I smiled into the dark. “That storm? That’s my mom. And she’s very angry.”

I didn’t know if he believed me, but his grip loosened just a little.

“My mom’s going to kick their butts,” I said again.

He gave the tiniest laugh.

“My dad too,” he muttered and I could hear the smile in his voice. Of course Fen would come—he loved Xaden too much to ever let him be taken away, not after everything.

Then I remembered something and my stomach tightened. I wasn’t supposed to call him Xaden.

“Um… sorry I called you Xaden,” I blurted.

His grip tightened immediately. “You can call me Xaden,” he said quickly—almost shy.

“But you said—” I began.

“I was being mean,” he interrupted. “I’m sorry. You’ll call me Xaden.”

He didn’t explain more, so I nodded. “Okay… Xaden.”

My eyes were adjusting to the dark now and I could see his faint smirk as his thumb brushed over my knuckles.

The cart hit a puddle, splashing loudly and one of the men outside cursed.

After that, we fell quiet again—two children in a wooden box, holding on to each other, refusing to let go—waiting for our parents to find us… or for the moment we could finally escape.

-XADEN-

The storm hit fast loud, wild and angry. Wind howled through the trees, rain hammering against the wood of the chest that trapped us. Every thunderclap sounded like the sky itself was splitting apart.

Violet didn’t flinch.

Somehow, she looked calmer. Like the storm wasn’t something to fear, but something she knew—like it belonged to her. I guessed that made sense. People said her mom's power could bring storms.

We stayed quiet, and I kept thinking about her answer when I’d asked why she came back for me. The way she squeezed my hand tighter, her thumb brushing over my skin like she was anchoring me—reminding me I wasn’t alone.

Why would I not? she’d said.

Like it was the simplest thing in the world.

I’d expect that kind of loyalty and kindness from Garrick. From my father. From any of the Tyrrish guards. But not from her, after the things I said? After I was mean to her because I thought she was going to steal my father from me?

And then she even apologized for calling me Xaden after I’d told her to call me Lord Xaden. I was the one who should apologize, I quickly told her I was sorry—that I’d just been mean—and that she could call me Xaden.

That felt like a start. I knew I had more to apologize for. A lot more.

I wanted to tell her I was sorry for being mean to her. To admit I lied—that I never really disliked her, not for even a heartbeat.

I even liked how she said my name. It made something in my chest twist. Made me smirk… and also feel weird and shy.

I’d tell her all of that. Just… not now.

We were still in danger. Our parents were coming, I knew that, but the men who took us could still hurt us. We needed to stay alert and look for a chance to escape.

The cart lurched and jolted to a sudden stop. The rain hammered so hard against the chest it sounded like the sky was trying to tear us apart. Too heavy to keep moving.

My hand drifted to the dagger hidden inside my boot. My favorite one—etched with a rune of power that let every swing land harder, hit truer. Now we only need an opportunity to escape.

Muffled voices shouted through the downpour.

“We are fucked! General Sorrengail will kill us—she’ll hunt us down!”

“Don’t talk to me about getting hunted! I think I’m going blind—the girl threw a rock at my eye!”

Beside me, Violet gasped softly. “I didn’t mean to make him blind,” she whispered, guilt threading her voice. “I just wanted him to let you go.”

“You threw a rock at him?” I asked, trying not to sound too impressed.

She nodded. “Yeah.”

I huffed. “You’re violent, Violet.”

Even in the dark, I could feel her glare. But the corner of my mouth tugged upward anyway. Gods, they’d kidnapped us and she still felt guilty for throwing a rock at them.

Outside, the men argued again.

“You’re the one who planned this shit!”

“And you’re the one who said to get both of them—she’s worth more than the Duke of Tyrrendor’s brat!”

I counted the voices. Six. Maybe fewer. I could take two at most if they came one at a time. If not—well, I’d make sure she got away.

“Enough! Let’s stay here till the storm eases.”
“It won’t ease! I'm telling you it’s General Sorrengail’s wrath.”
“Fine! Let me think of something. Take the kids to the cave. Give ’em food and water—they’ll fetch a nice price alive.”

That was our chance.

The chest shifted as they lifted it, setting it down on stone. The rain faded into a dull roar outside.

I turned to Violet. “When I tell you to run, we run. When I tell you to hide, you hide. Got it?”

She nodded, eyes wide but steady. “Got it.”

My hand tightened around hers. I could feel her pulse—fast but sure—and somehow, it steadied mine. I wasn’t afraid anymore. Not while she was here.

The lid creaked open. Rough hands yanked us out into a dim cave, torchlight flickering off wet rock.

“Separate and tie them,” one of them said, eyeing our joined hands.

He reached for Violet first.

I didn’t think—I just moved.

The dagger from my boot flashed once, slicing through the dim light as I buried it in his side. He roared, the storm outside swallowing his scream. I shoved Violet behind the chest.

“Stay there!” I shouted as another lunged.

I fought hard—training, instinct, desperation—but I was only ten and he was massive. He slammed me down, knee on my back, trying to tie my hands. I could barely breathe. If I couldn’t break free, she had to run. I opened my mouth to yell—

A sharp crack split the air.

The man went still. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed beside me.

Violet stood over him, gripping a thick branch, her face pale but fierce. She hit him again. And again.

When she finally dropped it, panting, she muttered, “That’s heavy.”

I stared, speechless. “I told you to stay behind the chest.”

She shrugged, pushing a wet strand of hair out of her face. “You’re welcome.”

I should’ve been frustrated by her stubbornness. Instead, I laughed—a raw, breathless sound that barely felt like mine.

She could’ve run when that man had me pinned. She could’ve saved herself. But she didn’t.

But then again when she saw them dragging me away, she came back. 

This girl this tiny, furious girl just kept coming back for me. Refused to leave me behind, even when she should’ve been terrified. Was she not scared at all? Or was she just braver than anyone I’d ever met?

My laugh must’ve given us away, because another man appeared, his eyes darting to the two on the ground—one bleeding, the other groaning where Violet had hit him. His face twisted with rage.

“You little shits!” he bellowed.

He lunged—not at me, but at Violet. She gasped, too slow to move.

I didn’t think. I moved.

As he pivoted toward her, I used the opening and drove my fist into his face. He stumbled back, tripping over a rock. I tackled him to the ground, climbed on top of his chest and hit him again, harder this time. His body went slack, blood streaming from his nose.

He didn’t get up.

And for the first time in my life, I understood something I’d never let myself consider—I was stronger when I was protecting someone. Someone who mattered.

She mattered?

The realization hit me so abruptly I actually turned to look at her, really look at her—at her stricken face, her hand pressed to her chest like she could hold herself together through sheer force of will. I didn’t know why. I didn’t know how. And I sure as hell didn’t have the time to untangle it. But she mattered and the understanding slid into place like a puzzle I didn’t even know I’d been solving.

“Xaden—your hand.” Violet’s voice shook, her eyes locked on my fist with outright panic.

I followed her gaze. My knuckles were split open, blood smeared and dripping, skin busted from impact… yet I felt nothing. Not even a sting.

“It’s fine,” I told her, brushing it off even though her worry took me off guard more than the injury.

I pushed to my feet. Everything in me had narrowed to one blistering truth, we had to move. Before the others found us. Before the men at our feet woke up. Before they try separating her from me again.

I reached for her hand, breathless, urgency bleeding into my voice. “Come on.”

We ran out of the cave and into the storm, the wind screaming around us, rain slashing our faces—but it hid us, too. No one could see, no one could hear. We stumbled through mud and roots until we reached a stream, water rushing silver under flashes of lightning.

Violet pointed weakly. “The stream… it’ll lead us back to camp.”

So we followed it.

After what felt like forever, her steps began to falter. Her hand slipped from mine and I felt an unexpected emptiness, like I’d lost something vital. Then she stopped altogether, sinking to her knees beneath a tree.

“Are you hurt?” I asked, dropping beside her.

She nodded, hugging her legs to her chest. I reached toward her knee, but she shook her head. “Not like that. I’m… sick. I hurt all the time. Worse since I rode Lightning today. And we ran too much.”

My stomach twisted. Sick. I thought of our race the other day and guilt clawed at me. 

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I didn’t want anyone to treat me differently.”

I nodded, sitting beside her. Without thinking, I took her hand—the same way she’d held mine when we were trapped in that chest. “Let’s rest for a bit,” I murmured and she nodded.

The storm was easing now, rain thinning to a soft drizzle. For a while, we just breathed.

Then she let go of my hand, whispering, “If that rain is our sign then I think they found the those men. You should go.”

I frowned. “No.”

“Just go. Leave me here. My mom will find me.” She gave me a weak push and for a moment, I remembered what I called her before we were kidnapped—Violent Violet.

“I’m not leaving you, Violence.” I said it firmly. No hesitation this time.

“Hey! That’s not my name.” She shot me a glare, but it didn’t have its usual fire. Her face was too pale, her breaths too shallow. And somehow she still looked… beautiful.

I couldn’t help the grin that tugged at my mouth. “Well, you are a violent little thing, aren’t you, Violence?”

She scoffed. I chuckled. The sound felt like relief scraping my ribs.

“Stop calling me that,” she muttered.

“Make me… Violence.”

She let out a frustrated noise. “I swear, I will never be your friend if you call me that again.”

She said the words, but something in her tone—soft, shaky—made a strange warmth swell in my chest. Like we already were friends. Like maybe we’d been friends for a long time and just forgot.

“Sure, Violence,” I said lightly, knowing exactly what I was doing.

She huffed in defeat and didn’t argue again.

Silence settled between us, but it wasn’t empty. It was the kind that made everything outside of it feel far away—the kidnappers, the chest we’d been shoved into, the danger. They might have caught our kidnapper by now, but we still had to get out of here.

I shifted closer. “Come on,” I said quietly. “I can carry you. Get on my back.”

“Just go. You said you didn’t like me, remember?”

That stung. I had said that. And now she was throwing it back at me—and honestly, I deserved it.

I let out a breath and turned fully toward her, really looking at her. Her eyes were light hazel, blue, amber all at once, they were even prettier up close.

“I’m sorry, Violence,” I said softly. “I lied.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t.”

“I did. I didn’t not like you. I just said that to be mean.”

“Why would you say that? You hurt my feelings,” she muttered, disbelief flickering across her face.

“I know. And I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out, rough and honest. “I was mean because I’m an idiot. I thought you were… going to steal my dad.”

Her brows shot up. “Why would I steal your dad? I have my own. He may not be a duke, but he is smart and handsome and I love him.” She said it with this tiny, dignified lift of her chin and I believed her.

“See?” I shrugged. “I am an idiot.”

She blinked at me… and then laughed. A soft, breathy sound that hit me harder than any punch.

She looked even prettier when she laughed—maybe that’s why the princes and Dain always tried to make her laugh.

And gods, I liked the sound of it. Too much.

I hoped it meant she forgave me. If not, I’d apologize as many times as she wanted.

I grinned back at her, my chest suddenly too full to speak. But somehow I did.

“I like you, Violet,” I said quietly. I could feel my cheeks heating, so I added, a little faster, “And I’m not leaving without you.”

Her cheeks flushed and I looked away because my heart was racing too fast.

After a long silence, she whispered, “I’ll slow you down, idiot.”

“Then I’ll be slow,” I said with a shrug. “But I’m not leaving you.”

She stared at me for a long moment, then sighed. “Fine. But don’t complain that I’m heavy.”

I stood, still feeling that strange warmth in my chest and offered her my back. “I won't.”

She climbed on, her arms looping around my neck, her breath brushing my skin. And somehow it I felt… right.

We followed the stream, the world still drenched and shivering. In the distance, faint lights flickered—campfires. Hope.

Not wanting silence, I asked her questions to distract her from the pain. Her brother’s name. Her sister’s. How long she’d had Snow, her little white bunny.

My heart sank when she said Snow had been a gift from Halden. She really was close friends with that bully.

So I asked something else. Her favorite food. Her favorite color. But before she could answer, her weight shifted.

She’d gone limp.

“Violence?” I called, panic scraping my throat. “Violet!”

I stopped, lowering her gently to the ground. Her skin was clammy, rainwater running down her face. My hands shook as I pressed two fingers to her neck.

A pulse. Faint—but there.

“Violet, wake up,” I muttered, brushing wet hair from her cheek. “You can talk to me. To Garrick. To my dad. Just—please, wake up.”

My voice cracked. “I’m an idiot. I lied, Violet. Please.”

And then—through the trees—I heard it.

Someone shouting our names.

“Xaden! Violet!”

My head snapped up. That voice—deep, commanding, desperate.

“Dad!” I yelled, waving frantically. “Dad! We’re here!”

Another voice answered, closer this time. “They’re here!” Tavis.

Through the rain, figures broke from the trees—my father leading the charge, his cloak whipping behind him. Violet’s father reached us first, falling to his knees.

“Violet!” he shouted, wrapping her with a blanket, scooping her into his arms, holding her like she was made of glass.

“She passed out—she said her knees hurt,” I said quickly, words tumbling over each other.

Her father didn’t answer, just ran, shouting for a healer as he bolted toward the camp.

My father was beside me then, pulling me against him. His arms wrapped around me so tightly I could barely breathe. “Oh, my boy… are you okay?” His voice was rough, thick with emotion.

I nodded, blinking fast. He crouched in front of me, scanning me for injuries. “You must have been terrified.”

“I wasn’t,” I said, lifting my chin.

Tavis let out a low laugh. “Sure you weren’t.”

“No. Really.” I looked toward the direction Violet had been carried off. “Because she was with me.”

My father held my gaze for a long moment, something soft and proud flickering there—like he’d been waiting years to hear those words. Then he wrapped me in a blanket and picked me up, one strong arm under my knees, the other around my back.

And for the first time since I was kidnapped, I let myself rest. I closed my eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of rain and my father and felt safe.

When we reached camp, the rain had stopped, but everything was chaos. People crowded the clearing, voices clashing over one another as guards surrounded six men bound and bloodied on the muddy ground. Our kidnappers.

I’d been right—there were six of them.

The Tyrrish guards looked furious, some shouting threats in tyrish. I spotted Violet’s older sister nearby, spinning her dagger lazily while taunting the men. She only stopped when their older brother called her over.

No wonder Violet’s violent, I thought, half-smiling to myself. It runs in the family.
I decided then—I was calling her Violence from now on. It seemed fitting.

Tavis’s brows rose when he saw me. “We found three of them unconscious in a cave. Did you fight all three of those yourself?”

I nodded. “Two. I fought one with my dagger and another with my fists.” I held up my bloody knuckles, feeling a strange mix of pride and pain.

Tavis whistled low. “And the big one?”

“I fought him too,” I said quickly, “but he pinned me down. Violet hit him with a branch.”

My father’s arms tightened around me. “She did?”

“Yeah. And that other one who can’t open his eye—she hit him with a rock when they grabbed me. He said he couldn’t see.”

Tavis laughed, shaking his head. “That our girl, Violet.”

Before I could respond, the air changed—sharp and cold enough to make my breath hitch. The hairs on my arms stood up. I pulled the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

A shadow passed over us.

Then, with a thunderous gust of wind, a massive brown dragon descended from the clouds. The earth trembled when it landed, wings stretching wider than any tent in the camp. Its scales shimmered in bronze light and its eyes burned molten gold.

I could only stare. I’d heard stories from my grandfather—he’d been a rider before nobles’ sons like my father were ordered into infantry instead—but seeing one in real life… it didn’t feel real. I was frozen, breathless, awed.

Atop the dragon’s neck sat Violet’s mother.

General Lilith Sorrengail.

She dismounted like she didn’t need to look where she was stepping—like the ground itself moved to meet her. Rain slid off her black cloak as she strode forward, eyes locked on the kidnappers. The men screamed when they saw her.

Lightning split the sky behind her, thunder rolling so loud it shook my chest. Her dragon rumbled low, a sound that felt like the world itself growling in warning.

She wasn’t just a general.
She was the storm.

And Violet was right she was furious.

Watching her—terrifying, magnificent, unstoppable—I finally understood why those men had been so afraid.

That was the moment I knew, deep in my bones—I wanted to be a dragon rider.

-FEN-

The rain had stopped, but the air in the makeshift tent was still cold. Mud was churned with blood where the kidnappers had been bound. Six men — bruised, trembling, already realizing mercy would not be their fate—knelt in the clearing. King Tauri had ordered his sons back to the palace as soon as word reached him of the kidnapping, other nobles did as well. 

I toyed with the little dagger the healer had given me after stitching the wound where Xaden had driven it—fingertips worrying the hilt to stop me from using it on the bastards at my feet. The man had lost a lot of blood, but he’d been sewn up enough for questioning. I had to hold myself back; we needed answers. The fury I’d felt when Tavis told me Xaden was missing—and then that Violet was missing too—was still hot under my skin. Relief came only when the scouts found the cart and the men: three unconscious in the cave, three cowering nearby. Pride followed—pride that Xaden and Violet had escaped—but it curdled into a fresh worry that they might be separated, given how cold they’d been with each other. That worry crashed when I heard Xaden’s voice by the stream; my stomach dropped when I found Violet unconscious beneath a tree, feverish and curled against the earth, Xaden bruised and his knuckles busted. Both of them ended up in the healer’s tent, shivering with fever after running through the storm. Violet had passed out from the pain in her joints—her knees worst of all.

I’d broken one knee of each of the kidnappers and cut the hand of the big man Xaden said had pinned him to the ground. They earned every injury I gave them for what they’d done to my son and to my little duchess.

Lilith Sorrengail stood beside me, her dragon still circling overhead like a roiling cloud with wings. Her expression was thunder itself—cold, unrelenting, sharper than lightning.

I’ve seen generals furious before, but never like this. Lilith wasn’t merely angry; she was mother angry. When she told Melgren to leave the captives to us, no one argued—not even Melgren and King Tauri.

Tavis stood behind the prisoners, sword drawn but unused. He didn’t need to lift it; Lilith’s gaze alone made hardened men confess.

“Again—who told you?” I demanded, my voice low and lethal. “Who ordered you to take my son and her daughter?”

One of the men flinched. “N-no one ordered us, Your Grace. We… uh… we just thought… the girl… people said the prince and the queen valued her. Someone said—”

“Someone said?” Lilith’s voice cut him off like a blade. “Who?”

“It was talk in the tavern… whispers. They said as the general’s daughter and the prince’s playmate she’d fetch a huge ransom—” the man begged.

Lilith stepped forward and the words died in his throat.

“Rumors?” She crouched so their faces met. Her eyes were molten metal. “So based on rumors you kidnap my daughter?”

A man started to stammer, “Gen…General, please… we… we didn't mean to harm—” and was slapped so hard by Lilith he fell forward into the mud. “No harm? My daughter lies unconscious because of what you did!”

“We followed her,” one of them blurted, voice breaking. “Then we saw the boy… the duke’s heir… we thought we took him instead—”

Hearing that, something in me snapped. Choosing to kidnap my son instead of Violet to ‘save’ them was an insult I could not stomach. I punched the man in the face hard enough to make him howl.

“But Violet saw you and threw a rock at you,” I finished, recalling Xaden’s words. “She shouted for you to let him go, instead you took her too.”

The men nodded, shaking. Lilith’s jaw tightened; her fury quieted into something far worse—dangerous, controlled.

“So you decided to take my daughter anyway because she wouldn’t abandon a friend?” she murmured.

“Yes… yes. We figured we could ask double for both of them—” one pleaded.

Her dragon rolled a low growl that made a man soil himself and two others weep. Lilith and I exchanged a look; the truth was clear enough. There had been no mastermind—just six desperate men chasing a rumor, aiming for the highest ransom. Violet had been the target; Xaden had been an unexpected complication.

“They’re yours,” I told Lilith. That was all I needed to say.

From the look in her eyes, I knew I did not want to see what would happen next. Her dragon could have immolated all six without effort. I turned to Tavis. “Stay until the end and report everything to me.” He nodded.

Then I walked away to the healer’s tent, to my children: my little duke and duchess.

The tent was quieter than the clearing, lit by the pale shimmer of lanterns; the air was warmed, no doubt Lilith's doing to make the place comfortable for the feverish kids. It smelled faintly of herbs and wet earth.

Xaden and Violet slept on adjacent cots, both pale and feverish. Asher sat at Violet’s side, holding her hand his knuckles were busted too—he’d hit the bastards after making sure Violet was safe. I’d never seen the usually quiet scribe get violent. When he caught my eye he gave a tight nod, I returned it.

I sat beside Xaden and watched him sleep for a long moment. His knuckles were wrapped, his face mended but still bruised. Then I looked over at Asher.

“I left them with Lilith,” I told him. “Their original target was Violet—being the general’s daughter and the prince’s playmate. I thought Lilith should have the right to dispose of them.”

His jaw tightened; he nodded once.

My gaze shifted to Violet. She lay so still, her face pale, her small frame dwarfed by the bed. Her knee was swollen and bandaged. Her breathing was shallow but steady. My promise to Lilith echoed in my mind and I asked the question aloud.

“How is she?”

“She has a fever. We gave her pain tonic for her knee. Aside from that, no bruises. I have to thank your son for that, Your Grace,” Asher said.

A small smile pulled at my mouth—pride. Xaden had carried Violet when her knee gave out. That reminded me of my other promise: to help find a cure for Violet’s illness. Remedies only eased it; nothing had ever been permanent. She was my little friend and I wanted her healed.

“Asher,” I began softly, “I don’t know if Lilith told you… but I want to help find a cure for Violet’s condition.”

“Lilith told me, Your Grace. But Violet’s condition is not an easy one. I’ve been searching for a cure myself…” His voice held the exhaustion of years.

“I know. Lilith and I discussed it—she was in a fight while she was pregnant with Violet.” Just like he’d told me in the dream. Asher looked startled; he hadn’t expected me to know that.

“Your Grace… how did you—?”

I only smiled. “Not important. What matters is that there are old Tyrrish healers I want to consult. If you don’t mind, I’d like them to examine Violet.”

“I don’t mind, Your Grace.” He hesitated, then added, “I spoke with Lilith. Violet and I will accept your invitation to Aretia once everything is settled.”

“Good.” I nodded. This was good. Violet would come to Aretia.

Silence settled between us for a breath before Asher spoke again.

“And, Your Grace…” His voice dropped. “I’d like to help with the other thing too.”

“You mean the group I’m building?” I asked, though I already knew his answer. He wanted in—into my quiet faction against the Venin. But we had to be cautious.

“Yes, Your Grace. I can help.”

I nodded, pleased but careful. “We’ll talk about it in Aretia, or in a more secure location,” I murmured—just as we’d planned in that dream. This time, I would make sure Melgren couldn’t find out.

The healers would need to see Violet in person before anything could be decided. That was clear. Still, the plan was forming. No one would suspect Asher and me working together — not when everyone believed our bond came from the shared ordeal of our children being kidnapped. It wasn’t the best reason to be allied, but it was a perfect cover.

Later that night, Lilith stepped into the tent. We exchanged a single look and a quiet nod—I knew she was done dealing with the bastards. Dragon food, as they deserved. We agreed to move both Violet and Xaden to the palace in the morning—where they could receive proper treatment and real rest.

When the camp quieted, I dimmed the lanterns. I set up a small hammock a few feet from their cots, but sleep wouldn’t come. So I just sat there, watching them—my son and my little friend, the girl who proved me right. In my dream, she saved me and Tavis behind; and in this time, she refused to leave my son. Every breath they took felt like a fragile miracle and I couldn’t bring myself to close my eyes in case they disappeared.

About an hour later, I saw Xaden stir. He blinked slowly, still hazy, trying to remember where he was. I almost went to him—but he needed rest more than reassurance. He glanced around, searching, probably for me, but the lantern light was dim and he didn’t see me.

Then, in the quietest whisper, he breathed, “Violet?”

His eyes found her. Their cots were two feet apart, but the moment he saw her sleeping beside him, something in him unclenched. His whole body eased.
To my surprise—and utter delight—he pushed himself up, grabbed the edge of his cot and dragged it closer until it touched hers. He lay back down facing her, watching her for a long, still moment before sleep pulled him under again.

I swear my heart did a little happy dance. 

Hours passed without sleep and then Violet stirred. She mumbled incoherently, her face scrunching with pain or discomfort. I was just about to stand when her eyes cracked open. She didn’t see me at all—she saw Xaden.

And immediately, without a second thought, she reached out and found his hand.

The moment her small fingers curled around his, her whole body relaxed. She exhaled softly and drifted right back to sleep, like the simple act of touching him reset her world.

I couldn’t help grinning. The kidnapping had done something unexpected—it had bound them closer. The simple presence of one comforted the other.

Xaden had told me earlier he wasn’t scared because Violet was with him. Now I understood why.

I whispered a quiet prayer to Amari—or to whichever gods might be listening. If this is a dream, don’t wake me.

I want this life. One where Xaden has Violet beside him, someone brave enough to rein him in, loyal enough never to leave him, gentle enough to balance the fire in him.

Someone who will stand beside him. As a friend… or more.

Gods, I want them to be more than friends. But Tavis was right, I can’t force it. All I can do is hope.

I closed my eyes and let the image rise again, soft and vivid: Xaden and Violet standing in the Temple of Amari, exchanging vows, light pooling around them like a blessing.

That future… that life… is worth protecting with everything I have.