*Rena's POV*
The moment the garden was empty, the silence became unbearable.
I pushed back my chair, the scrape loud in the stillness, and stared at the path Piers had taken as though fury alone might drag him back. Phebe remained behind me, composed as ever—but I was done pretending this was something that could be endured politely.
"This is madness," I said, not bothering to soften my tone.
I paced once, then again, my hands curling at my sides. "Offering him up like that—binding him to some lowly peasant as though he were a token to be spent."
The words tasted foul.
"They dress it up as tradition," I went on, bitterness sharp on my tongue. "As if cruelty repeated long enough becomes honorable."
turned then, unable to hold it in any longer. "I don't support it, Phebe. Not now. Not ever."
He was our brother.
Not a lesson. Not a symbol. Not a sacrifice meant to remind the realm of humility.
And I would not stand by while they treated him like one.
I didn't wait to be told
That moment I left the garden, my steps quickened, skirts gathered in my fists as I followed the path Piers had taken. The palace corridors felt too narrow, too quiet—like they were watching me choose between fury and restraint.
I chose fury.
Fragments of the tea party replayed themselves in my mind, voices overlapping, laughter curdling into something ugly. The ladies' words clung to me like smoke I couldn't shake.
And then—him.
Levi.
My jaw tightened at the thought. Even now, his shadow found its way into everything. I cursed under my breath, cursed the blood that tied us, cursed the fact that fate had ever decided we were kin. The world would have been cleaner without him in it.
The king's anger. The whispered punishments. His latest act of disrespect—leaving the ball without notice, without apology.
I scoffed.
Punishment meant nothing to him.
Lashing. Beatings. Starvation. Isolation. I had seen it all imposed upon him in one form or another, each meant to break him, each meant to leave a mark. And yet—not once had I ever seen a scar linger on his body. Not on his back. Not on his arms.
Not even on his face.
I remembered it vividly—how I had made certain the strike landed where it would be seen, where it would stay. How I had waited for proof.
There had been none.
The wounds always vanished, healed without a trace, as though pain itself refused to claim him.
The memory made my blood boil.
If the crown was so eager to offer someone up, then offer him, I thought bitterly. Spare my brother the humiliation. Spare Piers the misfortune.
That role had been made for Levi.
It suited him.
It always had.
I reached Piers' door and stopped short, my breath uneven, my thoughts still clawing at one another. Anger warred with something sharper—fear, perhaps, or regret I refused to name.
I lifted my hand.
And knocked.
knocked again.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
"Piers," I called, sharper now.
No answer.
A knot formed in my chest. I drew in a breath, straightened, and spoke aloud, "I'm coming in."
The door opened under my hand.
I stopped short.
The room looked as though a storm had passed through it. A chair lay overturned, papers scattered across the floor, a goblet shattered near the hearth. The air itself felt heavy—thick with fury, with something raw and uncontained. My gaze traced every detail slowly, unwilling to miss any of it.
This was not carelessness.
This was rage given form.
Then my eyes were drawn to the balcony.
He stood there, framed by the open doors, his elbow resting against the rail, fingers dug deep into his hair as though holding himself together by force alone.
The afternoon light caught his silhouette, rigid and unmoving.
My anger faltered.
I crossed the room carefully, each step softer than the last.
"Piers," I said, his name leaving my lips gently now—once, then again—as I drew closer, as if speaking it might anchor him back to me.
"Piers…"
He didn't turn when he spoke.
"So," Piers said quietly, staring out beyond the balcony, "they've finally decided what I'm worth."
The words struck deeper than shouting ever could.
"A name pulled from a bowl," he went on, voice steady in a way that frightened me.
"A stranger. A girl chosen to remind me of my place." His fingers tightened in his hair. "I trained for years to stand beside this family—and this is what comes of it."
"Piers—" I tried.
"They didn't even tell me," he continued, the calm beginning to splinter. "I had to hear it from bored ladies with porcelain cups."
"Piers, listen to me—"
"So tell me," he said at last, turning just enough for me to see the anger burning behind his eyes, "am I meant to thank them for the honor?"
"No," I cut in sharply. "No."
He blinked, caught off guard.
"No one supports this," I said, stepping closer, my voice firm now. "Not me. Not Phebe. Not anyone who matters."
I softened then, just enough. "And Mother will not let this break you," I added, certain. "You know her. She'll find a way to make you laugh, to remind you that you're more than some ancient duty."
I shook my head, meeting his gaze. "She won't allow you to face
this alone."
For the first time since I'd entered the room, his silence wavered.
I stepped beside him at the railing, steady, unyielding—even if everything else felt close to falling apart.
A knock sounded at the door.
Sharp. Expectant.
Piers and I both turned.
Before either of us could speak, the door opened and Princess Elara stepped inside, skirts gathered lightly in her hands, her expression caught somewhere between offense and relief.
"You returned from the Academy and didn't even come to see me," she said, lifting a brow in reproach. "I heard about it hours ago."
Just like that, the heaviness cracked.
Piers straightened, surprise flickering across his face before something gentler replaced it.
"Elara," he said, the edge in his voice softening immediately. "I didn't realize you were back from lessons."
She crossed her arms, unimpressed. "I was waiting."
I watched as the storm in him eased, if only slightly. He spoke to her more softly now, apologizing, letting her fill the space with familiar complaints and quick questions—small things that reminded him he was still someone's brother, not just a prince burdened by duty.
For a moment, we were simply siblings again.
I stepped back quietly, giving them space.
"I'll leave you to her," I said, already moving toward the door.
Before I left, I looked back.
Piers met my gaze.
I offered him a reassuring smile—small, certain.
His lips twitched, then curved into the faintest arch.
It was enough.
I slipped out, closing the door behind me.