The night had spread its inky veil over the coast, and only the silvery glow of the moon pierced the darkness, tracing a shimmering path across the waves that crashed against the cliffs. The manor stood like a solitary sentinel on the edge of the sea, its gray stones absorbing the shadows. Torches flickered at the four corners of the property, their dancing flames casting moving silhouettes on the walls. Knights in armor patrolled the perimeter with military discipline, their footsteps echoing on the wet cobblestones. Some stood motionless like statues at strategic points, their gazes methodically scanning the surroundings.
Inside, the atmosphere was entirely different. The grand salon was bathed in a golden, warm light, provided by an imposing chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The walls were adorned with costly tapestries depicting scenes of hunts and legendary battles. A fire crackled in the monumental hearth, casting dancing shadows that seemed to come alive on the faces of the occupants.
Prince Eric was comfortably settled in a purple velvet armchair, his ash-brown hair falling carelessly over his forehead. His features were refined, aristocratic, with high cheekbones and a determined chin that spoke of his royal lineage. His hazel eyes, usually lively and calculating, seemed softened by the presence of the woman nestled in his arms. He wore a dark green silk tunic embroidered with gold threads, open at the collar, revealing a solid gold chain. In his arms, Louise rested like a fragile doll, dressed in a pale blue gown that seemed to have seen better days, despite its evident quality.
Facing him stood Sacha, his personal knight, a man whose beauty was almost unsettling. His ebony-black hair fell in silky strands to his shoulders, framing a face with sculpted features that could have been carved from marble. His golden eyes gleamed with an almost animal glow in the dim light. He wore light black leather armor reinforced for close combat. His left arm, once missing, was now present but visibly in the process of regeneration. The skin looked new, almost translucent, and his movements were still awkward, like those of a child learning to coordinate their limbs.
"So, Sacha," Eric began in a relaxed voice, absentmindedly stroking Louise's dyed auburn hair, "how's your arm been lately?"
Sacha raised his left arm, turning it slowly in front of him to examine it. His fingers closed into a fist, then opened again with visible hesitation.
"Thanks to the healing potion Your Highness graciously provided," he replied with a touch of gratitude in his voice, "it's regrowing slowly but surely. It's... a strange sensation, my Prince. Like a part of me that was dead is gradually coming back to life."
He paused, frowning slightly.
"The first few days were the hardest. The pain was... considerable. But now, I can feel the muscles reforming, the tendons reconnecting. In a few days, maybe a week at most, I think the arm will be fully functional."
"Really?" Eric asked, raising an eyebrow. "Only a week? I thought it would take longer."
"Lykanthropes heal faster than ordinary humans, my Prince," Sacha explained with a slight smile. "The potion has... how to put it... accelerated a process that was already naturally quicker. Without it, I probably would have waited months. With it..."
He shrugged his good shoulder.
"Let's just say it's almost miraculous."
"Miraculous, yes," Eric repeated with a sigh. "And ruinously expensive too."
He sank deeper into his armchair, his gaze losing itself in the dancing flames of the fireplace.
"You have no idea how complicated it was to get one. Ever since the Kingdom of Orvane acquired the monopoly on the secret of manufacturing superior-grade potions..." He shook his head in frustration. "It's become almost impossible to buy them. The prices have tripled—no, quadrupled—in just a few months."
"The Kingdom of Orvane?" Louise looked up at him, her soft voice carrying a note of innocent curiosity. "They discovered the secret?"
"Discovered? Stolen, more like," Eric let out a humorless laugh. "They managed to get their hands on the ancient formulas. Alchemy grimoires dating back to the Golden Age, apparently. And now they guard those secrets like a dragon guards its treasure."
"Grimoires from the Golden Age..." Louise murmured, as if testing the words on her tongue.
"Yes," Eric confirmed, his tone growing more bitter. "No one knows exactly how they obtained them."
Sacha nodded.
"I heard a rumor that it was a renegade from Ysvarra who sold them the formulas."
"Possible," Eric conceded with a shrug. "But it doesn't matter how they got them. The fact is, they have them now. And they're not sharing."
"The Empire of Ysvarra must be furious," Sacha remarked thoughtfully. "They held those secrets for generations."
"Furious is an understatement," Eric replied with a sardonic smile. "But what can they do? Declare war on Orvane over stolen grimoires? That would be ridiculous. Especially since they can't prove the formulas originally belonged to them."
He paused, running a hand through his hair.
"And now, the Orvanians control production. They manufacture the potions in secret laboratories, with sworn alchemists who can't reveal the formulas under pain of death. It's genius, really."
"Aren't common potions enough?" Louise asked, her brow furrowing slightly.
"Common potions?" Eric shook his head. "They heal cuts, scrapes, maybe a simple fracture. Advanced potions can close a deep wound, speed up the healing of a broken bone. But regrowing an entire limb?"
He paused dramatically.
"You need a superior-grade potion. And those..." He whistled through his teeth. "Let's just say I had to sell a few properties to get one. Properties I'd owned since my sixteenth birthday."
"I... I'm sorry, my Prince," Sacha said, his face darkening with guilt. "If I'd been more careful during—"
"Don't apologize," Eric cut him off, waving his free hand nonchalantly. "It wasn't your fault."
But as he said those words, his expression changed. His eyes hardened, and his jaw clenched. Thoughts swirled in his mind, inevitably returning to the incident that had caused the loss of Sacha's arm.
That damned royal hunt...
He never thought things would go so wrong. It was supposed to be the perfect opportunity. His father, the King, alone in the forest with minimal escort. The plans had been meticulously laid out, every detail checked and double-checked. The assassins he'd hired were unscrupulous professionals who asked no questions as long as they were paid.
But luck had smiled on his father that day.
"My Prince?" Sacha's voice pulled him from his dark thoughts. "You seemed... distant."
Eric blinked, refocusing on the present.
"Sorry, I... I was thinking." He straightened slightly in his armchair. "Tell me, Sacha, all traces that could link this assassination attempt to me have been cleaned up, right?"
Sacha's face grew more serious, almost grim.
"Most of the participants have been... silenced, my Prince."
"Most?" Eric repeated, his tone sharpening. "Not all?"
"Unfortunately, no." Sacha grimaced slightly. "A few have proven rather good at hiding. I'm actively tracking them, but they're... elusive."
"Elusive," Eric murmured, tasting the word with disgust. "How many?"
"Three, maybe four." Sacha paused, his golden eyes gleaming with a predatory light. "But they won't stay hidden for long. I'm on their trail."
"You're on their trail," Eric repeated with a small smile. "How do you plan to find them?"
"I have... my methods, my Prince," Sacha replied cautiously. "My sense of smell is far better than a normal human's. And I've set up a network of informants in the underbelly. They send me information. Sooner or later, those rats will come out of their holes."
"Your informants," Eric said thoughtfully. "Are they reliable?"
"As reliable as someone paid in bronze coins can be," Sacha replied with a shrug. "They don't know who they really work for, of course. I go through intermediaries. Intermediaries who go through other intermediaries."
"Prudent," Eric approved. "Very prudent."
"I've learned from you, my Prince," Sacha said with a slight bow of his head.
"Good." Eric nodded with satisfaction. "You always do good work, Sacha. That's why I keep you by my side."
He paused, his smile widening slightly.
"And also because you're probably the only one who would never betray me."
"Never, my Prince," Sacha affirmed with a solemnity that left no room for doubt. "My loyalty is yours until my last breath."
A comfortable silence settled in the room, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire and the distant murmur of waves crashing against the cliffs.
Eric turned his gaze to Louise, who had remained silent, nestled against him like a bird seeking warmth and protection.
"Louise," he said softly, stroking her hair with an almost paternal tenderness, "what do you think? About all this?"
Louise looked up at him, her blue irises—dyed, of course, just like her hair—gleaming in the golden light.
"I... I think Your Highness acted wisely," she said in a soft, almost childlike voice. "The King is... he's dangerous. And if Your Highness wants to protect the kingdom, then..."
She let her sentence trail off, as if unsure how to finish it.
"Protect the kingdom," Eric repeated with a tender smile. He placed his hand on her cheek, caressing it gently. "Yes, that's exactly it, my sweet Louise. Protect the kingdom."
His fingers traced a line along her jaw, lingering on her pale skin.
"You're so beautiful when you talk like that. So pure. So innocent."
He leaned in and placed a kiss on her forehead, a gesture that might have seemed romantic if not for the palpable tension in Louise's shoulders.
"You always understand me so well."
Sacha watched the scene without any particular expression, but his golden eyes betrayed a glimmer of... something. Pity? Disgust? It was hard to tell.
Eric straightened up, his expression growing more serious.
"By the way," he said, his tone becoming more thoughtful, "apparently, that creature that did this to Sacha was brought to the palace by the King."
"What?" Sacha straightened slightly, surprised. "Brought to the palace?"
"Oh yes," Eric confirmed with a humorless laugh. "Apparently, my dear father had it as an ace up his sleeve the whole time."
He shook his head, an expression of admiration mixed with frustration crossing his face.
"It's impressive, I have to admit. To think he had such a beast at his disposal and never revealed it... My father is craftier than I thought."
Another silence fell, more tense this time. Louise shifted slightly in Eric's arms, seeming to want to say something but hesitating.
Sacha finally broke the silence.
"My Prince, may I ask you a question?"
"Of course," Eric replied with a nonchalant wave of his hand.
"The supposed illegitimate child of the King..." Sacha chose his words carefully. "The one the whole palace whispers about. Cassian, I believe?"
At the name, Eric stiffened slightly.
"What do you want to know?"
"Is it true?" Sacha asked simply. "Is he really His Majesty's bastard son?"
Eric let out a dry, almost bitter laugh.
"Bullshit. It's all bullshit."
He leaned forward, his gaze intensifying.
"I don't even know why the King keeps this Cassian at the palace myself. But it's certainly not because he's his illegitimate son. My father..." He paused, searching for words. "My father is many things, but he's not stupid. If he had a bastard, he'd never keep him at the palace. Too many risks, too many political complications."
"Then why?" Sacha pressed. "Why keep an unknown child under such protection?"
"Exactly," Eric said, pointing a finger at Sacha. "That's THE question. Why?"
He slumped back against his armchair, his frustration evident.
"I can't even go see this famous Cassian. His access is highly guarded. The best knights of the Royal Guard stand watch day and night. It's... it's more security than for my own apartments!"
He struck the armrest of his chair in annoyance.
"It's impossible that such measures would be taken for a simple illegitimate child."
Louise, who had remained silent during this exchange, chose that moment to intervene.
"Maybe the King is just kind?" she said in a soft voice. "Maybe he pities the child and—"
"Kind?" Eric turned abruptly toward her, his expression hardening instantly. "My father? Kind?"
His tone had become icy, and Louise shrank slightly against him.
"Louise," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "since when has Louise—the REAL Louise—ever been so naive?"
The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive. Sacha tensed, his werewolf instincts telling him something horrible was about to happen.
"I... I'm sorry," Louise stammered, her voice trembling. "I didn't mean—"
"Didn't mean what?" Eric cut in, his tone rising gradually. "To say foolish things? To talk like an idiot?"
He suddenly seized her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes. Not hard enough to hurt, but firmly enough that she couldn't look away.
"You had ONE job," he said, each word pronounced with surgical precision. "ONE. SINGLE. JOB."
His voice rose another notch.
"To act like the real Louise! Like LOUISE BLACKWOOD, daughter of Marquis Blackwood! Not like a brainless slave who asks stupid questions!"
Tears began to well up in Louise's eyes, but she said nothing, terrified.
"Do you remember where you come from?" Eric continued, his voice becoming almost venomous. "Do you remember the cage I found you in?"
He shook her slightly, his grip on her chin tightening.
"You were NOTHING! Less than nothing! A marked slave destined for the mines or worse! And I had the KINDNESS, the GENEROSITY to buy you! To give you a better life!"
"My Prince—" Sacha tried to intervene, but Eric ignored him completely.
"All you had to do," Eric went on, his voice cracking slightly, "was act like HER. Wear her dresses. Talk like her. SMILE like her."
His face suddenly twisted, shifting from anger to something darker, sadder.
"But you forced me to say it. You FORCED me to say it."
He released her chin, his hand falling limply.
"Louise is dead," he murmured, and those words seemed to tear at his soul. "The real Louise is dead. Gone."
Tears now streamed freely down the fake Louise's cheeks, but she didn't dare make a sound.
"And it's YOUR fault," Eric resumed, his voice hardening again. "If you'd acted properly, I never would have had to say it. I could pretend. I could BELIEVE you were her."
He pointed an accusing finger at her.
"But no. You had to play your own role. You had to remind me that you're just a COPY. A cheap IMITATION!"
The silence that followed was deafening. All that could be heard were Louise's muffled sobs and the crackling of the fire.
Then, as suddenly as the storm had arrived, it passed.
Eric's face softened. He took a deep breath, as if recentering himself.
"Did you understand?" he asked, his voice returning to soft, almost tender.
Louise nodded frantically, unable to speak.
"Good," Eric said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
And without transition, he pulled her back into his arms, holding her close as if nothing had happened.
"I'm sorry," he murmured against her hair. "Sorry for yelling at you, Louise."
He pronounced her name with particular emphasis, as if to stress that he was using the name she was supposed to bear.
"You know how much I love you, don't you? I only want what's best for you. For us. It's just that... sometimes, you push me to the limit."
He continued to stroke her, whispering sweet words, as if the last five minutes had never occurred.
Sacha watched the scene with a mix of disgust and pity.
This poor girl...
Eric had bought her at a slave market simply because she vaguely resembled Louise. Same facial structure, same height. With the right clothes, the right hair dye, the right makeup, and enough time to teach her proper manners, she could pass for Louise from a distance.
But it was never enough for Eric.
Every day, he slightly changed his perception of what "the real Louise" was. One day, Louise liked mint tea. The next, no, she preferred jasmine tea. How could this poor girl have forgotten?
She wore Louise's old dresses, slept in Louise's old bed, used Louise's old jewelry. She was forced to live like a ghost, inhabiting the skin of a dead woman.
Eric didn't like anyone bringing up Louise's death, either. It put him in a... morbid mood. Sickly. Once, Sacha had caught this fake Louise as she really was: undyed hair revealing its natural light brown, wearing a simple nightgown instead of one of the original's elaborate dresses, sitting in her room crying softly.
Eric had walked in at that moment.
Sacha shivered remembering the black rage that had consumed the Prince that day. The screams. The accusations. The barely veiled threats. The girl had been terrified for weeks afterward.
Now, as Sacha met Louise's gaze over Eric's shoulder, he saw everything she was trying to hide. The stress. The fear. The exhaustion of being someone else every second of every day.
She quickly looked away, but not before Sacha noticed her trembling hands, the tension in her shoulders, the way she forced herself to breathe slowly to avoid showing her panic.
What a pitiful life, Sacha thought, not without sympathy.
But he said nothing. He couldn't say anything. His loyalty was to the Prince, and the Prince wanted his Louise—real or fake.