The Grand Hall was still buzzing.
Kael's cruel toast echoed in Elara's ears like a curse. Nobles whispered behind fans. Servants avoided her gaze. Even Seraphina looked away.
Elara stood frozen, her goblet untouched, her smile long gone.
She had been humiliated.
Publicly.
Deliberately.
By the man she was supposed to marry.
By the man she was starting to love.
---
The Doors Burst Open
The massive double doors slammed open.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
A figure strode into the hall, tall and commanding, dressed in deep navy with silver embroidery. His hair was raven-black, his eyes a piercing ice-blue. A sword hung at his hip, and fury burned in his gaze.
Prince Lucien Thorne.
The third prince.
The youngest.
The one who had vanished months ago on a diplomatic mission to the Northern Realms.
The one Elara had written to be quietly in love with Lyria Vale.
The one who had never confessed.
Until now.
Lucien's eyes scanned the room.
Then they locked onto Elara.
He crossed the hall in long, purposeful strides, ignoring the nobles, the guards, even Kael.
"Lyria," he said, voice low and urgent.
She blinked. "Lucien?"
He took her hand.
"You're hurt."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
Kael stepped forward, jaw tight. "Lucien. You're interrupting."
Lucien didn't look at him. "I'm correcting."
"This is none of your concern."
"She is my concern."
The room went silent.
Kael's eyes narrowed. "She's my fiancée."
Lucien turned to him, voice sharp. "And you treat her like a pawn. Like a joke. Like something to break."
"She's not yours."
"She was never yours to destroy."
Kael's fists clenched.
Elara's heart pounded.
Lucien turned back to her, softer now. "I came back to find you married off to him. To find you drowning in a life you never asked for."
"I chose it," she whispered.
Lucien's eyes searched hers. "Did you choose him?"
She didn't answer.
Because she didn't know.
---
Lucien turned to the crowd.
"Lady Lyria Vale is not a fool," he said. "She is not weak. She is not a mistake."
He looked at Kael.
"She is not yours to humiliate."
Kael stepped forward, voice low and dangerous. "You're making a scene."
Lucien smiled coldly. "Good."
Then he turned back to Elara.
And bowed.
Deep. Formal. Reverent.
"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner," he said. "But I'm here now."
Elara's breath caught.
The room buzzed with tension.
Kael turned and walked away.
And Elara stood in the center of it all—shaken, confused, and suddenly not alone.
-
The palace was quiet.
Too quiet.
Elara sat in her chambers, staring at the flickering candle on her desk. Her gown still clung to her skin, the scent of wine and humiliation lingering like smoke. Kael's words echoed in her mind:
> "To Lady Lyria Vale—may she learn to play her part before the kingdom burns for it."
She had smiled through it.
She had stood tall.
But now, alone, she broke.
Tears spilled down her cheeks, silent and hot. Her hands trembled. Her chest ached. She had rewritten the story to survive—but survival had come with a price.
And Kael was collecting.
---
The Knock
A soft knock broke the silence.
She wiped her face quickly. "Come in."
Lucien stepped inside, his expression tight with concern.
"I shouldn't be here," he said. "But I couldn't stay away."
Elara stood. "You saw what happened."
"I saw a coward hiding behind a crown."
She looked away. "He hates me."
Lucien stepped closer. "He doesn't know you."
"I don't know me."
Lucien reached out, gently brushing a tear from her cheek.
"I do."
Elara's breath caught.
"I loved you before you wore a crown," he said. "Before you were his. Before you were anyone's."
She blinked. "Lucien…"
"I came back for you."
She stepped back. "It's too late." a part of her felt bad a little he was madly in love with Lyria not her, even if she had created Lyria , she still wasn't her.
"It's never too late." he said while looking at her
But she couldn't say it.
She couldn't let herself feel it.
Because Kael still held the strings.
---
The next morning, Kael summoned her.
She entered the war chamber, heart pounding.
He stood at the window, arms crossed, jaw clenched.
"You've been busy," he said.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Lucien."
Elara froze.
Kael turned, eyes blazing. "You think I didn't see it? The way he looks at you? The way you let him?"
"I didn't let anything—"
"You're playing both sides."
"I'm not—"
"You're a liar."
Elara stepped forward. "I never lied to you."
"You lied the moment you said yes."
Kael's voice rose. "You wanted to break me and Seraphina. You wanted to steal what we had."
"No!" she shouted. "I wanted to live!"
Kael's fists slammed against the table. "You wanted me."
Elara's breath caught.
Kael stepped closer, fury radiating from him.
"You think I didn't notice? The way you look at me? The way you flinch when I touch you? You wanted me to fall for you."
"I didn't—"
"You imagined this," he spat. "You imagined me. You imagined her. You imagined everything."
Elara's knees buckled. she had imagined everything yes but not like this not as Lyria.
Kael grabbed her arm, yanking her close.
"You think this is love?" he hissed. "It's poison."
Then—without warning—he pulled her into a harsh, punishing embrace.
His arms were tight, suffocating.
His breath was hot against her ear.
"You're mine," he whispered. "But I will never be yours."
Then he shoved her back.
And walked away.
Elara fell to the floor, gasping.
She had imagined Kael as her perfect boyfriend.
She had written Seraphina as her idealized self.
She had built this world from dreams.
And now it was devouring her.
Suddenly someone held her and picked her up from the ground.
"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner."
Lucien's voice was low, but it cut through the noise of the Grand Hall like a blade.
Elara stared at him, stunned. His hand was warm around hers, grounding her in a moment that felt like it had been waiting to happen for years—even if she hadn't known it.
"You came back again," she whispered.
"I never meant to leave you like that," he said. "I thought I had time. I thought you'd be safe." She knew he was talking about when he had left for the first time not about the scene unfolding now.
Her throat tightened. "I wasn't."
Lucien's jaw clenched. "I can see that."
He turned to Kael, who stood stiffly at the door of the war chamber , his expression unreadable.
"You humiliated her," Lucien said, voice louder now. "In front of the court. In front of the kingdom ,isn't that ENOUGH ."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "She earned it."
Lucien stepped forward. "No. You wanted to punish her because you couldn't punish yourself."
The room went silent.
Kael's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Watch your tongue, little brother."
Lucien didn't flinch. "Or what? You'll break me like you tried to break her?"
Kael's expression changed from unreadable to angry but he quickly masked it up.
Elara's heart pounded.
She had written Lucien as the quiet one. The gentle one. The one who loved from afar.
But now, he was fire.
And he was burning for her.
---
Later that night, Elara sat in her chambers, staring at the moon through the window.
Lucien's words echoed in her mind.
> "I thought you'd be safe."
She hadn't felt safe since the moment she woke up in this world.
But tonight, for the first time, someone had stood beside her.
Someone had seen her.
Someone had fought for her.
And it wasn't Kael.
---
She didn't expect Kael to come.
But he did.
He stormed into her chambers without knocking, his cloak billowing behind him, his eyes blazing.
"You think this changes anything?" he snapped.
Elara stood. "Lucien was right."
Kael laughed bitterly. "Lucien is a fool. And you're worse."
"I didn't ask him to defend me."
"But you let him."
"I didn't stop him."
Kael stepped closer. "You want him now?"
"No."
"You want me?"
Elara's breath caught.
Kael's voice dropped. "You don't get to want anything."
He grabbed her wrist, pulled her close.
His embrace was harsh, punishing.
"You broke me," he whispered. "You broke her. You broke everything."
Elara trembled. "I didn't mean to."
Kael's grip tightened. "You did."
Then he shoved her away.
"You're not the girl I thought you were," he said. "You're not even the girl you pretend to be."
And he walked out.
Leaving her shattered.
The next day
The throne room was silent.
King Aldric Thorne sat on the obsidian throne, his face carved from stone. His silver beard gleamed in the candlelight, and his eyes—once warm—were now cold with fury.
Lucien stood before him, unflinching.
"You embarrassed your brother," the king said.
"I defended a woman who was humiliated."
"You defied your future king."
"I defied cruelty."
The king's voice dropped. "You defied me."
Lucien didn't speak.
Elara watched from the shadows, heart pounding.
She had never seen Lucien like this—so fierce, so unyielding. But she had also never seen the king so angry.
"You will leave for the Eastern Border," the king said. "Tomorrow."
Lucien's jaw clenched. "For how long?"
"Until I say otherwise."
Elara's breath caught.
Lucien turned to her, eyes softening.
"I'll come back," he said.
She nodded, tears burning behind her eyes.
But she knew what this meant.
Lucien was being exiled.
And she was being silenced.
Two days later, the royal decree was issued.
Princess Lyria Vale will wed Crown Prince Kael Thorne in a fortnight.
The words were etched in gold across parchment, delivered to every noble house, read aloud in every square.
Elara stood beside Kael as the announcement was made, her hand resting lightly on his arm.
He didn't look at her.
He didn't speak to her.
He just stood there, cold and distant, like a statue carved from ice.
And she smiled.
Because that was her role now.
---
The palace buzzed with activity.
Seamstresses flooded her chambers with bolts of silk and lace. Florists arrived with carts of moonflowers and blood-red roses. Musicians rehearsed in the courtyard, their melodies haunting and hollow.
Elara moved through it all like a ghost.
She didn't speak.
She didn't cry.
She just existed.
Kael visited her once.
He stood in her doorway, arms crossed.
"You'll wear the red gown," he said.
She nodded.
He turned to leave.
Then paused.
"You're not allowed to see Lucien again."
"He's gone."
Kael's voice was sharp. "Good."
Then he walked away.
---
The Night Before
Elara sat alone in her chambers, the red gown hanging beside her like a warning.
She stared at her reflection.
Lyria Vale.
The girl who was supposed to die.
The girl who rewrote the story.
The girl who was now marrying a man who hated her.
She touched the mirror.
"I wanted to live," she whispered.
But this didn't feel like living.
It felt like surrender.