Kael POV
I should feel satisfied watching her dragged away. Instead, I feel nothing.
That's the problem with revenge—it's supposed to fix something broken inside you. But Aria of Thornhaven's execution was supposed to make me feel better about the betrayal, and all I feel is empty.
"She's mad, Your Highness." Lyanna's voice drips honey beside me. Her hand touches my arm gently. "Letting her live is dangerous. What if she truly practices dark magic?"
I pull away from her touch. Something about Lyanna has always bothered me, like biting into fruit that looks perfect but tastes rotten inside. My grandfather chose her as my "appropriate match" before Aria appeared. Beautiful bloodline. Proper family. Everything a crown prince needs.
Everything except the feeling that she's lying every time she smiles.
"If she's mad, then killing her wastes an opportunity," I say coldly. "If she's a spy, I'll discover who sent her. If she actually knows something useful..." I pause, remembering her words about siege weapons and physics. "Then I'm not stupid enough to kill my only advantage."
Lyanna's smile tightens. Just for a second. Then it's sweet again. "Of course, Your Highness. You're always so clever."
I leave her standing there and walk back to my war room. My advisors follow like nervous puppies, all talking at once.
"Your Highness, you can't seriously believe—"
"The woman is clearly possessed—"
"This sets a terrible precedent for traitors—"
"ENOUGH." My voice cuts through their noise like a blade. They fall silent instantly. Good. I'm twenty-eight years old but I've been ruling this kingdom since I was twelve, when my mother was murdered and my father broke. I learned early that weakness gets you killed.
Emotion gets you killed.
Love gets you killed.
My mother loved my father so much she didn't see the assassin's knife until it was too late. My father loved her so much that when she died, he lost his mind. He sits in a tower now, painting pictures of her face over and over, useless to everyone.
I will never be that weak.
That's why Aria's betrayal shouldn't have hurt. We were engaged for political reasons—her family controls the border territories I need. I never promised love. Never even pretended. The marriage was strategy, nothing more.
But when I saw those letters—her handwriting, my brother's name, words of love and stolen meetings—something cold settled in my chest. Not heartbreak. I don't have a heart to break. Just... disappointment that I'd miscalculated. That I'd thought she was at least honest.
"Commander Rhys." I turn to my head of guard, the only man in this room I actually trust. "What did you think of her words?"
Rhys is fifty, scarred, and the closest thing to a father I've had since mine went mad. He scratches his gray beard, thinking. "The lass knew things she shouldn't, Your Highness. Our attack plans are secret. Even the target city name shouldn't have reached her ears. But the technical details she spoke—the ratios, the calculations—that's not spy information. That's..."
"Engineering knowledge," I finish. "Advanced engineering knowledge. Our best weapons masters spent years designing those catapults."
"Aye. And she claimed they're wrong. In thirty seconds, she explained problems our engineers never mentioned." Rhys meets my eyes. "Either she's a genius, or she's seen weapons more advanced than ours."
"Both options are useful to me." I pour wine, my mind already working through possibilities. "Post your best men at the workshop. I want her watched every moment. Note everything she does, every tool she requests, every word she speaks."
"You think she'll actually build something?"
"I think she's terrified enough to try." I remember her face on the execution platform—pure fear, yes, but also that flash of calculation in her amber eyes. Like her brain was solving a problem even while she thought she was dying. "Fear makes people either freeze or fight. She chose to fight. That tells me something."
Rhys nods and leaves to arrange the guards.
My other advisors still hover, uncertain.
"What about Prince Damian?" Lord Valesworth asks carefully. "He's still imprisoned for... for the adultery with Lady Aria."
My jaw tightens. Damian. My younger brother. The kind one, the soft one, the one who still believes in things like love and trust. Of course Aria seduced him. He was easy prey—probably believed every word she said.
The love letters were found in his room. Three servants witnessed them meeting in secret. One guard reported seeing them kiss in the garden.
The evidence was perfect.
Too perfect?
The thought hits me like cold water. I push it away. No. The evidence was clear. Lyanna herself brought me the first letter, crying, saying she'd found it by accident. She'd been trying to protect me from the truth.
But...
"Keep Damian imprisoned," I order. "For now. I'll question him again after we see what Aria builds."
The advisors exchange worried looks but don't argue. They know better.
Finally alone, I walk to my window overlooking the weapons yard. I can see the workshop from here—a small stone building where my engineers used to test designs. Now it's her prison.
Is she inside right now, planning her escape? Or actually trying to rebuild a catapult with knowledge she shouldn't possess?
My instincts scream that something about this entire situation is wrong. The betrayal, the evidence, the timing—it all fit together too neatly. Like someone arranged the pieces.
But who? And why?
A knock interrupts my thoughts.
"Enter."
Lyanna glides in, carrying a tea tray. "I thought you might want refreshment, Your Highness. You've had such a stressful day."
I don't want tea. I don't want her here. But refusing would be rude, and I need her family's political support for the war. So I nod.
She pours carefully, her movements practiced and perfect. "I hope you don't think me forward, but... I'm worried about you. This situation with that woman—"
"Aria," I correct. "Use her name."
Lyanna's hand trembles slightly. Tea splashes on the tray. "Of course. Aria. I just worry that she's manipulating you. First she manipulated Prince Damian, now she's using strange words to confuse you—"
"She knew our attack plans." I watch Lyanna's face carefully. "Information that only my inner council possesses. How do you think she learned that?"
"I—I don't know. Perhaps Prince Damian told her? During their... affair?" Lyanna's voice shakes, like the topic pains her. But her eyes—her eyes are calculating. Cold.
"Perhaps." I take the tea but don't drink. Something feels wrong. "Tell me again how you found the first love letter."
"I was walking past Prince Damian's chambers and saw a servant leaving with letters to post. One fell, and when I picked it up, I recognized Aria's handwriting." She speaks quickly, like she's recited this story many times. "I didn't want to read it, but I saw your name mentioned and I thought—"
"You thought it concerned me, so you read my brother's private correspondence."
Pink flushes her cheeks. "I was trying to protect you! And I was right—the letter revealed everything. Her declarations of love for Damian, her regret about marrying you instead, her plans to run away with him after producing your heir—"
I hold up my hand. She stops talking.
"That letter mentioned producing an heir?"
"Yes. She wanted to give you a son, then leave with Damian and your money."
My blood turns to ice. Not from anger—from recognition. Those were the exact terms my grandfather proposed before he died. A breeding arrangement with Aria's family: she produces my heir, then we divorce quietly with compensation.
Only five people knew those terms. Me, my grandfather, Aria's father, Lord Valesworth, and—
I look at Lyanna. Really look at her.
Her smile is perfect. Her eyes are cold.
"How did you know about the heir arrangement?" My voice is soft. Dangerous. "That contract was confidential."
Lyanna's smile freezes. "I—I must have misremembered. Perhaps the letter said something else—"
"You just quoted it specifically." I stand, moving toward her. She backs up a step. "No one outside that meeting knew we discussed a breeding contract. So either Aria told you—which makes no sense since you're strangers—or you knew about it before the letter was ever written."
"Your Highness, I think you're overtired—"
"Or you wrote the letters yourself." The words come out cold as winter. "You forged evidence to destroy Aria and frame my brother. But you made one mistake—you included information only you could know."
Lyanna's mask cracks. For just a second, I see pure hatred flash across her face. Then she's crying, perfect tears sliding down perfect cheeks.
"How can you accuse me? I love you! I've always loved you! That woman bewitched you somehow, even from the workshop—"
A scream cuts through the air.
It comes from the direction of the workshop. High, terrified, ending abruptly.
Rhys bursts through my door, his face pale. "Your Highness! The workshop—there's been an attack—"
I'm running before he finishes speaking. My sword is in my hand though I don't remember drawing it. The workshop door hangs open, broken. Two of my guards lie on the ground, bleeding but alive.
Inside, the room is destroyed. Tools scattered, wood smashed, rope cut to pieces.
And Aria is gone.
In the center of the floor, written in what looks like blood, is a message:
"THE WITCH MUST BURN. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING."
Rhys appears beside me, breathing hard. "We're searching the grounds. Whoever took her can't have gotten far—"
"She wasn't taken." I stare at the blood message, my mind racing. "This is a warning. Someone wants me to think she escaped. But look." I point to the guards. "They were knocked unconscious, not killed. And the blood—" I touch it, rub it between my fingers. "This isn't blood. It's paint mixed with something. Someone staged this."
"But why? Who would—"
I turn and stride back to my chambers, Rhys following. Lyanna is still there, her face shocked, tears still falling.
"What happened?" she gasps. "I heard screaming—"
"Where is she?" I grab Lyanna's arm. Not gently. "Where did you have her taken?"
"I don't—"
"You have one chance to tell me the truth before I throw you in the dungeon next to my brother." My voice is ice and fury. "You forged the letters. You framed Aria. And now you've kidnapped her before she could prove her knowledge and expose your lies. WHERE. IS. SHE?"
Lyanna's tears stop. Just stop, like turning off water. Her face goes cold and beautiful and terrible.
"You'll never find her in time," she whispers. "And when they discover her body tomorrow, everyone will believe the witch was killed by terrified villagers. You'll have no proof. No witness. No genius to save your precious war." Her smile is poisonous. "You should have just married me like you were supposed to."
I want to kill her. My hand actually moves toward my sword.
But then Rhys's voice comes from the doorway, sharp with urgency: "Your Highness! One of the guards woke up. He saw something—a hooded figure dragging a woman toward the old execution grounds outside the city. The place where they burn witches."
My blood freezes.
The execution grounds. Where they burn people alive.
If Aria is there, she has maybe an hour before sunrise. And whoever took her won't wait—they'll want her dead before I can reach her.
I run.