The Espada mansion greeted Álvaro with silence.
Not the calm, orderly quiet of discipline—but the wrong kind. Corridors stood empty, torches burning without attendants, footsteps swallowed too easily by stone. Even the air felt watchful.
He removed his cloak and gloves handing them over to the waiting maid and turned to the nearest guard. "Tay," he said in that his usual playful, carefree manner.
The chief guard straightened at once. "Young master."
"Where is my father?"
"Out," Tay replied. "A meeting. He left orders not to be disturbed."
Álvaro nodded off handedly and walked on as though he really didn't care—but his instincts had already sharpened. Don Esteban never left without purpose, and he never left his study unsecured unless he believed no one would dare enter it.
He's wrong, Álvaro thought.
He waited until the corridor cleared, then turned back quietly and slipped into his father's study, locking it behind him.
The room smelled of wax and ink. Maps lay unfolded across the desk, marked with careful precision. Álvaro moved quickly, rifling through correspondence he knew he should not touch.
Replies. Too many.
Seals of noble houses he recognized. Phrases half-coded, carefully worded. Agreement without outright declaration.
Then he saw it.
The Fierro seal.
His hand stilled as he read. No names written plainly. No treason spoken aloud. Yet the meaning was unmistakable—support promised, timing discussed, loyalty weighed.
A plan.
A coup?
His jaw tightened. The world seemed to tilt, reshaping itself around that single realization. His father was not maneuvering for influence. He was preparing to take the crown.
He wasn't particularly surprised. He knew his father. He was more concerned because now Rose was in someway involved. He didn't want her near any of his father's devious plans, he wanted her safe.
Álvaro slid the letters back into place, on a second thought he brought a plain paper and imprinted his father's seal . It'd be useful later on. He slipped it into his pocket as footsteps sounded behind him.
He turned and found himself face to face with Marisol, his late mother's chief maidservant.
Her eyes widened, then softened with something dangerously close to concern.
For a moment, neither spoke.
She had raised him after his mother's death—taught him gentleness where his father taught steel. He had loved her as a son might.
But she saw it then: the Espada in him.
Álvaro lifted a finger to his lips. Slowly, silently, he passed her and left the study.
She did not stop him.
She dared not. Only like others she wasn't deceived by his carefree facade.
The basement was cold.
Too cold.
Torches flickered weakly, casting long shadows against stone walls. Álvaro descended the steps with measured control, each step tightening something deep in his chest.
As he walked in he immediately losing all that playfulness he has with Rose, low and cold, filled with oppressive authority.
A man lay chained at the far end of the room.
Bruised. Broken. Alive—but barely.
Álvaro recognized him instantly.
"Uncle," he acknowledged briefly.
His father had worked to become the only Espada heir and that involved killing his brothers and marrying off his only sister. Uncle Ralph had been the only one who'd been able to run away and his father had been on his tail. His father had given him the ordeal of finding his uncle and ending any other possible conflict.
His father's elder brother lifted his head with effort. What had been done to him was beyond mercy, beyond punishment. It was a warning. His eyes had been gorged out and busy face battered.
Álvaro turned away before his face could betray him.
He summoned a guard. "Tell my father his runaway brother has been found."
The guard hesitated. "And—"
"End it," Álvaro said, voice flat. "He's suffered long enough."
The guard bowed and obeyed.
Álvaro left the basement without looking back.
By the time he stepped outside, his presence seemed to darken the path before him. Servants avoided his gaze. Even the guards straightened more sharply as he passed. He moved through the streets of Avalor like a storm held just beneath the skin.
He did not remember how he reached House Fierro.
Only that when Rosa opened the door, breathless and mid-protest about her lessons, something inside him finally broke free.
Her voice cut through the noise in his mind.
"You're late," she said, then frowned. "Álvaro—what's wrong?"
The ice he had built all evening cracked instantly.
Nothing else mattered. Not letters. Not blood. Not crowns.
"I remember promising you a horse ride lesson. Don't tell me the Fierro's damsel just got dumber during the classes, or did my presence steal your breath away," he replied teasingly, a smile finally appearing as he unconsciously ruffled her hair.
Rosa groaned pulling at his hand, "Screw you Alvo. I sat down for hours to get this hair done!! I hate you."
He smirked at her grumbling and for the first time that day, the weight on his chest loosened—because Rosa Fierro was still Rosa, and with her, he was still only Álvaro. He'd keep her safe from whatever his father was brewing. She was his Rosa.
"Of course you don't." She was the only one that didn't hate his guts or have superficial infatuations over him.
She rolled her eyes but no longer struggled as she slid away from his hand talking excitedly. "I've got huge news. There's been some assassination attempts at commoners and even people of power. " Rosa talked as though silence were an enemy she meant to defeat.
"What if it was poison," she said, pacing the length of the room. "Or an uproar to distract us from the main attack. No one agrees on anything, which is how you know it's serious." She spun toward him, eyes bright with a mix of fear and excitement. "I tried to as Hector but he shunned me. If only he knew what a woman was capable of doing. Imagine the look on his face when he realises his brain isn't half as good as mine?"
Álvaro leaned against the window, arms crossed, watching her with something dangerously close to fondness. Her voice filled the space, chased away the echoes he had carried with him from the Espada mansion.
She stopped suddenly. "You're quiet. Too quiet."
"Am I?" he replied lightly.
"Yes. And you're terrible at it." She narrowed her eyes. "You know something, don't you?"
He smiled—easy, practiced, almost boyish, his hands up in surrender."Rosa Fierro, if I knew every rumor whispered in this kingdom, I'd never sleep."
She studied him for a long moment. He met her gaze without flinching. She saw the mask—but she also saw the man beneath it, she'd known him for two long to know when he was pulling on a facade.
"Hm," she said at last. "You're lying. Your eyes are too bare and a lighter blue. Spill it."
"Wow, so you study me now princess? My eyes have always been blue," he teased playfully taking a step closer with that flirtatious smile.
She huffed but let it go, "You wish. I'd rather study how dogs puke. You're just a terrible liar." Whatever truth he was hiding, he wasn't ready to share it—and she knew better than to force him. Trust, after all, worked both ways.
Álvaro stepped closer. Before she could react, his hand slid around her waist, firm and familiar, pulling her gently against him. Rosa froze—not in fear, but in surprise.
"Álvaro—"she looked up to meet his eyes.
"Listen to me," he said softly. His voice had lost its teasing edge. "Not every truth should be known. Rumours always carry a thread of truth but an ocean of danger. I don't want you hurt."
She scoffed. "Since when do you tell me what to—"
"I want you safe, by my side, being my Rosa," he finished quietly.
Something in her chest softened. She looked up at him, words faltering for once.
The door flew open.
"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?"
Héctor's voice cracked through the room like a whip. His glare moved from Álvaro's arm still snug around Rosa's waist to his sister's startled expression.
Álvaro did not move.
Did not release her.
Did not even straighten.
Héctor's jaw tightened. "Are you unaware," he said coldly, "that a man and a woman alone in such a compromising position could destroy my sister's chances of becoming queen?"
Álvaro tilted his head slightly, looking quite less concerned. "If the crown depends on where she stands, it deserves to fall. Marrying the Duke and heir to the Espada isn't exactly a bad idea either."
Rosa inhaled sharply, sliding away from his warm, sturdy hands as she muttered under her breath, "Shut up would you." Héctor stared at him for a while, then let out a slow breath through his nose.
"Only you," Héctor muttered. "Only Álvaro Espada could speak like that and still walk out alive."
Álvaro chuckled, "I'd be a lesser Espada if that wasn't a fact."
Hector cursed turning to Rosa. "You are not leaving the house today. There have been attempts. Rumors or not, danger is real."
"I'm not fragile. I can protect myself," she protested, taking a step forward.
"No you're not," Héctor said firmly. "You're valuable, a Fierro."
Álvaro crossed his hands then scoffed, taking a step forward—only to step fully in front of her instead, pulling her behind him like a shield. "I agree with you..... But she won't be alone," he said calmly. "I'll see to that myself and no breathing human dares attack with me present."
Héctor studied him for a long moment, weighing steel against steel. At last, he nodded once, clearly aware of how fierce Alvaro could get. "Very well. But if anything happens—"
"It won't," Álvaro said in a tone of finality, taking a hold of Rosa's arm.
The fields beyond the city walls were wide and golden, the kind of place where politics seemed like a bad dream.
Rosa rode ahead, laughing as she urged her horse faster. Álvaro followed, riding after her. With Rosa he didn't need to pretend and play the gentleman. It was a real competition and Rosa was quite capable of being an opponent. He rode calling out mock threats she never took seriously as he lunged forward. They raced until their lungs burned, until they were breathless and grinning like children who had never heard the word duty.
They dismounted near a stream, splashing water at each other, arguing about who had won the race, lying back in the grass to watch the clouds drift lazily overhead. Rosa pointed at a sky, "That sky looks like a roaring dragon."
Alvaro countered, "Are you blind, it looks like a princess in haste."
Rosa groaned, hitting him with her elbow, "What does a princess in haste look you animal?"
For a while, Avalor was just land and sky.
Then footsteps approached.
Rosa sat up first. "Someone's coming."
Álvaro rose smoothly, instinct snapping into place. His expression hardened slightly as he recognized the figure approaching.
"Prince Matteo," he said. "What are you doing here?" he asked, purposely held eye contact as he put an arm over Rosa's shoulder.
Matteo hesitated, clearly unprepared for the question. "I—heard you might be riding."
Álvaro's eyes narrowed, but before he could press further, the prince stepped past him and reached for Rosa's hand.
He bowed and pressed a light kiss to her knuckles—formal, careful, proper.
"Lady Rosa," Matteo said warmly. "It's good to see you."
Álvaro watched, unreadable, as the wind shifted and carried the weight of everything unspoken across the open field, his eyes narrowing with unhideable distaste, "Such a gentleman you are my prince But Rosa is hardly even a lady."
Rosa jabbed him on the rib, cursing him under her breath as she continued smiling sheepishly, "Ignore him. A common hen makes more sense than he does." She stood up, "Are you headed for the palace..... I think Alvaro has some work there so we could escort you there." She turned to Álvaro, "Right? The errand is at the palace."
Álvaro bit on his lower lip as he nodded, smiling in his playful nature, "Absolutely true."
Rosa smiled widely, "Let's get going then. Don't wanna be late for that errand now Sir. Espada."
Álvaro raised a brow as he whispered in her ear, "So we're back to last names when the prince is around now huhn?"
The prince proved infuriatingly calm, much more than Álvaro had anticipated.
Rosa spoke animatedly as they rode back toward the palace, recounting fragments of court gossip and laughing at her own exaggerations. Each time Matteo leaned a fraction too close, Álvaro found a reason to step in—commenting on the weather, interrupting with some dry remark, redirecting the path of the horses so Rosa remained firmly between them but nearer to him.
Matteo noticed.
He simply chose not to react.
His replies to Rosa were polite, distant, wrapped in the careful courtesy of someone who had long learned how to say only what was expected of him. There was no spark, no lingering gaze, no softening of tone, just plain politeness. If Rosa noticed, she hid it well behind her enthusiasm.
When the palace gates came into view, Rosa dismounted first, smoothing her skirts and hurrying ahead excitedly, already distracted by a servant calling her name.
She left the two men behind.
Álvaro did not hesitate.
"Highness," he said quietly, stepping into Matteo's path. "A word."
Matteo stopped.
They stood beneath the archway, stone cold against the late sun. Álvaro's voice lowered, losing all trace of playfulness with his brows raised,
"I noticed you avoided my question but for the sake of Rosa's frail heart I chose to ignore it. I have a feeling you being in the fields is neither a coincidence or an innocent walk. You were meeting someone. A woman?"
Matteo's jaw tightened. "You forget your place."
"Oh I know it well," Álvaro replied chuckling. "And most importantly I know my place in Rosa's life which is why I'm asking without room for lies. I value my girl so much that I'd kill you just at the thought of you betraying her."
The prince said nothing—but his eyes flicked, just briefly, toward a maid slipping past them with her head bowed.
Álvaro followed the glance.
"Interesting," he murmured his eyes narrowed slightly. "Sofia right?" He flicked his fingers effortlessly in a fake attempt of trying to remember when he already knew too well. Clara's daughter? Your chief maidservant's child?"
Matteo's composure wavered—only slightly, but enough to confirm Álvaro's speculations.
Álvaro smiled then, sharp and knowing. "You don't love Rosa."
"That is not—"
"So stay away from her," Álvaro cut in softly. "Stop raising hopes you have no intention of keeping."
Matteo exhaled slowly. When he spoke, his voice was graceful, almost weary. "As much as I wish it were that simple… my duty does not belong to my heart. Avalor requires Rosa Fierro. A queen forged of iron and loyalty. Whether I desire it or not."
His gaze hardened. "None of us can stop it."
He inclined his head politely and walked away, leaving Álvaro beneath the arch, fists clenched at his sides.
Dinner was already in motion when Álvaro entered the great hall.
He knelt before the royal family, posture flawless. The king welcomed him warmly; the queen's eyes lingered with unmistakable interest.
Throughout the meal, Queen Vera steered the conversation with delicate precision. She spoke of alliances, of youth, of the importance of settling down.
"A man of House Espada," she said lightly, "would make a formidable match for a princess. Provided he tires of his wandering ways."
Álvaro chuckled, unoffended. "If Her Highness can forgive restlessness, I might yet be redeemed. The kingdom is full of many pretty ladies..."
He turned then, smiling openly at Princess Camila, whose elegance never faltered. "But ofcourse none as pretty and graceful as the princess... May I have your permission to take you for a stroll tomorrow?"
Camila smiled, gracious and composed. "I would be delighted." Just like Matteo she gave the replies she was expected to, without thought.
Across the table, Matteo's hand stilled around his goblet.
He said nothing.
Later, Rosa and Camila walked ahead through the corridors, Camila speaking softly of court duties, Rosa nodding, her expression carefully meek—perfectly Fierro.
Behind them, Matteo slowed his pace until he was beside Álvaro.
"You don't like my sister," the prince said under his breath.
Álvaro raised a brow. "I don't recall claiming I did."
"You're a known distraction," Matteo continued coolly. "A playboy. And yet you watch Rosa as though she belongs to you."
Álvaro laughed quietly. "Careful, Highness. That almost sounds like concern."
"I want you away from her."
Álvaro leaned closer, voice low and amused. "And I want a kingdom without lies."
Matteo stiffened.
Álvaro smiled—soft, sharp, unmistakably Espada. "But as you said," he murmured, echoing the prince's own words, "duty before desires."
The words lingered between them as the palace lights dimmed, and somewhere ahead, Rosa Fierro laughed—unaware that every path before her was already being claimed.