Kael had spent the past hour walking through Veyholm's streets, letting the city seep into her bones.
She had traced old paths, let her feet carry her through places she barely remembered and places she could never forget.
But now—now it was time to focus.
She stepped into the dimly lit backroom of a small tavern, a place she had chosen specifically because it wasn't the kind where people asked questions.
A single candle flickered on the wooden table before her, casting long shadows against the stone walls. The scent of ale and damp wood filled the air.
Across from her sat a man she once thought dead.
---
A Familiar Face
Ronan Veyrick had been a knight in her father's service.
Once.
Before the massacre.
Before he had vanished.
Now, he was a man with silver in his beard and scars lining his arms, his presence heavy with the weight of the past.
And yet—when he looked at Kael, there was no shock.
Just quiet recognition.
"You're alive," he said, his voice rough.
Kael's violet eyes stayed unreadable. "So are you."
Ronan leaned back in his chair, studying her. "I knew you weren't dead. Not really."
Kael's fingers drummed against the table. "Then why didn't you look for me?"
Ronan exhaled through his nose. "Because I was trying to stay alive."
Kael tilted her head. "So you ran."
He didn't deny it.
"I ran," he admitted. "Because no one else survived that night. Because if I had stayed, I would have been another body in that burning house."
Kael didn't look away.
Because she understood.
Because if she had been older—if she had known the truth back then—maybe she would have run too.
But she hadn't.
She had been six years old, hiding under a bloodstained bed, watching the only world she had ever known collapse around her.
And no one had come for her.
Not Ronan. Not anyone.
"Why are you here?" she asked finally.
Ronan studied her. "Because word is spreading."
Kael's grip tightened on the table. "What word?"
Ronan hesitated, then leaned forward, voice low.
"That you're back."
Kael stilled.
The candlelight flickered.
Ronan continued. "I don't know who started the rumors, but someone is looking for you. Someone who knows what happened that night. And they're close."
Kael's jaw clenched.
Because that meant she was already being watched.
And she hated being watched.
*Velmont Keep(the royal palace)- A Dangerous Conversation*
Riven sat in his father's study, legs stretched lazily over the arm of an expensive velvet chair.
Across from him, King Alden Dain watched him with a mix of exhaustion and relief.
"Do you ever sit like a normal person?" the king asked dryly.
Riven grinned. "Define normal."
Alden sighed. "You've been gone for too long, Riven."
Riven's grin didn't fade, but something in his posture shifted. "I was handling important matters."
"Trouble, you mean."
"Semantics."
Alden exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Riven, I don't have time for games. You disappear for weeks, you come back like nothing happened, and now there are whispers in the court that you've been seen in places you shouldn't be."
Riven's expression didn't change, but his mind was already calculating.
"Rumors," he said smoothly. "You know how the court loves a good story."
Alden's green eyes flickered with something unreadable.
And then—the door opened.
Riven didn't have to turn to know who it was.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty," Queen Evelyne's voice was as smooth as silk. "I wasn't aware we were having a family meeting."
Riven finally did look at her.
His stepmother stood tall, elegant, dressed in a gown of deep emerald green that matched her son's eyes.
And speaking of her son—
Prince Edric followed behind her, his lips curving into something that wasn't quite a smirk.
"A family meeting?" Edric echoed, stepping forward. "Sounds fascinating. Should I be concerned?"
Riven leaned back. "That depends. Are you up to something, dear brother?"
Edric chuckled, eyes gleaming. "Oh, always."
Alden sighed heavily. "Not now, you two."
Riven smirked but said nothing.
Evelyne, however, was still watching him carefully.
"You look well, Riven," she said smoothly. "I imagine your travels were... productive?"
Riven smiled lazily. "Oh, incredibly."
Evelyne's brown eyes flickered, but she didn't press.
Instead, she turned to Alden. "My king, we should discuss tomorrow's council meeting. The nobles are eager to speak with you."
Alden ran a hand over his face. "Yes, yes, I know."
Edric folded his arms. "Perhaps Riven should attend."
Alden blinked. "You want your brother in a political meeting?"
Riven snorted. "That's a first."
Edric smirked. "You've been away so long. I think it would be good for you to remember how this kingdom works."
Evelyne smiled. "And to remind the nobles where your place is."
Riven's own smile sharpened.
Ah.
There it was.
The reminder. The quiet threat.
Evelyne wanted to reinforce his position—or rather, the lack of it.
He wasn't heir to Velmont.
That was Edric's role now.
And they were making sure he didn't forget it.
Riven stretched his arms dramatically. "Council meetings are so dull, though. Can't we all just stab each other and get it over with?"
Alden groaned. "Riven—"
But Edric only chuckled. "Maybe one day, brother."
Riven met his gaze. "I'll look forward to it."
Silence stretched between them.
Then Evelyne smiled. "It's settled, then. Riven, we'll see you at the council meeting tomorrow."
Riven kept his smirk in place.
But deep inside—he was already thinking of ways to break whatever game they were playing.
Because if there was one thing he hated—it was being controlled.