After the king's dramatic exit from the dining hall, the murmurs of the nobles returned in cautious waves. Like ripples after a stone had been cast, their whispers tiptoed through the candlelight, bouncing off crystal goblets and golden cutlery.
But if Darius had left a storm behind, one man remained entirely immune to it.
Theodore Roosevelt lingered at the table, his presence still commanding despite the king's absence.
He plucked a grape from a nearby gilded platter and examined it with an amused glint in his eye, as if it were a rare gem rather than fruit.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it into his mouth and chewed slowly, savoring not the grape, but the silence his words had carved into the room.
Let them whisper, he thought. Let them speculate. That's half the game.
He rose leisurely, brushing imaginary dust from his emerald sleeve, and offered a half-hearted bow to the nobles still seated.
Some watched him leave, their eyes full of uncertainty and interest, but none dared stop him.
His boots echoed faintly against the marble floor as he strolled from the dining hall, not toward the guest chambers assigned to him, but instead down a quieter corridor veiled in shadow.
He took the longer path.
The detour led him through the west wing balconies, where moonlight poured like silver ink across the cold stone. The night air had grown still, the wind holding its breath. Here, far from prying eyes and probing questions, Theodore walked alone, and contentedly so.
Guards stationed at the corners of the wing straightened as he passed, offering stiff bows. He gave them none in return. He had never been one for displays of mutual respect. Especially not tonight.
He preferred the dark.
The shadows, after all, had always favored him.
He descended a spiral staircase with the confidence of someone who knew every secret turn and hidden chamber of the castle. It led to an enclosed courtyard, long forgotten by most ...a quiet garden blooming with white roses, lavender, and creeping vines that kissed the stone walls.
But Theodore paused before reaching the bottom.
A tall, narrow window drew his attention.
Beyond it lay the castle gates, the edge of the courtyard, and the stretch of moonlit forest beyond.
His gaze lingered.
His lips curled upward into something that wasn't quite a smile.
He knew exactly what had put Darius on edge. He knew why the king had been silent, cold, and tightly wound like a bowstring about to snap. He had known it since the Moon Festival.
But, of course, he wasn't about to let anyone else know that he knew.
Where was the fun in that?
He resumed walking, footsteps slow, deliberate.
Unlike his cousin, Theodore had not denied the truth. He had embraced it. Welcomed it like an old friend.
He had seen what most had missed.
That night at the Moon Festival, he had come for the wine, the women, and perhaps a little mischief. Nothing more. He had no intention of getting involved in royal affairs. He never did.
But fate had its own sense of humor.
He had been in an inn on the far end of the red district, hidden among whores and half-drunken lords.
His attention was pleasantly occupied when it hit him.....that scent. That maddening, unforgettable scent.
At first, he had tried to ignore it.
But it coiled around him, pulled him from his pleasures like a fish caught on a line. It was intoxicating...sweet, wild, laced with something almost sacred.
So he followed it.
Through crowded streets. Past dancers and fire-breathers. Past the drumming and drunken laughter.
And that was when he saw him.
Darius.
Standing in the center of the crowd like a man spellbound.
Theodore had kept to the shadows, watching silently as the king moved toward her....Rosaline....like a moth to flame. He had seen the moment their eyes met, the way Darius had uttered one word like it had been carved from his soul.
"Mate."
And then came the kiss.
Raw. Uncontrolled. Almost desperate.
Theodore had never seen anything like it.
He had felt it too....that pull. Not toward Rosaline, but the other girl who had been with her. The one whose scent still haunted him. The one who had nearly driven him mad.
He learned both their names before the night ended. He always did his homework.
But it wasn't the passion that intrigued him.
It was what came after.
The confrontation. The confusion. The rejection.
Darius....prideful, stubborn, and utterly terrified....had rejected the very bond the moon had gifted him. He turned her away.
Theodore had watched it all.
He had seen Rosaline's hands tremble, her lashes flutter with unshed tears. He had seen the life drain from her eyes when Darius turned away.
And he had seen the king afterward.
Haunted. Empty. Not by guilt, no. By fear.
It was the first time Theodore had seen his cousin afraid.
Not of war. Not of death. But of fate.
And fate, Theodore believed, was the most dangerous opponent of all.
He reached the courtyard now, pausing to tap his finger against the cold glass of another window.
"You fool," he whispered to the reflection of his own smirking face. "You had the moon's blessing and spat in her face."
He laughed under his breath.
It both amused and intrigued him.
That the great King Darius Silverthrone....feared in battle, revered in court....had been reduced to silence by the whisper of a bond.
And Rosaline… oh, what a beautiful disaster she had become.
He had followed them after that night. Just enough to satisfy his curiosity. And to see her again.
The one who haunted his thoughts without even trying.
No, Theodore didn't believe in fated love, or any of that poetic nonsense. But he believed in opportunities.
And the king's pain? It was an exquisite one. A blade he could tuck away for later. A secret to be wielded when it mattered most.
He walked among the fragrant blooms of the garden now, the scent of roses and lavender thick in the air.
But beneath it, he swore he could still smell that same wild pine and crushed petals that had clung to Rosaline and her friend.
He'd never forget it.
At the edge of the courtyard was an old stone bench, cracked slightly with age. He sank onto it, stretching out his legs and leaning back against the ivy-covered wall.
He tilted his head up, watching the stars blink lazily above.
"Let Seraphina chase her crown," he murmured to no one in particular. "Let the council bicker and plot. Let the nobles whisper and wine flow. But I…"
He trailed off with a sigh, the smile slipping back across his lips.
"I know the truth."
He closed his eyes, letting the breeze drift across his face. It carried the scent of distant pine trees and the faintest trace of rain.
When he opened his eyes again, the amusement was gone.
In its place was something colder. Sharper.
Darius was unraveling. Piece by piece. Word by word. And secrets, once spilled, had a tendency to drown kings.
Theodore had no grand ambition for the throne....at least not yet.
But the game was unfolding. The board was set. And the king, for all his brooding power, was already two steps behind.
He smiled again, a slow, cruel curl of his lips.
"I wonder," he whispered, "how long before she returns? Before fate stops knocking and breaks down the damn door?"
He stood, brushing a bit of dirt from his sleeve.
"Will he shatter? Or will he give in?"
A gleam lit his gaze...part curiosity, part hunger.
Either way, he would be there.
Watching. Waiting.
And if the moment was right… twisting the knife.