(Adrian's POV)
The morning began like all the others these past days, heavy, empty, too quiet. My chambers had grown suffocating with their silence, the thick velvet curtains suffocating me more than shielding me.
I hadn't slept properly. My dreams were filled with Damien's face, sometimes soft, sometimes burning with betrayal. I would wake drenched in sweat, my hands trembling as if I'd truly been holding him one last time. I despised myself for it.
He was gone, and he had to stay gone. He was a mistake I had allowed into my heart, and mistakes deserved graves.
This morning, however, I could no longer bear the weight of my own walls. The stale air pressed against my lungs.
For three days I had remained inside these four walls, the curtains drawn, the air stale with grief and rage. I had not seen Lucien. He hadn't dared to disturb me, and for that, I was grateful. But silence was its own kind of torment.
I rose slowly, dressing without the aid of servants. My body felt heavier than it should, as if sorrow had found a way to sit on my chest. Still, I forced myself into black silks and fastened the dark cloak at my shoulders.
The mirror reflected a hollow version of myself, hair unkempt, eyes ringed with sleepless nights. Damien's ghost haunted me in every reflection.
I told myself I had to breathe, to move, to step outside before this grief devoured me whole. So I left my chamber, striding past startled maids and bowing guards. Their eyes followed me, too intently, whispers swelling in the silence I left behind.
The weight of their stares made my skin crawl. An eerie feeling coiled in my gut. Did they suspect? Did they know that Damien and I had been more than enemies? That I had lingered in this room not for statecraft, not for grief as a ruler but for grief as a man who had loved?
No. Impossible. No one could know. That secret belonged to Damien and me alone. And now… it belonged to the grave.
I shook the thought away and pressed forward.
The garden awaited me, and as I stepped into its embrace, the stale air of my chamber finally loosened its grip on my lungs. The air was crisp, cooler than I expected, brushing against my face like a balm.
The roses were in bloom, crimson petals unfolding under the kiss of dawn. Marble paths wound through carefully sculpted hedges, and at the center stood the fountain, my sanctuary.
The water trickled down in soft cascades, steady and ceaseless, and I found myself staring at it as though it were the only thing holding me together. The sound of water had always calmed me, reminded me of order, of constancy. The world could burn, but water would still flow.
I closed my eyes and listened, the splash of the fountain, the distant chirp of sparrows nesting in the branches above. For a moment, I almost felt at peace.
Until a voice broke the calm.
"Adrian."
The voice behind me made my heart lurch.
I turned sharply, every muscle taut. Standing near the archway was a woman I had not expected to see.
There she was, Duchess Isolde Veyra.
Her beauty was as cold as polished steel, her dark gown flowing around her like shadows given form. Silver threads ran through her braided hair, though her face was ageless, untouched by time. Her eyes, pale as frost, fixed on me with an expression that pretended warmth but carried an edge that could slice flesh from bone.
"Duchess," I said carefully. "I was not informed of your arrival."
She smiled, the kind of smile that never reached the eyes. "No, of course you weren't. I thought it best not to alarm the kingdom. I came quietly, only to see my son, Lucien. And of course…" She tilted her head, voice softening. "To see you, Adrian. My other son."
Her words slid over me like oil. She had called me that before, pretending affection, pretending care. But I had never believed it.
Not truly. Not from the woman whose husband had been stripped of the throne in favor of my father. Not from the mother of the cousin who despised me.
Still, I bowed slightly, the mask of courtesy unbroken. "I see. Forgive me, then. What brings you to the garden?"
"You," she said plainly. "I hear you have locked yourself away. The palace whispers that grief has swallowed you whole. What is troubling you, Adrian? Why do you shut the world out?"
"I was sick," I lied smoothly. "I needed time to recover."
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "And yet you did not summon the royal physician?"
"I did not need him."
Silence stretched between us, the fountain murmuring behind me. Her eyes roamed over me, calculating, searching for cracks.
"You are your father's son," she said finally, her tone layered with meanings I could not unravel. "Always proud, always hiding weakness behind steel."
I forced a faint smile, though inside I bristled. "If you will excuse me, Duchess, I have somewhere i need to be."
"Of course." Her bow was shallow, her gaze piercing. "But Adrian… do not forget, Lucien is here. You are not alone. I only worry for you. Don't close yourself away from those who care."
I inclined my head, my mask firmly in place, and left her behind. But the moment I turned, anger boiled in my chest. She had invaded my peace, probed my wounds, and smiled as though she cared.
I hated her presence. Always had.
Her words too sweet, her eyes too sharp.
On the stairwell, I stumbled upon Lucien himself.
"Adrian!" he exclaimed, a little too brightly. "It's good to see you. How have you been faring?"
His tone dripped with false care, every word rehearsed.
"I've been….okay," I said evenly.
He stepped closer, his eyes glittering with that same false warmth. "You know, if you ever need anything, I am here. We are family, after all."
The word family on his tongue made me want to spit. But I only nodded. "Of course, cousin. Your concern is appreciated."
We exchanged polite words, the surface calm and smooth, while beneath it the tension snapped like ice ready to crack. I excused myself before the mask slipped from my face.
Back in my chamber, I stared out the window, frustration gnawing at me. Damien was gone. I had wasted three days drowning in grief, and in that time, the world had moved.
Isolde's presence confirmed it, something was brewing, something heavy. She had not even come for my mother's burial, yet here she was, smiling like a serpent.
No more weakness. No more grieving. If I had to be the dark king they feared, then I would be darker still.
By afternoon, I emerged again, this time dressed in my blackest regalia. My cloak dragged behind me like the shadow of a storm, my crown gleaming like cold fire.
The guards bowed deeply as I entered the throne room.
"Summon Elder Vorian and Elder Caelius."
Minutes later, the two entered.
Vorian, tall and broad-shouldered, his silver hair bound neatly back, robes of deep crimson trimmed with gold. Caelius, slender, sharp-eyed, in robes of midnight blue, his every movement precise.
They bowed deeply. "My king," they said in unison. Relief flickered across their faces.
"It pleases us to see you returned," Vorian said. "The court has whispered of your absence."
"What has happened while I was away?" I asked.
Vorian exchanged a glance with Caelius before speaking. "Rumors spread that you were grieving King Damien. But of course, we know that cannot be true. The hatred between your clans runs too deep. To mourn him would be treason."
My heart dropped, but I kept my face impassive.
Caelius stepped forward. "More troubling, my lord, is Duchess Isolde. She, Duke Valerius, and Lucien have been… active. They slip away at night. It does not look innocent."
Valerius. The name struck me like a blow. They hadn't told me he was here.
"And the people?" I asked.
Vorian hesitated. "They praise Lucien. While you were in solitude, he gathered guards, repaired homes, distributed food and water."
"Where did he get supplies?" I demanded.
"From the Duchess, most assume," Vorian said.
A cold fury ran through me. She was building his image while I hid. Clever. Too clever.
"Be wary, Majesty," Veyron said quietly. "Isolde tried to sabotage your father once. She may try again with you."
I inclined my head. "Thank you. I will not forget your counsel."
They bowed and withdrew.
Alone, I sat on the throne, my mind racing.
Lucien was moving against me. Isolde was weaving her steps again. And I had been blind, grieving.
Never again.
That night, I dined in the great hall, my voice sharp as I demanded more wine, more fire in the hearth, more silence from the servants. Every order cut through the air like a blade.
A single misplaced dish, and my voice thundered across the hall, my presence sharp enough to make servants tremble.
Fear, yes. Let them fear me again.
Afterward, I returned to my chamber, refusing sleep. Papers lay scattered on my desk, reports, decrees, accounts of supplies. I forced myself through them, my eyes burning in the flickering candlelight.
The night was still, the moon a silver coin in the sky. I was weary, but I would not close my eyes.
Then the night shattered.
Screams pierced the silence. Shouts echoed through the halls.
I rushed to the window. Smoke rose in the distance. Flames licked at the sky.
A horn blared, deep, resonant. The signal. We were under attack.
Below, chaos erupted. Wolves poured through the gates, snarling, tearing into guards. Steel clashed with claw, screams pierced the night.
I seized my sword, grateful it was sharp, and bolted from my chamber. Down the stairs, through the corridors, until I reached the fray. Wolves lunged at me, and I cut them down, blade slick with their blood.
Then, amidst the chaos, a voice. Calm, familiar, cutting through the carnage.
"We meet again, King Adrian."
I froze. My chest constricted. That voice.
That impossible voice.
Slowly, I turned.
There he was.
Damien.
Alive.
Standing before me, tall, strong, his presence burning like fire. His eyes, fierce and unbroken, locked on mine.
The world seemed to still, the battle fading to a distant roar.
My sword trembled in my hand. My breath caught.
"Damien…" I whispered, my chest hollowing, my soul splitting open.
And in that single word, everything shattered.