Liana knew she had to help the prince.
Somewhere deep inside her, beneath the fear and the ache, she was sure — Adrian Vale wasn't behind the kidnapping.
He wasn't the monster the world now saw.
She didn't know how she knew it. Maybe it was the way he'd looked in those final seconds of the leaked footage — desperate, not cruel. Or maybe it was her grandmother's dying words that refused to leave her mind:
"It wasn't Adrian. It was your father."
Her father.
A man she'd mourned, though she'd never seen a body. A name that had become a ghostly shadow her grandmother never spoke of again.
But how could her father — dead for years — have anything to do with this?
Liana stumbled through the dirt road, her breath white in the cold air, the echo of sirens fading behind her. Her hands shook as she hugged her coat tighter. Her grandmother's blood was still on the sleeve.
"What are you talking about, Grandma?" she whispered to no one. "Who could he possibly be? What do you mean, my father?"
The only answer was the distant rustle of trees.
Her eyes burned. The tears came again, heavy and raw. She pressed her palm against her mouth to muffle the sound, but grief didn't care for silence. It tore out of her chest anyway — a jagged sob that left her trembling.
Her grandmother had been her world — the only family who hadn't left.
And now, the one person who could have explained any of this was gone.
She thought of her mother — the woman who'd walked out when Liana was barely five. No calls, no visits. Just a note and a suitcase.
She couldn't go to her now. She couldn't go to anyone.
"Why does it always have to be me?" she muttered, voice cracking. "Why do I have to be the one left behind?"
The memory of her grandmother's final moments clawed at her mind — the blood on the floor, the trembling hand gripping hers, the rasped whisper:
"Find the prince… he's the key."
And even though the world had turned against Adrian Vale, Liana trusted those words more than anything else she had left.
She wiped her face and looked up at the sky. The night was dark, the kind that swallowed light whole. But the stars — faint as they were — still burned through.
So would she.
She pulled out the cracked phone from her pocket. The same one that had received her intercepted message to Adrian. The battery was dying, but the file she'd saved earlier — her grandmother's hidden recording — was still there.
When she played it, a faint static filled the air. Then her grandmother's voice, thin but steady:
"If you're hearing this, my darling, then I'm gone. There are things I should've told you long ago — things about your father… about the crown. Don't trust anyone who wears the crest. Not even the queen. Find Adrian Vale. He's not what they say. And if you ever hear the word Vareen... run."
The message cut off in a burst of static.
Liana clutched the phone to her chest, eyes wide. "Vareen?" she whispered. "What does that even mean?"
But the word struck a chord. She'd seen it before — on a shipment label among her grandmother's herbs, weeks ago. At the time, she hadn't thought twice. Now, it chilled her blood.
She didn't have answers. Only threads — and one name that linked them all.
Adrian.
She slid the phone into her pocket and started walking. She didn't know where he was or how she'd find him, but she would. Even if it meant crossing kingdoms. Even if it meant getting herself killed.
Because whatever this was, it was bigger than any of them.
Meanwhile, deep within the coast of Vareen…
Elara stirred awake to the sound of dripping water. Her wrists throbbed where the ropes had rubbed her raw. Her head pounded, memories blurring — the abduction, the car, the blow to the head.
She blinked through the blindfold, realizing for the first time she could smell salt in the air — the sea. Somewhere close, waves crashed against rocks.
The room was cold, stone-walled, empty except for a flickering bulb and a tray of untouched food.
And a camera in the corner. Red light blinking. Watching.
She stood shakily, her breath fogging in the air. "Who are you?" she whispered.
The only reply was a crackle from a hidden speaker. Then a calm, male voice:
"You were never the target, Elara. You were the weapon."
Her stomach twisted. "What do you mean?"
Silence.
She yanked at her restraints until the rope snapped. Her skin tore, but she didn't care. She stumbled toward the metal door and pressed her ear to it. Faint sounds — footsteps. Someone screaming.
She backed away, trembling. "Adrian?" she whispered, desperate. "If you can hear me… please…"
The speaker hissed again. This time, her heart stopped — Adrian's voice, soft and broken, filled the cell:
"Elara… I'm sorry. I couldn't save you."
Her breath caught. "Adrian?"
But then the voice glitched — looped — and she realized it wasn't him.
It was a recording.
A cruel one.
Her scream ripped through the walls as the lights flickered out, plunging her into total darkness.
Back on the mainland, Liana walked through the rain-soaked streets, head down, coat clinging to her frame. Her phone buzzed once — an unknown number. She froze.
UNKNOWN SENDER: You should've died with her.
Her grip tightened on the phone. She didn't run this time. She looked up, rain sliding down her face, and whispered to the night,
"You'll have to try harder than that."
The camera on a nearby lamppost turned — tracking her.
And somewhere deep within the palace network, a pair of unseen eyes watched her image appear on a monitor, smiling faintly.
"So… the granddaughter knows."
The screen flickered. The feed cut to black.