Outside, beyond stone walls and quiet halls, the kingdom whispered his name.
But inside the chamber, between breath and dawn, the prince finally rested.
Leah could not.
She paced the corridor like a restless tide.
Moonlight spilled through tall arched windows, pale and silver, painting the stone floor in long bands of quiet light. Each step she took echoed softly, as if the castle itself were listening. Above her, the moon hung full and watchful, cold and impartial; witness to victory, to blood, to regret.
Her shadow stretched and shrank as she moved, never settling.
The voices returned.
Daemiaaaaannnn…
The victor!
The protector of Greyvale!
The cheers twisted in her chest, no longer triumphant;now sharp, accusing.
"I shouldn't have done it," she whispered, stopping near a window. Her reflection stared back at her in the glass, eyes hollow despite the light. "He would've enjoyed his victory. Like he always does."
She turned away, boots tapping faster as she walked in the opposite direction.
"I just wanted to show my worth," she said aloud now, as if daring the silence to argue. "There is nothing wrong in that."
But the arena answered in her mind.
The crimson flash.
The broken wall.
Daemian's blood.
Her breath faltered.
Let Daemian shine today.
Your time will come one day.
Her uncle's voice echoed, heavy with patience and dismissal.
Her pace quickened.
"I should see my father."
The words came sharp, decisive; an anchor.
She moved faster now, skirts whispering against stone, moonlight chasing her through the corridors. The castle felt different at night: stripped of ceremony, raw and honest. No banners fluttered. No courtiers lingered. Just stone, silence, and truth.
When she reached the doors of the King's court, she slowed.
There were no guards.
That alone unsettled her.
The great doors stood slightly ajar, warm light leaking through the narrow opening. Leah hesitated, her hand hovering inches from the carved wood.
Then she heard it.
Her mother's voice; low, strained.
"…he nearly died."
The Queen.
Leah froze.
"I felt the spell weaken," the Queen continued, anguish barely contained. "I had never seen so much backlash. His body wasn't ready. He forced it."
A pause.
Then the King spoke.
"You trained him to endure," he said quietly. "And I trained him to win."
His voice carried no anger, only weight.
Leah leaned closer, her breath shallow.
"He is our son," the Queen said. "Not a symbol. Not a promise. A child who still bleeds."
Silence stretched between them.
Then the King exhaled; a long, tired sound Leah had never heard from him before.
"I saw him smile," he said.
"Even when blood filled his mouth. He smiled because the crowd cheered. Because he believed that was his purpose."
The Queen's voice softened, almost breaking.
"And what of our daughter?"
Leah's heart skipped.
"She stood in that arena alone," the Queen continued.
"Against expectation. Against command. Against the weight of a kingdom that never asked what she wanted."
The King did not answer immediately.
When he did, his words were slow.
"She chose the wrong moment."
"She chose the only moment she was ever given," the Queen replied gently.
"Every day before this, she was told to wait."
Leah's fingers curled into her palms.
"She endangered him," the King said at last.
Queen countered. "You saw it. How she was forcing herself with pain due that two strikes and she ran to reach prince. Alric think how she must have felt during that moment."
Another silence; thick, complicated.
"She fights like fire," the Queen added.
"Unrefined. Emotional. Powerful."
The King's voice was quieter now.
"So did I."
That admission struck Leah harder than any shout.
"I fear what the court will say," the King continued. "A princess challenging the prince. Blood against blood. The whispers will grow."
"They already have," the Queen said. "But they are not all cruel."
Leah held her breath.
"She is strong," the Queen went on. "Stronger than she believes. Stronger than we have allowed her to be."
The King's footsteps sounded; slow, heavy, followed by the soft scrape of a chair.
"I told her today was his day," he said. "And I meant it."
"I know," the Queen replied. "But perhaps tomorrow can be hers."
Leah felt something inside her crack.
Not pain.
Release.
She stepped back from the door, quietly, carefully, as if afraid the truth she'd heard might shatter if she moved too fast.
The moonlight welcomed her again.
She stood still in the corridor, hands trembling, heart aching; but lighter.
For the first time since the arena, the voices faded.
There was no cheering now. No judgment.
Only a question lingering in the quiet night:
What will you choose next, Princess of Greyvale?
And this time,
Leah did not look away from it.