Rubin stood at the edge of the palace balcony, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. The cold wind of Arenthis brushed against his face, carrying the scent of the sea—a stark contrast to the fiery winds of Drakos. His mind churned with thoughts of his meeting with Elara, the unexpected understanding between them. But understanding was not the same as trust, and trust was not something easily earned in a world where duty overshadowed desire.

A knock at his chamber door pulled him from his thoughts. He turned as one of his father’s trusted advisors, Lord Darius, stepped inside, his expression grim.

“Your Highness, there has been a development.”

Rubin’s wings tensed slightly. “What kind of development?”

Darius hesitated, then extended a sealed letter. “A message from Princess Lyra. It arrived moments ago. She urges caution.”

Rubin took the letter and broke the wax seal with his clawed thumb. The parchment was written in his sister’s precise, hurried script:

Brother,

The tides are shifting faster than I anticipated. Father has caught whispers of resistance within the court, and he grows suspicious. There are those who watch you, even in Arenthis. You must be careful. Do not let your guard down.

We must speak soon. Trust no one lightly.

-Lyra.

Rubin’s jaw tightened. His father was growing suspicious. He had known this game would be dangerous, but the reminder sent a fresh wave of unease through him.

Darius cleared his throat. “Your father’s reach is long, Prince Rubin. You would do well to heed your sister’s warning.”

Rubin folded the letter and met Darius’ gaze. “Do you stand with him or with me?”

Darius hesitated for only a fraction of a moment before inclining his head. “I stand with the future of Drakos, my prince. And I believe that future lies in your hands.”

A measured response, but it was enough. Rubin gave a small nod. “Then I will tread carefully.”

That evening, the Arenthian court gathered for another round of diplomatic discussions. Rubin found himself once again seated beside Elara, their outward appearances polished, their true thoughts hidden behind carefully constructed masks.

“You seem troubled,” Elara observed as she took a sip of her wine.

Rubin barely glanced at her. “You make it sound as though that is unusual.”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “More so than before. Has something happened?”

He debated whether to tell her. Despite their uneasy truce, despite their mutual disdain for their circumstances, they were still bound to their own kingdoms. And trust was a dangerous currency to gamble with.

But then he thought of Lyra’s words. Trust no one lightly.

“My father grows suspicious,” he admitted. “There are eyes on me, even here.”

Elara’s expression did not change, but something in her gaze sharpened. “You believe he sent spies?”

“I would be a fool not to.”

She set down her goblet, her fingers tracing the rim. “Then you must play your part perfectly, Prince Rubin. If your father sees weakness, he will exploit it.”

A smirk ghosted over Rubin’s lips. “And here I thought I was supposed to be the one giving you advice.”

Elara leaned in slightly, her voice lowering just enough that only he could hear. “I have been playing this game far longer than you. Do not mistake me for someone who accepts her fate blindly.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Rubin leaned back, exhaling slowly. “Tomorrow’s public appearance will be our first true test.”

She nodded. “Then we best make sure they see exactly what they expect—a future king and queen, perfectly united.”

And so the next morning, they stood before the people of Arenthis, side by side, wearing the masks required of them. Smiling. Waving. Playing their parts. But beneath the surface, behind the carefully rehearsed performance, the war for their own futures had only just begun.

As the sun set over Arenthis, Rubin found himself pacing his chambers, his mind restless. Lyra’s warning echoed in his thoughts, pressing on his conscience like a vice. He had always known his father to be ruthless, but suspicion was a weapon sharper than any blade. He could not afford to make a single misstep.

A soft knock at his door startled him. Expecting Darius, he was surprised to find Elara standing there instead, a guarded expression on her face.

“I thought you’d be preparing for tomorrow’s grand performance,” he said, crossing his arms.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “I am prepared. The question is—are you?”

Rubin sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “I’ve spent my life preparing for my father’s games. This is no different.”

Elara studied him carefully. “You don’t believe that.”

He met her gaze, seeing the same weight of responsibility reflected in her eyes. Perhaps for the first time, he understood—she was just as trapped as he was. A pawn in a game played by kings.

“Then tell me, Princess,” he said quietly, “if we are both prisoners in this game, how do we win?”

Elara hesitated, then took a step closer. “We outplay the ones holding the chains.”

For the first time that night, Rubin allowed himself a real smile. Perhaps, just perhaps, he had found an ally after all.

The next morning, Rubin and Elara set out for Drakos. The journey would be long, and the road fraught with danger. But as their carriage moved beyond the borders of Arenthis, Rubin knew one thing for certain—the true game had only just begun.