Silence stretched across the battlefield. My own breath was uneven as I stared at my hands, the afterglow of the unknown power flickering before it faded. What... was that?

The moment the smoke cleared, I turned to look at Zagan. He stood still, frozen as though he had just seen a ghost. At first, his expression was unreadable—a mixture of shock, maybe even fear. But then it changed. Recognition. Horror. As if he had suspected something all along, and now, that suspicion had been proven true.

His grip on his sword tightened, and for the first time since I had met him, I saw something vulnerable in his eyes. It's worse than fear—dread.

Before I could say anything, Zagan turned to his most trusted warriors, those who had been watching the duel. His gaze was like a blade against their throats, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper.

"Not a word of this to anyone."

The air grew heavy.

"If even a whisper of what happened here leaves your lips—" his eyes burned with an unspoken promise, "I will carve out your tongues myself before I kill you."

Silence. Absolute, suffocating silence.

The warriors stiffened, fists clenched over their hearts in obedience. No one dared breathe a word.

Then he turned to me, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a chill down my spine.

"You will return to your chambers immediately. We’ll talk later."

His voice was like steel, cold and immovable, leaving no room for argument. It wasn’t a suggestion—it was an order.

I stiffened. "And what will we talk about?" My voice was laced with defiance, though even I could hear the slight tremor in it. "Whether you’ll kill me or drag me back to the capital yourself?"

The corner of his mouth twitched, not in amusement, but in something unreadable—something dangerous. His eyes, dark as the night sky and speckled with distant stars, bore into me like a predator sizing up its prey. The way they gleamed in the dim torchlight, deep and endless like the cosmos itself, made it impossible to look away.

His stare was suffocating. Cold. Absolute.

And yet, I found myself drawn to it.

Damn him. Damn me.

Even as fear prickled at the back of my neck, I couldn’t ignore the way his presence dominated the space between us. The sharp lines of his jaw, the way his raven-black hair fell just slightly out of place, the quiet strength in every measured movement—he was effortlessly, frustratingly captivating.

And that unrelenting, cosmic gaze of his?

It made my pulse stutter in a way I refused to acknowledge.

Zagan remained silent, his jaw clenched as he turned away, offering no response. Just as I found myself momentarily distracted—against my better judgment—by the sheer unfairness of how absurdly good he looked, the arrival of an unexpected guest shattered the moment.

Ormr?

Ormr was unreadable as he entered the fortress, his steps steady, his expression impassive. A man of high rank—an advisor to the kingdom, someone whose words shaped decisions behind closed doors. Yet, despite his position, there was something unnervingly detached about him, as though he stood apart from the very world he served. His presence alone demanded silence, his authority undeniable.

His gaze swept over the chamber before landing on me. For the briefest moment, something flickered in his eyes—curiosity, perhaps. Recognition? No, something deeper, as if he were piecing together a puzzle whose image had not yet fully formed. Then, with a measured breath, he delivered the news.

“The engagement of Prince Lysander and Lady Yvonne has been formally announced.”

The words struck like a blade, clean and precise, embedding themselves deep in my chest.

I barely registered the way Ormr’s gaze flickered with speculation, as if he were trying to connect the whispers he'd heard from the crowd. Was I the woman everyone had been talking about? The one whose name passed between lips in hushed tones, woven into the gossip like a specter of a past life?

Yes. But that wasn’t what mattered.

My heart pounded, and I felt the blood drain from my face.

Lysander… engaged?

To Yvonne?

The traitor. So, it was true?

My vision blurred with rage, bile rising in my throat. My breath came out uneven as a cold shiver crawled down my spine. Was this some political maneuver? A tactic to force me back to the capital? To lure me out of hiding? Or had he truly discarded me like a broken pawn, swept off the board and replaced by someone more… convenient?

I knew Lysander. The man who once swore he would never let me go. The man whose pride could carve through stone. He wouldn’t simply move on—not unless…

Unless he believed whatever lies Yvonne had fed him.

Or worse.

Unless she had already shared his bed.

The thought sent a visceral, nauseating wave through me, twisting something in my chest that felt dangerously close to despair. No. I couldn’t think like that. I wouldn’t.

But the betrayal settled in my bones, familiar and suffocating.

The memory of cold stone walls and rusted iron shackles clawed its way back, the phantom sting of humiliation pressing against my throat. It was happening again. They were erasing me, replacing me, sweeping my existence away like dust beneath their silk-covered feet.

No.

Not this time.

Not without a fight.

I clenched my fists so tightly that my nails dug into my palms, a sharp sting grounding me in the storm of my thoughts. If Lysander had truly abandoned me—if he had cast me aside once more in favor of Yvonne—then he would live to regret it. The tables would turn, and when they did, I would no longer be the powerless girl sentenced to death by lies and deception. No, I would be the one seated on the throne of fate, watching as those who had wronged me were consumed by the very consequences of their betrayal.

But for that, I needed power.

Not just any power—I needed something absolute, something untouchable. The kind of strength that would ensure I was never at the mercy of anyone ever again.

And there was only one man who possessed such power.

Zagan.

Lysander had once been my everything—the man I loved, the man who had promised to choose me over the world. And for a time, he had. Before the lies. Before Yvonne’s scheme had shattered everything. He had been my Lysander, my beloved, until the day he became my executioner. I had left the capital, severing our engagement with my own hands, not out of hatred, but to break the cycle of betrayal and death. To stop history from repeating itself.

But despite knowing the truth—despite remembering the bitter sting of his hatred in my final moments—I couldn’t erase the past we once had. He had been gentle. Loving. Mine. And that was why the news of his sudden willingness to take me back as his fiancée left me more confused than anything.

Was Yvonne’s plan still in motion? Had she succeeded in planting more lies into Lysander’s heart, twisting him against me? Or had something changed?

One thing was certain—Yvonne wanted everything I had. My title, my crown, my love, my very existence overshadowed hers. No matter what she claimed to desire—Lysander, the throne, power—it all traced back to the same bitter truth. She wanted to be me. And if I didn’t act soon, she would make sure I was erased for good.

But this time, I would not let her win.

My breathing steadied, my pulse still erratic but controlled. Yes. If I wanted vengeance, if I wanted to be more than a discarded pawn, I needed to ensure I was indispensable. And if the only way to get close to Zagan, to ensure he saw my worth, was to seduce him…

Then so be it.

It was now or never.

But before I could make my move, Zagan's sharp voice cut through my haze.

“Ormr,” he called, his tone laced with unspoken command. “With me.”

I snapped out of my thoughts in time to see Zagan’s gaze flicker toward me, unreadable but firm. Whatever Ormr had to say next, I was not meant to hear it. Did he know what I feel?

A moment later, the heavy weight of soldiers’ hands clamped around my arms, their grip firm yet careful. My fate had already been decided.

“Return her to her chambers,” Zagan ordered, his voice cold.

I struggled, but the soldiers didn’t waver. As they dragged me from the hall, I caught one last glimpse of Ormr, his expression still unreadable, still speculative.

And I was left with nothing but a tempest of questions, a rage I could barely contain, and the single, undeniable truth that burned within me.

I would not be cast aside again.

That night, as I sat alone at dinner, my thoughts were spinning like a drunk bard at a festival.

This new magic… it changed everything.

Before, I had two choices: run or die. But now? Now, I could fight. I could win. I could prove myself.

I grabbed a grape, popped it into my mouth, and chewed aggressively.

If I was going to convince Zagan to let me stay, I needed to be smart. Persuasive. Ruthless, even.

…Or I could be hot.

I froze mid-bite.

Wait.

Yes. That was it.

If there was one thing I was good at, it was being an absolute menace. And if I had to weaponize my feminine wiles to stay in this castle of doom, so be it.

I took a slow sip of wine, already picturing it.

A candlelit dinner. The air thick with tension. Me, sitting across from Zagan in a scandalously fitted dress, batting my lashes, voice sultry—

"Zagan, don’t you think I deserve a place by your side?"

His crimson eyes would flicker with something dark. Something dangerous. His gaze would drop to my lips. His jaw would clench.

And then, with all the passion of a dying moth, he’d say—

"Pass the salt."

I nearly drowned in my wine.

Okay. Maybe dinner wasn’t the right setting.

Plan B: the bold approach.

I could waltz into his chambers late at night, shrouded in silk, my hair loose and flowing. I’d lean against his doorway like some tragic yet irresistible heroine, my voice dripping honey—

"Zagan," I’d purr. “Don’t you want to ravish me?”

And he’d just… stare.

Cold. Unmoved. Face unreadable. Then—

"You’re blocking the light. Move."

I groaned into my hands.

Alright. Plan C.

I could pretend to trip. Dramatically. Right into his arms. I’d let my fingers rest against his broad chest (because oh my gods did he have a chest—a wall of steel). My breath would hitch as I gazed up at him, eyes wide with innocence—

"Oh, my lord, how strong you are! However will I stand on my own two feet without you?"

And he’d just… hold me. Effortlessly. Like a particularly annoying sack of flour.

Expression blank.

"You should work on your balance."

I groaned, aggressively tearing apart a piece of bread.

This shouldn’t be this hard. He was a man, wasn’t he?! And not just any man—Zagan was the kind of unfairly, obscenely attractive that made people forget how to breathe.

Tall. Built like a war god sculpted from obsidian. Hair so dark it swallowed the light. And those eyes—a swirling cosmos of blues and violets, like entire galaxies trapped in his gaze, endless and consuming. Looking into them felt like staring into the abyss—except this abyss had cheekbones so sharp they could cut my dignity in half.

His resting face alone screamed:
"Do you want to die?"
"You're a nuisance to my sight."
"You don’t belong here."

“Begone”

And yet here I was, in love with my suffering.

I flopped against the table, my forehead resting against my arms.

“This should be easier,” I grumbled to my plate.

But was I giving up? Absolutely not.

This was war. And I? I was ready to die on this battlefield.

With newfound determination, I downed the rest of my wine and stood.

But then—movement. A shadow outside my window.

I stiffened, watching as a tall figure strode past the courtyard and toward the forest beyond.

Zagan.

I blinked.

At first, I thought nothing of it. Maybe brooding warlords just did that sometimes—lurk around in the dead of night like ominous doom gods.

But then he kept going. Deeper into the trees.

Curiosity flickered inside me. Where was he going at this hour?

Without hesitation, I grabbed my cloak and followed.

I trailed behind at a careful distance, watching as his broad figure disappeared into the darkened path beyond the courtyard. But as I turned a corner, my foot caught on something—probably my own bad luck—and I stumbled straight into the outskirts of the village.

I looked around, heart pounding.

Where did he go?

One second he was right there, and now? Gone. Just vanished like a shadow into the night.

I muttered a curse under my breath. Great. Now I was lost.

And then I noticed something peculiar.

Everyone around me was wearing black.