The grand hall was alight with golden chandeliers, their soft glow flickering against the polished marble floors. Nobles filled the vast space, their laughter a symphony of polite deceit, their silk and velvet garments a parade of wealth. The tables were adorned with an extravagant feast—succulent roast pheasants, platters of fresh fruit glistening under candlelight, golden goblets brimming with wine.

And nightshade.

I stopped mid-step, my gaze snapping to the elegant floral arrangements decorating the tables and archways. The deep violet blossoms stood out against the pristine white tablecloths, almost too bold, too deliberate.

Zagan, ever composed in his black attire, looked like something straight out of a royal portrait—only infinitely more aggravating. The dark fabric clung to his broad shoulders, the silver embroidery catching the candlelight in a way that made him look even more dangerously regal.

And gods, why did his usual nonchalant, strict, and intimidating expression have to be so—

Focus, Thalia!

“What is this plant doing here?” I asked, nudging Zagan’s arm.

He barely turned his head. “Belladonna.”

“Yes, I know!” I hissed. “The one that nearly killed you?”

“Hm…”

I narrowed my eyes. “Should I know something about it now?”

“It is used to dilate pupils,” he said, his voice smooth, unreadable. “Makes you more beautiful. Irresistible.”

“Huh. But it’ll also kill you.”

“Not with a minimal dose.”

I folded my arms. “That still doesn’t explain why you ingested enough of it to nearly die!”

He exhaled, glancing at me sideways. “I thought you were asking about its presence at this party. Were you just concerned for me?”

“Of course! I almost had a heart attack trying to keep you alive!”

Zagan turned then, stepping closer—too close. The moment his violet eyes locked onto mine, my breath caught. His expression remained unreadable, but there was something sharp beneath it, something… searching. His voice dropped to a murmur, his tone almost mocking.

“Do you really want me to live… or are you just doing it because of the throne?”

I swallowed. “I already told you my plan.” I met his gaze, refusing to waver. “If I find out I’m right, then I don’t need you to be my king.”

Silence stretched between us. His jaw tightened, but his face remained impassive—except for his eyes, which studied me as if they could see straight into my soul. There was something unreadable in his expression, something almost… sad.

“Understood,” he finally said, his voice as cold as the night air. He turned away from me, his cape brushing against my arm. And gods—

His back. Why did his back have to be so stupidly, frustratingly, unfairly attractive?

“After you succeed in claiming what’s yours,” he continued, voice low, “Lysander’s betrothed… don’t ever see me again.” He took a step forward before adding,

"Or the next time I see you, you’ll never escape my shadow."

Why does he sound... jealous?

We were tucked away in one of the palace corridors, where the flickering candlelight barely reached, where no one else should be watching—except, of course, someone found us.

“Thalia?”

There he is. The man I once loved. The man I tried not to miss. The man whose voice alone made my stupid heart clench like it was about to burst. My body betrayed me, my lungs forgot how to work, my eyes burned like they wanted to spill every unshed tear I refused to acknowledge.

“You’re here…” Lysander said, his gaze heavy.

“I am…” I managed, voice steady despite the riot inside me.

Zagan remained silent beside me, a looming presence, his expression unreadable as always. I could still feel the weight of his words pressing against my skin.

Lysander’s eyes flickered to him. “Brother.”

“Your Highness.” Zagan inclined his head, the movement slow and measured.

It hit me then—how powerless Zagan was in front of him. The infamous, feared, cursed prince bowing to the golden boy, the rightful heir, the man the world adored. Right. Zagan wasn’t supposed to be here. He had been cast out, thrown into the shadows. And now, here he was, helping me, of all people.

“I see you’re together,” Lysander said, his voice carefully controlled. “Is he the reason you left?”

Excuse me? Oh, of all the things he could think of, this? This is where his brain landed? I almost choked on my own indignation. He could have thought I was plotting treason, he could have thought I was insane—but cheating? Really? The audacity, considering he was the one engaged to Yvonne!

“That’s not what you think it is,” I said, frustration bubbling up. “I came back to show you… you’ve been choosing the wrong things.”

His jaw tightened. “You think I’m incapable of making the right decisions? That I’m not fit to be king?”

Oof. I stepped on his ego. I could see it cracking.

“That’s not what I—”

“No, Thalia. No, no… You’ve always thought lowly of me, haven’t you?” His voice was sharp, each word laced with hurt. “Do you think you can trick me into drinking poisoned food?”

What?! “I didn’t—” Oh, gods, this was going nowhere. I couldn’t convince him, not when his pride had been wounded.

Zagan, standing off to the side, remained quiet. But I could feel his amusement radiating from him. Oh no. He was enjoying this. He was watching Lysander’s righteous fury with something dangerously close to smug satisfaction.

“Your Highness,” I said, gathering my composure, “I am here to clear my name of suspicions… I am here to claim what is rightfully mine.”

Lysander looked at me then—not with anger, not with disbelief, but with something dangerously close to awe. Oh. Oh no. I could see it in his eyes. He fell for it. He fell for the sheer confidence in my words, for the unwavering determination in my voice.

“Yours?… Thalia.”

A scoff broke through the air. A very distinct scoff.

I snapped my head toward Zagan. Did… did he just scoff?

I didn’t have time to dwell on it because Lysander took a step closer. His hand lifted ever so slightly, his gaze locking onto mine like he was about to—oh gods, he was going to kiss me. He was actually—

A voice interrupted, echoing through the halls. The announcer, calling for the guests at the ceremony.

Lysander stiffened. Duty called.

“Thalia, don’t do anything rash,” he said, voice dropping as he glanced between me and Zagan. “I’ll be back. Stay here.”

Then he turned to Zagan. “Hide her, or they’ll take her.”

Zagan’s face was impassive, but his irritation was clear. “You don’t order me around.” Then, after a pause, “But I will. Though whatever she chooses to do at this party is not my concern—she merely tagged along.”

“Please.” Lysander’s voice softened, a rare plea in his tone. “I’ll be back.”

And then—then—he had the audacity to press a kiss to my forehead.

I barely registered it, too busy staring at the impossible thing that happened next.

Zagan’s brow furrowed.

What… what was that?

He looked away quickly, but I saw it. I saw his hands tighten into fists, his jaw clench ever so slightly. Like he was fighting something. Like he was trying to keep his shadows from lashing out.

As the ceremony unfolded, I found myself increasingly frustrated. Yvonne was seated high on the dais, flanked by the Queen and Lysander, heavily guarded and untouchable. There was no way I could approach her, let alone corner her for the test. Just my luck.

Then, Zagan—who had silently disappeared from my side—was suddenly the center of attention. He strode down the grand aisle, his presence turning the once-lively hall into a suffocating silence. People stiffened, their whispers hushed as he approached the throne, his steps measured and deliberate. In his hands, he carried his offering: fine wine and—oh, great—fangs and claws of Celestians.

I nearly choked on my own breath. What in the world was he thinking? Presenting the literal remains of Celestians as gifts? Of all things?

The murmurs in the crowd grew louder, uncertainty rippling through the nobles as they eyed the gruesome trophies.

Zagan bowed before the dais, his tone smooth, unwavering. “Your Highness, my lady.” His gaze lingered on Lysander and Yvonne before settling on the Queen. “I bring gifts befitting your station. Aged wine from the northern reaches and the remnants of those who dared trespass into our lands.”

Yvonne paled, her fingers tightening around the armrest of her chair. I didn’t miss the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed, nor the subtle way the Queen’s lip curled in distaste.

Lysander, on the other hand, was—somehow—pleased. “These are no ordinary gifts,” he mused, inspecting the fangs with mild interest. “You’ve always had a talent for hunting them down.”

That’s it? No comment about the absolute horror of the presentation? No, ‘perhaps next time, something less terrifying’? Just casual admiration? Typical.

Zagan’s lips curled ever so slightly. “For years, I have done what is necessary to keep this kingdom safe.”

“Indeed.” Lysander raised his cup. “To my brother, the one who fights in the shadows so that we may live in the light.”

The hall echoed with a reluctant “cheers,” though the unease was palpable.

Then, Lysander turned to Zagan, eyes narrowing slightly. “It is rare that you answer an invitation. What has changed?”

Zagan held his gaze, unreadable. “One should not always remain in the dark.”

The tension thickened. There was something unspoken in the exchange, something sharp beneath Lysander’s practiced smile.

“Fear not, my people,” Lysander announced, his voice warm yet commanding. “My brother has no intention of harming anyone here. His duty has always been to the destruction of Celestians. And should he dare lay a hand on our own—” his gaze flicked back to Zagan, sharp as a blade, “—death will be his reward. Correct, brother?”

Zagan inclined his head slightly. “As the King may order,”

His Majesty, Vaelion Velmontierre, Twenty-Fourth King of Alazne, Lord of the Crimson Throne, is not present at this banquet. As far as I know, he is bedridden, locked in his bedroom, and has only appeared a few times.

“Oh, but why stop there?” The Queen’s voice rang out, smooth yet laced with something insidious. “We should have a demonstration, should we not?” Her Majesty, Adrielle of House Rosenthalis, the second wife of His Majesty, Vaelion Velmontierre, Queen of Alazne, and Jewel of the Rosenthalis Line, is known for her fondness for testing people as a form of amusement—though, in truth, she simply enjoys humiliating others to assert her entitlement.

A murmur of agreement—or fear—rippled through the room. My stomach twisted as I caught sight of the poor soul being ushered forward—a young maid, trembling as she was pushed toward Zagan.

I stiffened. This wasn’t a test of his power, it was a spectacle. A trap.

Zagan, to his credit, remained unnervingly calm. “Don’t be afraid,” he told the girl, offering his hand.

She hesitated but obeyed, her fingers ghosting over his skin. Silence fell. No shadows crept, no darkness consumed her.

And yet—oh, for heaven’s sake. Was she blushing? Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, as if she’d just laid eyes on a divine being.

Zagan smiled at her—a genuine, soft smile. The kind that made me forget, for a moment, what he was capable of. Was that actually a smile?

Lysander chuckled. “I see, brother. You’ve come here to steal the spotlight from me.”

Zagan merely glanced at him. “I’m merely fulfilling the Queen’s wishes.”

Lysander’s smirk didn’t waver, though something flickered behind his eyes. “And here I thought no one commanded you.”

I could almost hear the unsaid words beneath the jest: ‘Don’t forget who will be king.’

The tension between them was growing unbearable. For the first time in years, I saw Lysander slip—just a little. The perfect prince, the golden heir, exuding confidence and charm, was… threatened. Annoyed, even.

Oh.

That’s the same look he had the day I was sentenced to die.

Something cold trickled down my spine.