Perfect. 

Controlled.

Eiran stands by the window, his silhouette framed by sheer curtains that billow with the night breeze. 

He doesn’t turn when the door closes behind me. 

“Thank you for coming,” he says. 

“I didn’t have much of a choice.” 

He smiles faintly, still facing the glass. “You’ve made several choices lately, haven’t you? Delaying the engagement. Questioning the council. Making quite the impression.” 

I take a few steps into the room, letting the quiet stretch. 

He finally turns. 

His expression is gentle, but distant — like a teacher trying to correct a student without embarrassing them. “I assume you’ve come with questions,” he says, “though I’m sure by now, you think you already know the answers.” “I know enough,” I say. 

His gaze sharpens, but only slightly. 

A flicker, not a reaction. 

He’s still in control. 

“Do you?” he asks. “Or are you simply looking for a villain in a story that never offered you a hero?” 

I step closer. “A man is dead.” 

“Yes,” he replies. “And I’m not the one who slit his throat in your courtyard.” 

“But you knew it would happen.” 

He doesn’t deny it. 

Doesn’t even flinch. 

Instead, he walks to the table and pours himself a cup of tea. 

The liquid doesn’t ripple. 

“I’ve learned,” he says, “that in courts like yours, truth is less useful than narrative. And narrative is shaped by timing.” 

“I’m not here for riddles,” I snap. 

“No,” he says softly. “You’re here to confirm what you already believe. That I’m the threat you need.” 

I clench my jaw. “You are a threat, Eiran.” 

He looks up at me over the rim of his cup. “And what are you, Elira? The reluctant princess? The righteous daughter?” 

I say nothing. 

He sets the cup down carefully. 

Not a single drop spills. 

“Let me ask you something, then,” he says, stepping toward me with the grace of someone raised to weaponize silence. “If I am what you say… why haven’t you stopped me?” 

His voice is quiet. 

But it lands like a knife. 

Not accusation.

Not fear. 

A challenge. 

I don’t answer. Not yet. 

Because the truth is, I don’t know what stopping him looks like — not without breaking something larger than both of us. 

Eiran watches me in silence for a moment, waiting for the hesitation. 

The retreat. 

The soft apology masked as diplomacy. 

It doesn’t come. 

I take one step closer. “You want me to be afraid of you.” 

He smiles — but it’s brittle. “I want you to understand me.” 

“No,” I say. “You want me to be complicit. You want my name. My title. My court. And if I don’t give it willingly, you’ll find a way to take it through whispers and silk.” 

The smile fades. 

His tone sharpens, subtle but unmistakable. “Is that what you think I am? A thief in a doublet?” 

“I think you’re dangerous,” I reply. “Because you mistake strategy for strength. You mistake cold calculation for leadership.” 

“And you mistake sentiment for morality,” he spits — the first crack in his voice. “You walk through this palace pretending you’re above all of us, pretending your quiet makes you good, when in truth, it just makes you soft.” 

I feel my heart hammer in my chest — not from fear, but fury. 

“Maybe I am soft,” I say, voice low. “But I sleep at night.” 

He scoffs, stepping past me, his robe whispering against the marble. “I came here to survive. I was sent here to manipulate, to ensure control. That’s the world we live in, Elira. We don’t have the luxury of being good.” 

I turn to face him. “Then don’t pretend you ever wanted to be.” 

He freezes, his back to me. 

And for a moment, the room is silent but for the sound of the curtains fluttering in the open window. 

“You’re not the only one with a kingdom to answer to,” he says, quieter now. “If you think your defiance makes you noble, you haven’t seen how fast nobility burns.” 

I watch his shoulders rise and fall — carefully, as if holding something back. “You’ve lost this room,” I say. 

“I never needed this room,” he whispers. “Only what comes after it.” 

We don’t speak again. 

I leave his chamber with my heart pounding and my jaw tight — not triumphant, but steady. 

For the first time, I feel it. 

I’m not breaking. 

I’m building.