The throne hall blazed with light when Myrren entered the next morning. Sunlight poured through the high windows, catching on gilded banners and the polished armor of guards who stood like statues along the walls. She halted at the threshold, her stomach tightening, breath shallow. No matter how many times she had washed her skin, the ghost of roses still clung to her as a reminder of the spiral of blood curling across marble, of prophecy whispered in silence.

The courtiers turned as one. Whispers pricked against her skin like nettles. Her knees threatened to give way.

Then a warmth. A hand at her elbow, steady and certain.

Prince Thane stood beside her, his presence sunlight breaking through storm clouds. He didn’t bristle at the courtiers or glare at them down. His smile was for her alone, soft and unwavering. “Easy,” he said quietly, his voice pitched so only she could hear. “You don’t have to face them alone.”

She let out a shaky breath. “You think your hand will silence them?”

“No,” he admitted, mouth curving faintly. “But perhaps it will steady you.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture tender enough to unmoor her. For a heartbeat, she leaned into him, soaking in his warmth, aching to believe that his light could shield her from every shadow. And yet beneath her ribs, another pull stirred. A phantom echo of chains. The memory of silence pressing against her skin.

She pushed it down. Thane was light. Thane was safe. That should be enough.

Together, they walked the length of the hall. Courtiers bowed stiffly, but whispers rose sharper now, splintering into factions.

“She walks with him. Bold.”
“Better golden light than shadows.”
“Corven frightens the wolves then, let her stand with him instead.”

Behind, Holt muttered to Lord Aedric just loud enough to reach her ears. “If she binds herself to one, she makes an enemy of the other.”

Aedric chuckled darkly. “And the court will feast on the ruin.”

Her steps faltered. She wanted to ignore it. But the truth was already there, coiling through marble like rot.

During one petition, a lord cloaked in velvet so dark it seemed to swallow the light stepped too close. His sneer was a blade. “A perfumer’s daughter lecturing the court. How long before she scents poison where there is none?”

Her lips parted, ready to answer, but a movement stopped her.

Corven.

He stepped from the shadows at the edge of the dais, silent, presence alone enough to make the lord stumble back. He spoke no words. He did not need to. The silence he carried pressed like iron, heavier than any curse.

The chamber stilled. Nobles shifted uneasily. None dared challenge him.

Relief tangled with resentment inside her. She did not need his shield. And yet, saints, she was grateful all the same.

Her gaze dropped, unguarded for a moment. That was when she saw it.

The slip of his sleeve revealed skin marked with dark, jagged lines curling like ink veins beneath flesh. Not paint. Not ink. Scars. Etched deep, branching like shadows carved into him.

Her breath caught. She stared too long.

He noticed.

His sleeve fell back into place. His storm-grey eyes met hers but unreadable, implacable. Silence poured between them, heavier than words.

Heat rushed to her throat. She tore her gaze away, heart pounding. Thane’s devotion was sunlight. Corven’s shield was shadow, iron and inevitability. And between them, she was already caught.

When the court finally dismissed, laughter rang sharp as glass. Myrren slipped away quickly, but Ori found her before she reached the corridor’s end.

Her friend grabbed her sleeve, eyes blazing. “What was that? Standing with Thane, and then Corven stepping in like.. like you belong to him?”

“I belong to no one,” Myrren snapped.

Ori’s grip tightened. “It looks otherwise. Half the court already calls you reckless. The other half is waiting for you to fall.”

From behind a column, Holt’s voice carried, grim. “Fall, or be pushed.”

Aedric’s dry laugh followed. “Either way, it will make a fine story for the archives.”

Ori flinched, color draining from her face. Myrren tore free, though the sting of their words pressed close. Too close. She wanted to shout them down, to deny every whisper. But their truth clung like smoke.

Then, a sound.

Soft paws on stone.

A small fox padded into the corridor, rust-red coat bright against the marble, eyes glinting cleverly. It nosed the air, unbothered by guards or courtiers, as though the palace itself belonged to it.

Ori started. “How did that get past the gates?”

The fox’s gaze lingered on Myrren too long, clever and knowing. Then it vanished into the shadows.

Her pulse jumped. For a moment, she envied it, free to slip between predators and vanish before jaws closed.

By nightfall, Myrren could not rest. The chamber felt too close, her thoughts too loud. When the knock came, soft but certain, her breath caught.

Thane.

He slipped inside without ceremony, shadows trailing him like defeated enemies. His cloak smelled of smoke and sandalwood. His hair was mussed, his smile steady. “You shouldn’t face the dark alone,” he murmured.

She wanted to tell him no. To send him away. But when his hand brushed hers, warmth surged through her, steadying, undoing.

He drew her toward the bed. She resisted only a heartbeat. His presence filled the chamber, golden and unshakable. “You’ve carried too much,” he whispered, guiding her to sit. “Let me take the weight for once.”

His fingers brushed her braid loose, trailing down her neck. She trembled, breath caught as his hand lingered against her cheek. “I tell myself to wait,” he said, voice hoarse. “But tonight, I cannot.”

He kissed her.

Heat broke open between them. Her hands fisted in his shirt, tugging it loose. His lips trailed down her jaw, her throat, the hollow of her collarbone. She gasped, arching closer. His hand slid along her back, pulling her against him as though he could fuse them together.

“You undo me,” he breathed against her skin. “If loving you damns me, let me be damned.”

Her dress slipped low beneath his touch, silk falling from her shoulder. His mouth burned a trail down her skin. Desire clawed at her, desperate, unstoppable. And saints, she wanted this. She wanted him.

This should be enough. His warmth. His vow. His devotion.

But the moment his lips closed over her breast, her body betrayed her. Trembling, not from his touch, but from the phantom chains coiling at her wrist. The memory of silence. Steel. Cypress.

Corven.

She gasped, wrenching back, pressing her palms to Thane’s chest. “Wait.”

He stilled instantly, breath ragged, restraint trembling through him. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she whispered, though her voice shook. “It isn’t you. I’m only… tired. Too much tonight.”

His golden gaze searched hers, torn between need and reverence. Slowly, he lifted the fallen strap of her dress back into place, his touch reverent. He kissed her temple softly. “You never need to fear me. Not ever.”

Her chest ached. She wanted to believe him. She wanted his warmth to be enough.

But as she lay back, pulse racing, her last thought was not of the prince beside her.

It was of the man in the shadows.

Still, Thane did not move away. He stayed beside her, his hand tangled with hers on the coverlet, his thumb stroking lightly over her knuckles as though to promise she was not alone. His breath was still uneven, but his presence wrapped around her like a shield. Slowly, he lay back against the pillows, drawing her with him until her cheek rested against the steady beat of his heart.

The chamber was quiet but for the sound of their breathing. His fingers threaded through her hair, smoothing it loose, lingering at the nape of her neck. “I wish you could see yourself as I do,” he murmured, voice thick with unshed words. “Not the court’s suspicion. Not their whispers. Only you. Only Myrren.”

Her throat tightened. She closed her eyes, letting herself rest against him, letting the heat of his skin burn away the chill of memory. He pressed a kiss to her hair, then another, each one softer, reverent, a vow unspoken. His hand cupped her face and he tilted her head just enough to kiss her again—slower this time, with aching care.

It would have been so easy to surrender. To let his devotion anchor her, to silence every phantom chain. Her body softened, molded against his, until she could no longer tell where he ended and she began.

And still, in the quiet, the tremor in her blood would not cease.