The darkness pressed heavy, so absolute she half-feared she had gone blind. One moment Corven’s breath had been warm at her ear, shadows coiled at her spine; the next, silence devoured it all.

Then.. light.

A flare cracked through the chamber as the door swung open. Fire spilled in, not from a lantern but from Thane’s own hands, golden flame trembling in his palms. The sudden brightness stung her eyes, too sharp, too immediate, like waking mid-dream.

“Myrren.” His voice, rich and steady, rolled through the hush like a vow itself. “You don’t need to be afraid. Not while I stand.”

Her heart lurched. He looked every inch the prince she had once believed in: broad-shouldered, haloed in light, his expression soft as though she were his only concern. Saints, hadn’t she longed for this warmth? For him?

And yet, her fist still bore the ink smear.

Do not trust him.

She tucked her hand behind her skirts before he could see.

The flames in his palms dimmed, gentling into a glow that spilled across her chamber in molten gold. Shadows retreated. The silver-threaded embroidery in the curtains caught firelight like strands of stars. He crossed the room quickly, reaching for her as though to steady her trembling shoulders. She let him, though the warmth seared more than soothed.

“You’re pale,” he murmured, thumb brushing her cheekbone. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll bring it. Ink, bread from the kitchens. Anything.”

Anything. The same word Corven had used when shadows pressed against her an hour ago. The same desperate promise, only gilded now instead of veiled.

The walls of her chest tightened. The spiral was closing in again, twisting light into shadow until she could not tell which vow belonged to which man.

She managed a nod, though her throat felt scraped raw. “I only need…” She faltered, unsure which name would betray her faster.

The firelight flickered across his jaw. He smiled, but it was brittle, as if cracked beneath the weight of something unsaid.

“Myrren.” His hands framed her face now, firelight dancing in his eyes. “Listen to me. No crown, no council, no whisper in these cursed halls will ever come between us. Not famine. Not poison. Not even death itself.”

Her breath caught.

She had heard this before exactly this.

By the hearth, on that night when she had believed in him utterly. When his warmth had felt like sanctuary, not performance. But this fire flickered in his hands, not in a hearth. And though his words sounded the same, his eyes didn’t linger on her, they flicked toward the door, toward the corners, as though measuring who might be listening.

The spiral twisted in her ribs, tightening.

“You will never stand alone,” he whispered, sealing the vow with a hand pressed over his heart. Always that gesture. Always that reflex when he swore.

Her chest burned with confusion. Had she dreamed the first vow? Has this always been the moment? Or were both real? her heart forced to believe the same words twice, in two different fires?

Outside, laughter spilled faintly down the corridor where nobles left some late gathering, perfume trailing behind them like smoke. One voice rose above the rest: sharp, silvery, cruel.

“The prince spends his nights too freely.”

A hush followed. Then another voice, lower: “Aurelia will not stand for it much longer.”

The name struck like a dropped blade.

Aurelia.

It carved into her like a familiar wound she couldn’t recall. Sharp. Heavy. And utterly blank.

She had no memory of this woman. No banquet where they’d crossed paths. No moment where Aurelia’s fan snapped open, or her gaze sliced like glass. And yet, everyone spoke of her as though she had always been here, her presence threaded through every whisper, every scandal.

A fan in gold embroidery. A voice that lilted like poison. A laugh that bit.

Did she remember that? Or had the thought been planted?

Her breath hitched. Saints! had she forgotten her? Or had those first nights, those banquets, those vows, been a different spiral altogether? One where Aurelia never existed?

“Myrren.” Thane’s voice yanked her back.

His jaw had tightened; the flames in his hands flared. “You hear them. Every whisper is poison, every jest a blade aimed at us. They speak her name beside mine, as if she has a right to it.”

His eyes were molten now, voice low and dangerous. “But I tell you this..” He stepped closer, closer still, until his shadow tangled with hers. “I would burn every rumor to ash before I ever let it touch you.”

He meant it. She could feel the vow shimmer between them like heat.

And yet, there was something practiced in the way he said it. As if he had given this speech before. As if he knew she needed these words now, even if he no longer knew why.

Her hand shook at her side, ink smearing into her skirts. The spiral hummed in her bones, mocking her: vows repeated, promises recycled, devotion rehearsed until it wore the shape of sincerity.

“Thane…” Her voice broke. She wanted to believe him, needed to, but the warning on her palm seared hotter than his flame.

Do not trust him.

But which him?

His warmth wrapped her in light, but it felt like a mask.

The firelight blurred as though smoke filled her lungs. She swayed, pressing a hand to the desk for balance.

Thane caught her elbow quickly. “You’re exhausted. You’ve borne too much. Let me carry it. Let me carry you.”

The words curled around her like a chain.

Too familiar. Too heavy.

Her lips parted before she could stop herself. “Have you said this before?”

His hands stilled.

The chamber froze with him, the only motion the slow gutter of flame in his palm. His expression faltered, not wounded, not indignant, but startled. Almost… afraid.

“Myrren,” he said softly, voice hollowed by silence, “what do you mean?”

Her chest rose, fell, shuddering with the weight of two memories. “By the fire. By another fire. You promised me this before. Or… or someone did.”

The flames flickered sharper, shadows clawing across the walls. For a breath, she thought they looked like Corven’s chains, wrapping the chamber in silence.

Thane’s gaze dropped to her ink-stained hand, the one she had tried to hide. She curled it tighter, but not before his eyes narrowed.

“What did you write?” he asked. Not gently now. The warmth cracked. His voice held steel.

She stepped back, pulse hammering. “Nothing. I didn’t..”

But the words in her palm burned too fiercely to deny.

Do not trust him.

The flames sputtered. For an instant, the chamber smelled not of gold and cedar, but of ash.

And Thane’s mask slipped.