The palace walls pressed closer with every breath.

Even with the lamps extinguished, Myrren could not sleep. Shadows crouched in the corners of her chamber, long fingers whispering reminders of the vial on her table. Her own spiral mark glimmered faintly in the dark, as if mocking her. Someone wanted her hanged. Someone wanted Prince Thane bound to her ruin.

And the palace listened. Always listening.

A knock startled her upright. Not the heavy fists of guards. A softer sound. Hesitant.

“Myrren?”

The voice was warm, familiar. She exhaled, her hand still tight around the edge of her blanket. “Your Highness.”

The door opened, and moonlight spilled across the threshold as Prince Thane stepped in. He had shed his court regalia; only a simple tunic and cloak wrapped him now, his golden hair untamed from the night wind. He looked younger like this, less like a prince sculpted for politics and more like a man burdened by too many secrets.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, voice low, frayed at the edges. “Not after…” His gaze dropped to the table, to the black-glass vial glinting there. His jaw tightened. “They all look at me as if I’m already king. Every smile a lie, every bow a bargain. I can’t breathe in there. And there’s no one I can say this to. No one but you.”

Her breath caught. Dangerous words, heavier than any touch.

He looked at her then, and a crooked smile tugged at his mouth — boyish, reckless, trying to mask the weight that pressed on him. “Walk with me. If they whisper, let them. I’d rather give them scandal than silence.”

She hesitated. If anyone saw them—

But his eyes held something raw, something almost breaking. And despite herself, a laugh caught in her throat. Foolish. Dangerous. Yet he was giving her his burden, and she was too tired of shadows to refuse it.

She rose, pulling her cloak tighter, and followed him.

The gardens unfolded beyond the eastern halls, washed silver by moonlight. Roses climbed along trellises, their petals dew-damp and sweet. Night-blooming jasmine perfumed the air, mingling with the faint tang of torches guttering in iron sconces. The scent was intoxicating—wild, unfiltered, unlike the suffocating perfumes of the banquet halls.

Here, silence did not threaten. It was soothing.

Thane led her down a path of pale stone, their footsteps muffled by moss. Above them, the stars scattered thick across the velvet sky, brighter than she had ever seen from the alleys of Eirden.

“This place,” Thane murmured, glancing up, “was my father’s favorite. He used to say the stars reminded him that even kings are small beneath the heavens.”

Myrren tilted her head. The stars glittered like shards of glass. “Your father sounds wiser than the nobles I’ve met.”

Thane’s smile faltered. “He is fading.” The words slipped out, raw, edged with grief. “And while he lies in silence, the nobles tear at one another like dogs. They hoard grain while children starve. Every day famine claws deeper into the city—and I cannot stop it.”

The practiced composure cracked. His voice broke open, urgent, almost boyish in its desperation. “I stand before the council until my throat burns, I ride into the streets and beg them to see reason—but they smile, they bow, and then they bar their granaries tighter. My people starve while I wear crowns of gold. And I—” He drew a sharp breath, chest heaving. “I am powerless. Prince in name, heir in waiting… but what good is a prince who cannot save a child from hunger?”

The rawness in his tone startled her. Not performance. Not polished sunlight. Just a young man bleeding out grief no court would let him show.

“You are not wrong to try,” she said softly, her own voice unsteady. “But kindness cannot force a lock. Truth might.”

He turned sharply, moonlight catching the hollows of his face, his eyes burning with something fragile. “Truth?”

“You asked what I do.” She gestured faintly toward the air, thick with roses and moss. “I read what others hide. Every lie leaves a trace. Every fear clings to skin. Truth cannot be masked forever—not even with perfume.”

Something inside him loosened. He pressed a hand to the roses, petals scattering between them. “Then perhaps we make a pair. I wield light. You wield truth. Between us…” His smile came suddenly, luminous, but there was a wetness at its edges. “The court won’t stand a chance.”

Her chest tightened. Fool. Dangerous fool. And yet—his voice trembled with a boy’s hope, not a prince’s promise. He was offering her his weakness, laying it bare as if she might take some of the weight from his shoulders.

And Myrren could not help it. Against all reason, a part of her wanted to

They wandered deeper, where lanterns cast dim pools of gold against the hedges. Ori was there, of course, lurking in the shadows with a basket still hooked over her arm. She froze when she saw them, then grinned so wide Myrren nearly groaned aloud.

“Saints above,” Ori whispered, too loudly, “the prince takes her to the stars.”

Thane laughed, the sound like sunlight. “Should I be worried, Mistress Vale, that your maid spies more boldly than my guards?”

Myrren glared at Ori, whose grin only widened. “Go. Sleep.”

Ori mimed zipping her lips—then dashed off, her laughter echoing down the path.

Behind them, Captain Holt leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, clearly unbothered by being caught as a chaperone. “Careful, Highness. You collect dangerous women like daggers. One day, one will strike true.”

Thane shot him a mock glare. “Then I’ll count myself fortunate, Evander. A dagger is still a weapon well kept.”

Holt smirked, muttering under his breath as he strolled away: “One day, you’ll learn daggers cut both ways.”

Myrren flushed, though part of her longed to laugh too. It was absurd—here, amid famine and poison, they felt like children stealing moments beneath the stars.

The banter faded as they reached the heart of the garden. A fountain spilled moonlit water into a stone basin, its ripples casting stars across the surface. Roses climbed high above, arching overhead like a jeweled canopy.
The world felt suspended, hushed.

“Myrren.” Thane’s voice gentled, pulling her gaze back.

He stood too close now, shadows and starlight painting him in equal measure. His hand hovered near hers, not touching, waiting.

“You read truths from scents,” he said softly. “But tell me—what am I to you?”

Her breath caught. She wanted to give him logic, a tidy answer. A prince. A dangerous bond. A chain disguised as sunlight.
But words tangled. All she could smell was cedar oil, faint fatigue, and hope burning hotter than reason.

She swallowed. “You are… difficult to ignore.”

His smile broke, radiant. But when he spoke again, his voice trembled. “And you—saints, Myrren, I tried to resist you. I told myself it was curiosity, fascination, anything but this. But every day you undo me more.” His hand lifted, hesitant, brushing air just shy of her cheek. His throat worked, the words breaking free despite himself. “I think I’m falling for you.”

The confession struck harder than touch. A prince should not bare himself so recklessly, but he was offering her his heart as if it weighed too much to carry alone.

Her chest ached. Fool. Dangerous fool. And yet—her own guard faltered.

His fingers brushed hers then, featherlight, a plea more than a touch. When she did not pull away, he closed his hand around hers, warm and steady.

“Myrren,” he whispered again, and the sound of her name in his voice undid her.

The fountain rippled, casting fragments of light across their faces. Roses shivered above them, their fragrance loosened with every brush of wind. The stars seemed so close she could pluck them from the sky.

Thane’s hand found hers again, firmer this time, anchoring her. His breath was warm against her cheek, touched with cedar and faint smoke from the torches they had passed.

When his lips touched hers, the world stilled. It was not hunger, not claim—only devotion. A promise pressed soft and certain against her mouth.

Her heart stuttered. Her body leaned into his before she could think better of it. For a heartbeat, she let herself believe in sunlight, in golden warmth, in safety.

The second kiss came slower, deeper, his hand brushing against the small of her back, drawing her closer as though he feared she might vanish. Myrren’s pulse roared in her ears. She had survived poisons, endured ridicule, but nothing had undone her like this—like a kiss that tasted of hope.

For one fragile moment, she let herself forget the vial waiting in her chamber. Forget the Queen’s silence, the nobles’ knives, even her own vows of caution.

Danger, her mind whispered. Chains disguised as sunlight.
And yet her lips parted beneath his. She answered him anyway.

When his mouth claimed hers again, stronger now, she almost believed the stars themselves bent closer to listen.