Chapter 11

Lilith had thought the palace a place of warmth, a sanctuary apart from her father’s iron grip. But as she grew older, she began to sense the cracks beneath the gilded walls.

Affection, she realized, was never simple here—it was threaded with shadows of the past and promises of the future.

It was Alaric who first spoke of his brother. Crown Prince though he was, he seemed almost wistful when Magnus Asher’s name left his lips.

“You’ll like him,” Alaric said one evening as they walked the rose garden, the fading light softening his features.

“He’s sharper than I am. Bolder. There’s no weight of duty on his shoulders—he’s free. Free in ways I never could be.”

Lilith listened quietly, her heart aching though she could not name why.

He spoke of his brother with pride, with tenderness, as though Magnus were the sun he himself could never reach. Yet when his eyes turned back to her, they carried the same warmth they always did, the same brotherly fondness that made her feel safe and seen.

Brotherly—that was the word that clung to her. For no matter how her heart beat quicker in his presence, no matter how she treasured every moment he shared with her, Alaric never looked at her as anything more than a girl he wished to protect.

He teased, he guided, he steadied her—but always at arm’s length, as though guarding a fragile flame. And when he spoke of Asher, she sometimes felt as though he were gently nudging her toward a different fire entirely.

The Empress, however, saw things differently.

One evening, when the moonlight spilled silver across the pavilion, she drew Lilith into her private chambers. There, amidst the scent of lavender and parchment, she told her the truth of her life.

“I was younger than you when I married the Emperor,” she confessed, her voice low but steady. “I believed, foolishly, that he would learn to love me. I gave him everything—loyalty, devotion, even a son. But his heart… his heart was never mine. It belonged to another woman, one who was nothing in name but everything to him. She was a mistress I could never compete with.”

Her gloved hands tightened on Lilith’s, and for the first time, Lilith saw the sorrow in her eyes not as a queen, but as a woman.

“Do you know what it is to share your husband’s love, child? To smile while the court whispers, to hold yourself tall while your heart rots? I have endured it all. I had no choice. But you… you will not. I will not allow you to live the life I lead.”

She smoothed Lilith’s hair, her touch trembling.

“That is why I brought you to Alaric so young. So he would see you—only you. So that when his time comes, he will not look elsewhere. I wanted him to love you first, and only.”

Lilith’s throat tightened. She longed to say that perhaps it was working—that Alaric’s warmth was enough, that her heart already leaned toward him.

But before she could, the Empress’s voice hardened.

“That bastard Magnus,” she spat suddenly, her face shadowed by disdain.

“That boy… He is growing up as a thorn in my life. Despite eliminating that women… she still hoovers around me by leaving behind that bastard. He is too much his father’s son. If Alaric praises him, it is only because he does not see the danger. But I see it. That boy will ruin my son’s position in the court, Lilith. I don’t know what spell he has casted on my son just like his mother did but he is always praising that bastard.”

Lilith could only nod, though confusion churned within her.

For Alaric never spoke with contempt when he spoke of Asher. On the contrary, he glorified him. At every turn, he wove Magnus’s name into their conversations—his wit, his courage, his charm.

And sometimes, when Alaric caught her laughing, he would say softly, almost as if to himself, “Ah, yes. Asher will be happy.”

She did not understand it. Did he wish her to care for him, or for his brother? Was his devotion to her merely the care of a doting elder prince, or was there something unspoken he himself could not admit?

Each time Alaric praised Magnus, Lilith’s chest tightened with something she could not name. A sense of being cherished and yet… not chosen. Protected, but perhaps not for herself.

That night, as she lay on her bed, the Empress’s words echoed in her ears: “I will not allow you to live the life I lead.”

And yet, Alaric’s voice overlapped them in her memory: “You’ll like him. He’s stronger than I am.”

Two truths pulling her in opposite directions. One born of sorrow, the other of mystery.

And Lilith, caught between them, began to feel the tremors of a fate she could not yet escape.

⚜

It began subtly. Alaric’s contradictions were not sharp edges but threads woven into their conversations, threads Lilith could not untangle.

One afternoon, as they sat in the palace library, he leaned over her shoulder to peer at the book she was studying. His nearness was steadying, his voice warm.

“You read too seriously,” he teased, plucking the book from her hands and snapping it shut.

“Do you ever allow yourself to enjoy a story, Lilith?”

She arched a brow. “You’re the one who insisted I read this volume.”

“True,” he said with a soft laugh, ruffling her hair in a way that made her cheeks warm. Then, with that same ease, he added,

“Asher devours stories like these. He’d sit here for hours with me, questioning and learning over every page.”

The warmth in her chest faltered. She forced a smile, though her fingers curled in her lap. Why did he always bring Magnus into their moments?

Another time, during a court banquet, Lilith felt her nerves threaten to overwhelm her. The glittering eyes of nobles weighed heavily, the music too loud, the air too heavy. Alaric noticed instantly. He bent low, his lips near her ear.

“Breathe. You’re doing beautifully,” he murmured, shielding her from the room’s gaze. The comfort of his presence steadied her trembling heart.

But then his smile shifted, almost wistful.

“You remind me of Asher in moments like these. He hates the press of the court too. He becomes so rigid that he doesn’t even move due to nervousness, haha… but the irony is people think he is unmoving because he is planning his next kill where in fact he is so nervous that his finger shivers.”

The compliment curdled into something strange, and she found herself unable to reply. His words seemed both a balm and a wound.

Once, when they strolled in the garden beneath the lanterns, Alaric asked her suddenly:

“Lilith… what do you think love is?”

The question startled her. She fumbled for an answer, whispering,

“I don’t know. Perhaps… it is being seen, truly seen as what you are and an expression of raw emotions, without masks.”

His gaze lingered on her, long enough for her heart to skip. But then, he smiled faintly.

“That’s what Asher believes too. You’d like his ideas—wild, impractical, but full of fire. I think the two of you would understand each other better than anyone else.”

Lilith lowered her eyes, swallowing the ache rising in her chest. Why ask her such questions, only to turn them toward his brother? Did he not see how much it leaves her confused?

It was always the same. Alaric’s affection wrapped around her like a protective cloak—gentle teasing, quiet guidance, warmth that felt safe. Yet just as her heart leaned toward him, he redirected her, like a guiding hand steering her elsewhere. Always towards Magnus.

Sometimes she wondered if he knew. If he sensed the flicker of something more in her eyes when she looked at him, and if his way of protecting her was to turn her heart before it burned her.

The Empress’s voice haunted her: “I wanted him to love you first, and only.”

But the truth seemed to slip further from her grasp each time Alaric spoke Asher’s name with that tender pride.

And so, Lilith began to live in contradiction too—cherishing every moment by Alaric’s side, while fearing that those very moments were nothing more than the road leading her to another man’s shadow.

⚜