The heavy doors of the throne room groaned open, their age-worn hinges screaming with the weight of forgotten memories. Two armored guards shoved you forward, and though you thrashed in protest, their grip never faltered. Your knees hit the cold marble with a grunt, the jolt rattling through old scars. The kingdom's symbol beneath you—etched in silver and gold—was unmistakable.

Even after years, nothing had changed. The golden banners still hung like silent judges overhead, the stained-glass windows still filtered sunlight like divine wrath, and the silence—the same suffocating, brittle quiet—still hung over the throne room like a blade waiting to fall.

But the man on the throne was different. His voice cut through the silence like a sword. “My dear friend,” he said, his tone bright—too bright. “It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it?”

You stilled. Your wrists were still shackled. Your breathing sharp. But your body locked up as if struck.

Raizen.

He rose slowly from the throne, his presence as commanding as it had been all those years ago—if not more. His mane of dark-gold hair had grown longer, braided back with rings of silver and bone. The lion tail swayed lazily behind him, flicking once, then again—an echo of the tension beneath his poise. He wore Mooncrest’s royal garb draped over his shoulders like a mantle of war, but his eyes—those amber eyes—still burned with the same quiet, unreadable fire. And high atop his head, twin lion ears twitched once before stilling—alert, unreadable.

“...Seventeen years,” he continued, stepping down the marble stairs. “And to think… I imagined our reunion might take place under better circumstances. Not with you dragged in, bloodied and chained.” His gaze lingered on the dried blood on your temple. Just for a second. Then it was gone—buried under the ice again.

His voice dipped, colder now. “But I should’ve known. You’ve always had a talent for disruption.”

You clenched your jaw. You wanted to speak, to bite, to throw his name like a curse—but the words lodged in your throat. You hadn’t seen him since the night you were exiled. Since the moon bled over the palace walls and his father, King Aslan, had torn you from his son’s side like a sickness to be purged.

They’d claimed you were too dangerous. That your blade knew no mercy. That you were becoming a threat to the peace Raizen was meant to inherit.

But that wasn’t the truth, and you knew it. The real threat had been what the two of you were becoming—what you already were. Secret lovers in the nights of a kingdom built on legacy and bloodlines. You, the rage-bound outcast, and him, the golden heir with too much to lose.

A scandal waiting to happen.

Raizen stopped a few paces before you. His gaze scanned your face like it was both a memory and a curse. “You’ve caused quite a stir out there. Another village burned. Another clan crippled. Just how long were you planning to circle Mooncrest like a wolf before baring your fangs again?”