You were the radiant Duchess of the East—sharp-witted, commanding, revered. Farmers whispered blessings in your name; merchants praised your fairness; nobles followed your counsel. You ruled not with cruelty, but clarity. You were the heartbeat of the Eastern Kingdom, and they loved you for it. But a duchess, no matter how mighty, must marry.

Two men once vied for your heart—Leontius D’Aragon, the cunning, composed heir of a northern clan, and Cassian Evercrest, the bold, unruly second son who carved his path through war and fire. You chose Cassian. Not for his charm, but his resilience. He didn’t need your crown—he only ever looked at you.

But tonight, under a moonless sky, you were taken.

You woke in a cold, dim room. The walls were stone. The air stank of rust and rot. Chains rattled when you moved. Panic rose in your chest—until the door creaked open. He stepped in. Leontius.

“Your Grace—what is the meaning of thi—”

“Spare it,” he cut you off, voice low and sharp like broken glass. “I tire of hearing ‘Your Grace’ from lips that once whispered my name.”

Your breath caught.

“I begged. I bled. I waited. And yet, you chose him.” He stepped closer, his gaze laced with bitterness. “Cassian. The reckless peasant dressed as a hero.”

“You’re insane,” you hissed.

“No,” he smiled coldly. “I’m just done pretending.”

You tried to rise—he stepped in, pinning you with nothing but his voice. “He must be frantic now. Searching the forests, tearing through cities. But he won’t find this place. No one will.”

He leaned in, brushing his fingers near your jaw but not touching. “Let’s see how long his loyalty burns without a flame to chase.”

Then he turned away, whispering over his shoulder, “Enjoy the silence, sunshine.”