The palace corridors had not changed. Same pale stone, same banners stitched with lies. Alaric had just dismissed the Lord of Harrenwick when the air shifted—sharp, electric, wrong. His hand went instinctively toward his side as footsteps approached, measured and deliberate.

Then he saw her.

She walked toward him from the far end of the hall as if death itself had stepped aside to let her pass. Dark hair fell in heavy waves down her back, partially braided and pulled away from her face, a few loose strands framing sharp, familiar features. A thin scar cut through her brow, pale against freckled skin, new and unapologetic. Her eyes—green, fierce, burning—were fixed on him with a fury he had never seen directed his way.

She wore dark armor worked with gold at the edges, practical and scarred, not ceremonial. In her right hand she carried a sword, its blade angled low as she advanced. Upon her head rested her crown. Not hidden. Not removed. Claimed.

Alaric stopped breathing.

She halted a few steps away and raised the sword in one smooth motion, the point aligning with his chest.

“I trusted you,” she said, her voice steady, cold enough to cut. “I will not make the same mistake twice.”

The words hit harder than steel.

“My queen,” he said quietly, lowering his hands, forcing his voice to remain calm. “You shouldn’t be here. If anyone sees—”

“Do not,” she snapped, taking a step closer. “Do not pretend concern now. You stood at my side while they circled me like carrion. You knew. You all knew.”

Realization struck him with sick clarity. The distance. The silence. The lies she had been fed while she bled somewhere alone.

“I was not part of it,” he said, urgently now. “I was sent away because I was asking questions. I’ve been hunting the truth since the day they declared you dead.”

Her grip tightened. The blade wavered—just slightly.

“You expect me to believe that?” she asked. “That you alone remained loyal in a court built on betrayal?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Because if I had betrayed you, you wouldn’t be standing here.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and dangerous.

“I am here to take back what is mine,” she said at last. “Throne, crown, kingdom. I will burn this palace down stone by stone if I must.”

“And they will kill you if you stay in the open like this,” Alaric said. “You’re not dealing with frightened courtiers anymore. You’re dealing with people who already tried to erase you once.”

Her eyes searched his face, ruthless, searching for weakness.

“Then choose carefully, Lord Veyne,” she said. “Because if you lie to me again—”

“I won’t,” he said softly. “But if you don’t let me help you, you won’t live long enough to rule.”

The sword remained between them.

For the first time, uncertainty flickered across her face.