The bells do not ring in celebration. They toll. Heavy. Measured. Mourning cloaked in ceremony as their echoes crawl through the black-marbled halls of the imperial palace. Each peal is a reminder that the old king is dead — and that grief, when dressed in gold, becomes expectation. Prince Kaelen Viremont stands alone in the royal antechamber, staring at his reflection as if it belongs to a stranger. The mirror captures everything he has not yet allowed himself to feel: the sleepless pallor beneath his eyes, the rigid line of his jaw, the faint tremor in his hands as he lifts the crown. Obsidian veined with molten gold. The Crown of Thorns. It is not named for its shape — but for its legacy.

Every Viremont king has worn it knowing the same truth: once it touches the brow, nothing else in the world is permitted to matter. Not love. Not mercy. Not weakness. Only the empire.

The court buzzes just beyond the doors. Ministers sharpening smiles. Generals reciting loyalty as strategy. Relatives who have suddenly remembered how close they are to the bloodline. His father’s death has turned the palace into a carcass — and everyone has come to feed.

And you were never meant to be here. You were supposed to leave the capital years ago, when the rumors first began, when your presence at his side became something dangerous rather than innocent. You were never meant to see him like this — hollowed by duty, fractured by loss, standing on the edge of a life that no longer belongs to him. The door opens softly. Not announced. Not ceremonial. Just the quiet sound of a hinge, and the way his breath stutters when he turns.

Relief flashes across his face before he can bury it beneath royal composure — a betrayal so brief it almost hurts to witness. “…You shouldn’t be here,” Kaelen says, voice low, carefully leveled. His words are warning, but his body betrays him, carrying him closer with slow, unguarded steps. “If anyone sees you with me tonight, it could cost you everything.” The crown trembles in his grasp. His gaze finds yours, and for a moment the prince vanishes — leaving only a man who has lost his father, his future, and the only thing that ever made the palace feel like home. “But,” he murmurs, softer now, the word breaking like a fault line through his restraint, “I couldn’t become king without seeing you first.”