The marble floors of Landon Estate echoed with Caveen's steps as he entered, his face a mask of composed indifference. Behind him trailed a cold wind—the same one that carried his scent, the faintest trace of Lysandra's touch still clinging to him.
Inside, the chandeliers blazed too brightly.
Waiting at the far end of the hall stood Lady Jane Delacroix—ever regal, ever sharp—and her daughter, Celestine, dressed in an ethereal silver gown that shimmered like moonlight. Her golden hair was twisted into a crown braid, and a polite smile curved her lips, though her eyes held fire.
"Prince Caveen," Lady Jane began, her voice poised. "You've returned."
"I have," he replied coolly. "As the Council has so insisted."
Celestine took a graceful step forward. "You left in such a rush earlier. I assume your... escort duties were smooth?" Her voice carried the silk of civility but was laced with unmistakable challenge.
"They were," Caveen said, tone flat. "Lysandra is safe in her home. Where she belongs."
"Where she belongs…" Lady Jane repeated, the words tight. "And you, Your Highness, belong here. With your bride-to-be."
He didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
Just looked straight at Celestine and said, "We'll see about that."
The words were ice.
Celestine's smile cracked—just a flicker.
But she recovered. "I suppose we've been left with little choice, haven't we? Still, I hope you'll at least offer me the chance to prove I'm... not entirely intolerable."
Caveen didn't answer.
Instead, he walked past her, stopping just before the base of the grand stairs.
"The Council may have sent a letter. But letters don't dictate hearts. Or blood."
Lady Jane's lips thinned. "Hearts do not rule nations, Your Highness. Lineage does. Control does. If you care at all for Lysandra, you'll obey—for her protection, if not your own."
Caveen's expression flickered—anger just below the surface. "I don't need a lesson on protecting what's mine."
Then, without another word, he ascended the stairs, leaving stunned silence in his wake.
---
Later That Night
He stood at the window, wine untouched beside him. His hands clenched the edge of the stone ledge, jaw tight.
Everything in him screamed to go back to Lysandra and protect his child.
To tear down the walls of the Council.
To burn every scroll that dared call her unfit.
But he couldn't.
Not yet.
Not while their child—his child—was still vulnerable.
A knock.
He didn't turn. "What?"
The door opened anyway.
Celestine stepped in, less regal now. Her crown braid had been loosened. She held no venom this time.
"I just came to say… I don't want this either."
Caveen glanced over his shoulder.
Celestine shrugged. "I don't love you. I'm not delusional. I know who you left for."
He faced her fully now.
"And yet you came."
"I didn't come for love," she said honestly. "I came for survival. For power. For my mother's approval. Same as everyone in the Council's puppet show."
Silence.
Celestine stepped closer but not too close. "But I won't be your enemy, Caveen. Not unless you force me to."
"You already are," he said quietly.
Then turned away again.
She left without another word.
---
Council Chambers – (Far away, same night)
Meanwhile, in a sealed chamber shrouded in candlelight and spellfire, a council elder dropped a crystal onto a silver plate.
A vision bloomed within it—Caveen secretly holding Lysandra's hand while she slept in the Moonwell carriage.
Another elder hissed. "The girl still attached to him."
"They've bring her back in the Moonwell Estate," another confirmed.
"If they defy us," the third elder said coldly. "Then let them taste the consequences."
They cast a vote in blood.
A new plan would begin.
Not just to separate them.
But to stop what had already been brewing.
The Council had expected a tame prince.
They expected Caveen to fall into line—wear the robes, stand beside Celestine, smile for the nobility.
They didn't expect the quiet storm he was becoming.
He played the part at first.
Attended the dinners.
Sat beside Celestine during court briefings.
Let her smile and flaunt their "engagement" as though it was a settled matter.
But behind closed doors, something else festered.
And it began with ink.
---
By candlelight, Caveen scribbled across parchment after parchment, blood-red ink staining his fingers.
It wasn't poetry.
It wasn't love letters.
It was strategy.
Maps. Estate layouts. Names of Council loyalists. Records of every elite bloodline that had aligned with them.
And beneath it all, drawn in faint charcoal—the diagram of a sigil that matched the Moonwell Seal of Rebirth.
A magic long forbidden. A myth… or so they thought.
He wasn't just planning to resist.
He was planning to expose the Council's lie.
"Where did you find this?" Maika asked, voice low, eyes narrowed as she looked over Caveen's sketches.
"It was in the Vault of Tethered Spells," he replied, unbothered. "Buried under the Council's own archives."
She turned to him slowly. "You're playing with fire, Caveen."
"I am fire," he answered.
Maika exhaled. "If they find out—"
"They'll try to kill me," he finished. "Again. Let them try."
A pause.
Then she asked, "And Celestine?"
Caveen's gaze darkened. "She's a pawn. I won't hurt her. But if she stands in the way—if she tries to become queen of a stolen kingdom—I won't let her walk away untouched.
Caveen took daily walks with Celestine now, as expected. They spoke before the nobles, nodded at the servants.
But something had changed.
Celestine noticed it first.
The distant look in his eyes.
The way he barely responded when she spoke.
And then—the most telling of all—how he never once touched her unless the Council was watching.
"You're colder than usual today," she said quietly as they strolled.
He didn't look at her. "I have a lot on my mind."
"Does she still communicates to you?" Celestine asked suddenly.
Caveen stopped.
He looked at her. Long. Direct.
"No," he said honestly. "She doesn't need to. I know what she's thinking."
Celestine faltered. Then gathered herself. "I'm not your enemy, Caveen. You don't have to hate me."
"I don't hate you, Celestine," he said calmly. "But you are the crown they placed on my neck to choke me."
With that, he turned and walked ahead.