The storm that had begun with whispers was now a roar.
Both kingdoms trembled beneath its weight.
The Alderian palace no longer slept. Every hall echoed with marching boots, whispered accusations, and hurried footsteps that carried rumors like wildfire.
Prince Adrian hadn't stepped outside in days. Not because he feared arrest — but because the walls themselves now seemed to watch him. Every servant's glance, every guard's stiff nod screamed traitor.
He stood by the tall windows of his chambers, the headlines still burned into his mind:
"Princess Elara Missing After Secret Meeting with Prince Adrian."
"Vareen Driver Found Dead — Was This Political Murder?"
"The Prince Who Loved and Betrayed."
The world had turned its back on him.
He slammed a fist against the marble frame, the sound sharp enough to startle the guards outside. His reflection stared back at him — pale, sleepless, and breaking.
"How did it come to this?" he whispered.
He could still see Elara's eyes that night. The disbelief. The hurt.
He hadn't touched her. He hadn't even reached for her — but the photos said otherwise.
Somewhere, someone was playing him.
And they were doing it perfectly.
Across the sea, in Vareen, war drums began to beat.
King Edmund had declared a state of emergency. Soldiers lined the palace gates; envoys were dismissed; and Queen Mirabel had not stopped weeping since dawn.
But the package — Corin's bloodied body and that chilling note — had silenced every voice in the royal court.
In the council chamber, the king's fury shook the table. "Find her! Search every border, every ship, every market in the realm!"
But even as his words filled the air, fear hollowed his eyes.
It wasn't just about finding Elara anymore — it was about revenge.
Meanwhile, Liana hid behind closed curtains miles away — deep in the quiet countryside where her grandmother's house sat between silver fields.
The world didn't know she was there.
Her phone buzzed for the hundredth time.
Adrian.
Again.
She couldn't bring herself to open his messages. Not after what she'd done.
Not after the video she thought would stay hidden ended up destroying two kingdoms.
She hadn't known it would leak — not really.
Now, she couldn't sleep without seeing his face — not the prince on TV, but the man who once whispered her name like it meant something.
Her grandmother noticed the way she jumped at every sound, the way she locked her phone in a drawer like it was poison.
"Are you in trouble, child?"
Liana forced a smile. "No, Grandma. Just… tired."
But she wasn't tired. She was drowning.
Back in Alderia, Queen Isabella sat across from her son in the dim glow of candlelight. The King had retired early, too weary from the day's chaos.
The Queen, however, couldn't rest.
"Adrian," she said softly. "If there is something you've not told us… something that could stop this war—"
"There isn't," he interrupted sharply.
But her gaze held steady. "Then why does your silence feel like guilt?"
He turned away, unable to answer.
Because maybe it was guilt. Not for what he'd done — but for what he hadn't prevented.
She sighed, her voice trembling with quiet fear. "The people are calling you a liar. The council wants your title suspended. Your father…" she hesitated, "…he's losing faith, Adrian. Please. Give me a reason to believe you still deserve to be called his son."
He didn't speak. He couldn't.
The truth was, he didn't even know what was real anymore.
Somewhere far beyond the palace walls — beneath earth and stone — Elara woke to darkness.
Her head throbbed, her mouth dry.
The air was damp, thick with dust. Chains rattled softly as she tried to move.
Her wrists were bound. Her eyes, blindfolded.
Panic surged, but her throat was too raw to scream.
"Who's there?" she whispered. "Please…"
Silence. Then — footsteps.
Slow, deliberate.
She froze as a presence filled the air. She could feel it — a calm, measured energy that carried both authority and malice.
A voice spoke.
Low. Smooth. She could,t tell either it was a male or a female.
"You should not have gone to him, Princess."
Elara's breath caught. "Who are you? Why are you doing this?"
Something cold brushed her cheek — metal, perhaps — and she flinched.
"What do you want from me?" she cried.
A pause. Then, softly:
"Everything that was once his."
Before she could respond, a door slammed shut, and the sound of retreating footsteps faded into nothingness.
Elara trembled in the darkness, her mind reeling.
Who was "his"? What had she stumbled into?
And more importantly — would anyone ever find her before it was too late?
The silence pressed closer.
And somewhere deep within the palace — unseen and unnamed — a shadow watched, smiling in the dark.
Because everything was still going exactly as planned.