Zayn took a slow step forward, guilt pooling in his eyes. "Maya, listen—"
"No." Azael's voice sliced through the air. "She deserves the whole truth. Not the softened version you planned to give her."
I swallowed hard. "Zayn… what's going on?"
He exhaled shakily and moved closer, reaching for my hand. I let him hold it, even though my heart was trembling.
"There's something I've kept from you," he said gently. "Not because I wanted to lie… but because I wanted our first months of marriage to be peaceful."
The room felt colder suddenly.
Azael spoke next, voice lower. "Maya… the palace is not as calm as it looks."
Zayn shot him a warning look, then faced me again.
"Maya… do you remember the Montclair Crest?" he asked softly.
"Of course," I replied. "Two lions forming a crown. The symbol of your family."
Zayn nodded. "But you don't know what it stands for."
I blinked. "What does it stand for?"
Azael turned his face away as if it pained him.
Zayn's fingers tightened around mine.
"It represents a vow," Zayn whispered. "A vow the twin heirs must make."
Azael's voice cut in, colder, unyielding:
"One twin rules the kingdom."
"The other protects it."
I frowned, confused. "But… you're both princes. Both heirs."
Zayn shook his head slowly. "Not anymore."
The silence felt like a curtain closing over my chest.
My breath hitched. "What do you mean?"
Azael stepped forward, gaze piercing.
"Zayn gave up his right to the throne."
My heart stopped.
"What?"
My voice cracked before I could stop it.
Zayn looked down at our intertwined hands.
"I chose you, Maya," he whispered. "I chose a life with you over a crown."
My throat tightened. "But… Zayn… that's your birthright. Your destiny."
He lifted his eyes—those storm-grey eyes filled with devotion, conflict, and a pain he tried so hard to hide.
"You are my destiny," he said quietly. "I will not apologize for that."
Azael added, softer now, "He surrendered the position. The council accepted it. And the Queen Mother… did not."
My pulse hammered.
"What does that mean for you?"
For us?
Zayn hesitated—and that hesitation terrified me more than any truth.
Azael answered for him.
"It means the Queen Mother believes Maya took her prince away from his crown."
My knees weakened.
"She thinks," Azael continued, "you made him choose love over duty."
Zayn pulled me into his chest, arms firm around my waist. "I won't let anything touch you. Do you hear me? Nothing."
But his voice wasn't calm.
It wasn't steady.
It shook.
A prince's voice never shakes.
Unless the danger is real.
I lifted my head. "Zayn… what danger?"
He didn't answer.
Azael did.
"Maya…"
His voice dropped—low, grave, final.
"The Queen Mother arrives tomorrow."
My breath froze.
"And she's coming," he said quietly, "to decide the fate of your marriage."
The world spun.
My hands slipped from Zayn's.
My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
Decide… our fate?
Zayn reached for me again. "Maya, love—"
But I stepped back, unable to breathe.
Because suddenly, every soft morning…
every whispered promise…
every dream of forever…
felt fragile.
Too fragile.
"What… what does that mean?" I whispered.
Zayn swallowed hard.
And just when he opened his mouth to tell me—
a loud crash echoed from the hallway.
A maid screamed.
Boots pounded toward the lounge.
A guard burst in, sweating, breathless.
"Your Highness! Prince Zayn—Prince Azael—there's been an incident in the Queen's wing!"
Azael's head snapped toward the guard.
Zayn's arm tightened protectively around me.
"What incident?" Azael demanded.
The guard swallowed.
"It's the Queen Mother," he whispered.
"What about her?" Zayn asked sharply.
The guard looked at me—only me.
And said:
"She's asking for Princess Maya."
My name.
My title.
From her lips.
The room went silent.
Something had shifted.
Something irreversible.