[Haldor’s POV—Dawnspire Wing—Later That Morning]
I left her chambers with my spine straight and my thoughts in chaos.
That was nothing new.
What was new was how the silence followed —how the corridors seed to watch as I walked, as if the palace itself sensed that sothing had shifted and was waiting to see which way it would fall.
Captain. Protector. Nothing more.
That was the role I had carved into myself, stone by stone, year by year. And yet this morning, every step away from her door felt like resistance—like swimming against a current I had only just noticed pulling in.
I stopped at the tall window overlooking the inner courtyard.
Soldiers trained below. Steel rang against steel. Commands echoed. Order, discipline, repetition—the language I understood best.
Good.
I needed that.
Because my mind kept returning to the way she had said my na.
Not Captain. Not Protector.
Just—Haldor.
I clenched my jaw and forced my focus outward.
Last night had been a mistake. No. Last night had been the truth. And truth was far more dangerous than any error.
A presence settled beside .
I didn’t hear footsteps. I felt it.
"You look like a man who hasn’t slept," General Luke said calmly.
I stiffened and turned slightly. He stood at my side, hands folded behind his back, gaze fixed on the training yard below. His posture was relaxed—but his presence pressed like a weight against my ribs.
"I am fine, General," I replied evenly.
"Hm." His eyes didn’t leave the courtyard. "Lies are unnecessary this early in the morning."
Sothing cold settled in my chest.
I stared at him, my voice turning sharp. "And it is unnecessary for to share anything with you." I paused deliberately. "Especially with soone who once served an enemy kingdom."
If he was offended, he didn’t show it.
He rely continued to watch the soldiers below, as if my words were nothing more than a breeze passing through stone.
I clenched my jaw and turned away. I had no interest in walking beside him. No interest in conversations soaked in half-warnings and veiled judgnts.
I took two steps—
"She is the Crown Princess, Captain."
I stopped.
Slowly, I turned back, brows furrowing. Luke finally looked at .
Not coldly.
Not mockingly.
But with sothing darker—sothing heavy with experience.
"If you dare to think," he said calmly, "that standing beside a tyrant is a blessing... Let remind you of sothing."
His voice lowered, every word deliberate.
"Standing beside a tyrant is nothing but death—served on a golden plate."
The words settled like iron in my chest.
For a mont, I simply stared at him. This didn’t feel like a general speaking to a captain.
It felt like—no. I cut the thought off sharply.
He is nothing to .
I straightened, my spine rigid, my voice cold and unwavering.
"That is none of your concern, General," I said. "I don’t need advice from you."
I held his gaze without blinking.
"And I trust my princess," I finished quietly, firmly, "more than I trust myself."
For the first ti—just for a fraction of a second—sothing flickered in his eyes.
Not anger.
Not disdain.
Sothing closer to... recognition. I didn’t wait to na it.
Silence stretched—heavy, deliberate.
Then he spoke again, "So, she trusts you?"
The words landed harder than expected.
"Yes," I said imdiately.
"And you would die for her?"
That sentence cut deeper than any blade ever had.
"Die?" I turned toward him, my expression going cold in a way that even surprised . "No."
He finally looked at .
"I will never die for her," I said, each word asured, grounded, and absolute. "I don’t want to die for her."
Sothing fierce and frightening burned up my chest.
"I want to—" The truth slipped out before I could stop it. "I want to live with her."
The courtyard noise seed dull. General Luke stared at for a long mont—long enough that I wondered if I had just signed my own execution.
Then, slowly, he exhaled.
"That," he said quietly, "is exactly why you should be afraid."
I frowned. "Afraid?"
He turned fully toward now, his gaze sharp—not cruel, but warning.
"You are standing beside a tyrant’s daughter," he said. "A woman raised by an emperor who breaks n for breakfast and crowns them for dinner."
I didn’t flinch.
"She is not like him," I said firmly.
Luke’s eyes narrowed. "No. She is worse."
I stiffened.
"Because she does not rule through fear alone," he continued. "She rules through loyalty. Through trust. Through making n believe they choose her."
His gaze bore into . "And n who believe they choose her... burn."
I clenched my fists. "You speak as if she is a monster."
"I speak as a man who has watched tyrants rise," Luke replied. "And as soone who knows exactly what standing beside one costs."
I t his stare, refusing to yield. "Then why do you choose to serve her?"
For a fraction of a second—just one—his composure cracked. Sothing warm flickered in his eyes. Sothing dangerous.
"I had...," he said quietly, "I had my own reason. I found sothing very precious near her. Sothing I was looking for ages."
The words settled between us like ash. He looked back toward the training yard, then added, almost too casually, "Just know this, Captain."
I waited.
"If you choose to stand closer than your rank allows—closer than duty demands—you will be crushed first."
My jaw tightened. "And if I don’t?"
He studied again, expression unreadable.
"Then you will live," he said. "But you will always wonder what you were too afraid to reach for."
He stepped back, already turning away.
"Be careful, Captain," Luke added over his shoulder. "n like you don’t survive loving won like her."
And then he was gone. I exhaled slowly, resting my hands against the cold stone sill, staring down at the soldiers below.
But... did everything really change only for ? What if it hadn’t? What if she regretted it?
The thought tightened painfully in my chest.
What if the kiss was just a mont? A weakness? A mistake she would later erase with duty and distance?
But she had said it herself.
She never regretted her decisions.
Not battles.Not blood.Not choices.
So... kissing —did she really not regret that?
My fingers curled unconsciously.
If she didn’t... then—could I dare to think that I could stand beside her as more than her captain?
The thought was dangerous.
Treasonable.
Laughable.
A crown princess and a captain. A future empress and a man with no lineage, no claim, and no right.
I dragged a hand through my hair, frustration knotting tight in my chest.
"What the hell am I even thinking?" I muttered. "I must have lost my mind."
I straightened, forcing my spine rigid again, rebuilding the walls I had relied on my entire life.
Captain Haldor.Protector.Shadow.
That was all I was allowed to be.
And yet—no matter how tightly I tried to seal those thoughts away... her voice lingered. Her warmth lingered. The way she looked at —steady, unafraid—lingered.
And for the first ti...discipline alone felt dangerously insufficient to hold my heart in place.
***
[Lavinia’s POV—Sa Ti—Imperial Council Chamber]
"...The salt mine we discovered will significantly strengthen foreign supply routes, Your Majesty," Theon concluded, rolling up the parchnt.
Papa nodded once. "Good. Then I leave this matter to you."
The council scribes moved quickly. Quills scratched. Nobles murmured approval. Papa leaned back in his throne, fingers tapping the armrest. "Is that all for today?"
A collective nod followed.
Then—a hand rose.
Slowly. Deliberately.
The noble cleared his throat, swallowing hard. "Your Majesty... there is one more matter. A very important one."
Papa’s gaze sharpened. Mine did too.
The man bowed deeply. "It concerns the Crown Princess."
The room went still.
About ?
"...It is ti," the noble said carefully, "that the Crown Princess is wed."
Silence.
Not the polite kind.
The kind that digs into your bones.
I froze.
Theon’s expression stiffened—but he nodded once. "I agree. The Crown Princess has turned twenty this year. In two years, she will inherit the throne. Before that, the Devereux line requires—"
SLAM.
Papa’s hand struck the council table so hard the goblets rattled. In one smooth, terrifying motion, he rose—sword drawn, blade gleaming beneath the council lights.
"Speak of my daughter’s marriage again," Papa said, his voice calm in the most dangerous way possible, "and I will personally ensure every man in this chamber is beheaded before sunset."
Several nobles recoiled.
One dropped his quill. Another paled so badly I thought he might faint.
"Your Majesty—!" soone stamred.
Papa took a step forward.
The blade humd softly.
"She is not livestock to be traded," he continued. "She is not a womb to secure your lineage. And she is certainly not a political tool for cowards who hide behind ’tradition.’"
The chamber shook with his fury.
Then—a slow clap echoed.
Count Talvan.
"Your Majesty," he said smoothly, "no one questions your devotion to the Crown Princess. But devotion does not change reality."
Papa’s eyes burned.
"If the Crown Princess does not marry," Talvan continued, "the Devereux bloodline may fall. The empire requires continuity. An heir, or else...you have to choose one of the noble families as the next heir of the Crown."
My breath hitched.
What?
Why were they circling like vultures? Is there sothing going on between the nobles?
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