As they walk out the maze and make way to where the party is being held. Liam turns to her smiling “We should blend back into our roles now until the next time Lady Riley” He kisses her hand the kiss lingering
Riley blushes as she pulls her hand away “Of course Liam”
Liam smiles as he watches her walk away then he sighs Ugh how I wanted to spend more time with her but duty calls He squares his shoulders and walks to the crowd of nobles and quest greeting each of them with a smile. As he heads to his seat Olivia walks right in front of him
“Prince Liam!” She gives him a bright smile
“Lady Olivia how are you doing today?”
“Just fine Liam I was hoping we could talk”
“Sorry Lady Olivia but I have many guest to greet” Liam tries to step around her but Olivia blocks his path
“But it’s really important Liam can we find somewhere quiet?”
“I would but the dinner is about to start we need to keep to time” Liam tries again to step around again but Olivia stands in they way
Olivia looks at him irritated “Keep to time? Yet you have time for Riley?”
Liam looks at her surprised “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Olivia crosses her arms “You’re always with Riley you don’t think I see you two sneaking off together?!”
“Olivia…”
“She’s from New York Liam a commoner she’s not one of us don’t you understand?” Liam grits his teeth as she continues “How can you choose her over all the noble ladies here? What’s so special about her?”
Liam looks around hoping no one heard her then leans in whispering “You may only see her status but I see beyond that”
Olivia looked at him shocked then looked down “Liam…”
“Excuse me Olivia” Liam walked around her he gritted his teeth as he walk Can’t believe her it’s my decision not hers
****
Riley walking to her seat overhearing Kiara and Penelope talking with Madeline she smiles as Kiara and Penelope all see how Liam is gonna choose her she almost laughs at the fact Madeline is disappointed. Riley is so lost in her thoughts she bumps right into Tariq
“Oh Tariq I apologize”
He grins “It’s nothing really Lady Riley it’s always a pleasure to see you”
Riley looks at him confused Why is he looking at me like that? She brushes off her concerns and smiles “Tariq how have you been”
“As splendid as you look my dear”
He’s being weird “Isn’t improper to compliment a suitor of Prince Liam like that?”
“I would hardly consider it improper to recognize beauty in any form”
“Uh thanks?” Why is he talking like this?
Tariq grins “It fills me with such joy to hear you say that you know I have to tell you after speaking with other ladies hear I find myself having such an appreciation for you”
“Really?”
“Yes you’re a breath of fresh New York air”
“I don’t think anyone says that”
Tariq sighs “The other suitors are absolutely boring one only talks about her dogs another merely sulks and don’t get me started on Olivia”
Riley nods “They aren’t the easiest to hang out with”
“Precisely the other suitors have good breeding wealth and manners but they’re absolutely dull how disappointing where as you Lady Riley you grow more interesting every time we speak”
“Thanks…”
“I must however take my leave may you have a fantastic evening”
Riley watches him looking confused That was weird
Maxwell walks up to her “There’s our little social star is that Tariq you were talking to?”
“Yeah I guess we’re friends now”
Maxwell nods “Cool well Bertrand and I just got a table this way”
Maxwell guides her to the table and they sit down next to Bertrand
Liam clicks his glass “If I may have everyone’s attention please I’d like to say a few words before we close this evening first I’d like to thank all of you for joining us out here at the country estate I’ve had the honor and privilege to have you in my court and I couldn’t have asked for better company as I step into my father’s place in a few days I can only hope that I’m half the man he’s been for Cordonia I’ve had the honor and privilege to have you in my court and I couldn’t have asked for better company”
Riley smiles as she claps with everyone
Liam grins “Thank you all when next we meet like this it’ll be the last event of the social season ass per tradition this even will be hosted at the illustrious Beaumont House”
Maxwell pumps his fist “Yeah!”
Bertrand grins “An honor to be sure”
Riley turns to them wide eyed and whispers “Aren’t we a little strapped for funds can we afford to host a party right now?”
Bertrand and Maxwell look at each other and sigh
Maxwell nods sadly “I’m not sure we have a choice like Liam said it’s a tradition we can’t back out”
Bertrand clenches his fists “Yes if we back out now we might as well announce in the daily paper that we’re officially ruined”
Riley nods as Liam raises his glass in a toast determined They’re right we can’t let this break us
The music that swirled around her felt less like a melody and more like a shackle, vibrating through the floorboards and tightening around her chest. The waltz continued, a relentless, dizzying spin of silk and pretence, but for Emilia, the notes had long since soured into a frantic, discordant pulse.
As the dance ended, she turned from Neville with a sharp, rigid movement that felt like a physical tearing of her own muscles. Her feet moved across the marble, but she felt as though she were wading through deep, suffocating water. The air in the ballroom—previously a mixture of expensive perfume and floral elegance—now tasted metallic, like blood in her throat. Every beat of the orchestra, every trill of the violins, sounded like a mockery, a soundtrack to her own undoing.
She didn't dare look back at the dance floor. If she looked at Neville, or anyone else for that matter, they would see her broken heart written all over her face. She knew the mask would fracture. She knew the tears that were stinging behind her eyes, hot and insistent, would spill over, and she would stand exposed in the middle of this vault of hollow splendour for the entire court to witness. Instead, she focused on a point in the distance—a heavy set of glass paned double doors leading to the terrace—and forced one foot in front of the other, each step a battle to keep her knees from buckling.
Behind her, Neville Vancouer stood unmoved, a jagged silhouette in the swirling crowd. He didn't follow her; not yet. Instead, he took a slow, calculated sip from a champagne flute he had plucked from a passing server, the crystal rim clinking softly against his teeth. A smirk, thin and bloodless, touched his lips as he watched the rigid line of her shoulders, the way she held her head with a defiance that was rapidly losing its foundation.
He felt a hum of triumph in his chest—a cold, oily satisfaction. He had seen the exact moment his words had punctured her, the split second where her eyes had gone vacant and then dark with a misery so profound it almost made his skin prickle with excitement.
He didn't care about the truth. The fact that Drake Walker spent his days working himself to exhaustion at the Château, his nights in a farmhouse likely pining away for her in silence, didn't matter. His words about the chambermaids were a blunt instrument, and he had wielded it perfectly. He took pleasure in the dissonance of it—that he could conjure such devastation in a royal princess within a few sentences, woven like poison into a dance.
Stable filth, he thought, his eyes tracking her retreat. He despised the very idea that she had ever looked at a servant with longing, let alone loved one. It was an insult to the station he coveted, to the royal bloodline he was determined to entwine with his own. But if she was truly in love with Drake Walker, if the man was a distraction to the princess, then Neville would simply have to be a greater one.
He adjusted his cuffs, his movements precise and feline, as he watched her reach the edge of the dance floor. She disappeared into the press of moving bodies, and he felt his heartbeat steady, rhythmic and predatory. She was wounded now. And Neville knew a wounded animal was always easier to track, easier to corner, and infinitely easier to catch. He wouldn't rush. He had the entire evening, the entire season. He had the leverage of her own heart.
He allowed himself a slow, lingering look at the space where she had been, savouring the scent of her perfume that still hung in the air—a ghost of her presence. Then, he turned back to the crowd, his face settling into a mask of polite, aristocratic boredom, biding his time until he would follow her.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Neville didn't flinch; he simply shifted his gaze, his expression smoothing into a practiced, easy charm.
"What was all that about?" The voice asked, dripping with the same bored, callous curiosity that Neville himself cultivated. Neville turned, his smile broadening into something genuine for the first time that evening.
"Lord Tariq," Neville said, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial register. "It’s been a long time, my friend."
The two men shook hands, a firm, calculated grip. Neville leaned in, his eyes gleaming with the anticipation of sharing his new, delicious secret.
"You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” he whispered, his smirk deepening. “I have so much to tell you."
*****
The gilded double doors of the ballroom loomed ahead like a mirage, but the distance between them felt infinite. Emilia’s chest heaved, her breathing shallow and frantic as she tried to navigate the sea of spinning silk and hollow laughter. Neville’s words echoed in her mind, a relentless, oily loop: making quite an impression on some of the chamber maids... the help should stick with the help.
It explained everything. The empty mail tray. The months of agonizing silence. While she had been rotting in her gilded cage, crying herself to sleep, Drake had simply moved on. He was smiling at other women. Touching them.
The heat of the room was suddenly volcanic, choking her. Tears blurred her vision, turning the massive crystal chandeliers into dizzying streaks of blinding light. Blinded by the moisture sting in her eyes, she stumbled forward, her heavy skirts twisting around her ankles.
She braced for a fall, but instead, she collided with a solid chest and arms which instantly caught her by the shoulders, steadying her.
"Em?"
Emilia gasped, looking up through a watery veil into the warm, familiar eyes of Bertrand. He looked immaculate in his House Beaumont dress suit, but his expression was creased with instant, genuine worry.
"Em, what's wrong? Has something happened?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, protective murmur.
"I... I can't..." Emilia’s voice cracked. A hot tear finally spilled over, tracking down her carefully painted cheek. She cast a panicked, desperate look around the crowded foyer, terrified that some gossiping noble or her father’s watchful eyes would see her mask crumble.
Bertrand didn't hesitate. His grip on her arm tightened gently. "Come on," he whispered.
He guided her swiftly through the heavy gilded doors and out onto the sprawling stone terrace. The moment the heavy doors shut behind them, muffling the discordant swell of the orchestra, the biting autumn air hit Emilia’s skin. She shivered, but it was an immense relief against the suffocating, perfume-choked heat of the ballroom.
Bertrand led her to a shadowed alcove near the limestone balustrade, away from the glass doors. He turned to her, his face soft with concern. "Tell me what’s happened, Em."
The dam broke. Emilia buried her face in Bertrand’s shoulder, her frame shaking with silent, ragged sobs as he wrapped his arms around her, gently rubbing her back in a slow, soothing rhythm.
"It’s Drake," she choked out, her words muffled against his suit. "I still haven't heard from him, Bert. Not a single word. And Neville... Neville just told me that Drake has been popular with the chambermaids at Château Lumière. He's been seeing other women. I... I love him so much, Bertrand, and it’s killing me."
Bertrand let out a long, heavy sigh. He didn't pull away; he just kept his hand steady on her back, absorbing her grief. "Em... look at me."
Emilia pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, utterly uncaring of what it did to her taupe eyeshadow. She looked up at him, her chest still hitching.
"Drake loves you," Bertrand said, his voice quiet but incredibly firm. "I’m sure of it. Neville Vancouer is cruel, and he is highly calculating. I do not believe for a single second that what he told you is the truth."
"Then why would he say it?" she whispered, her voice raw. "How could he even know to make up such a specific lie?"
"Because he wants you, Em," Bertrand explained, a shadow of disgust crossing his features. "You know he’s been trying to win your hand, to secure the Vancouer line’s claim to the Crown, for years. And I am certain this is just his sick way of getting under your skin, of making you feel weak and isolated."
"But he doesn't know about Drake and me," Emilia protested, shaking her head.
Bertrand offered a small, sad smile. "I wouldn't be so sure, Em. He was at the Derby, wasn't he? I’m sure he saw you and Drake together there. He would have seen the way you looked at each other. A blind man could have seen how you felt." He paused, his eyes softening with memory. "I saw it myself that very night, the night I met him. When I took him into the stable office at Applewood to speak with him... do you know what he told me?"
Emilia blinked back fresh tears. "What?"
"He told me that he would give his life for you to be happy," Bertrand said softly. "He was willing to have his own life utterly destroyed if it meant you could thrive. He didn't care about the consequences to himself, only to you."
"I would be happy if he were just with me," she sobbed, her fingers gripping Bertrand’s sleeve.
"I know, Em. I know." Bertrand squeezed her shoulder. "He loves you. But... you must understand something. While Drake loves you with everything he has, he might be keeping his distance for you. He might be realizing that your relationship... that it could destroy the Crown, and destroy you in the process. Maybe he is trying to do what he thinks is the honourable thing. Letting you go, no matter how much he destroys his own heart to do it. But that does not mean he doesn't love you."
"No, no..." Emilia shook her head, a desperate, stubborn fire flaring in her chest. "I don't want him to let go. I don't care about the Crown. I want him!"
"Shh, I know, Em," Bertrand whispered, pulling her back into a brief, comforting embrace. He looked out over the dark gardens, his own eyes suddenly turning vacant and heavy. "God, I wish things were different. I wish we could both be with whoever we want. That we could love whoever we want without consequence."
Emilia pulled back, her breath catching as she caught the profound, aching sadness reflected in her cousin's eyes. It was a mirror of her own grief, but with a different, quieter shape.
"Have... have you met someone, Bert?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.
Bertrand looked away, running a hand down his face as a deep, tired sigh escaped him. "I have," he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly under the moonlight. "He works for Ramsford, as part of our public relations team. He’s wonderful, Emilia. He’s handsome, and funny, and... well, he likes me."
Bertrand let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob. "We’ve been working closely together for the last few weeks, pulling together the communications that will come out of House Beaumont during the course of the social season. He stayed late one night, about a week ago... just to help me with some last-minute minor details for my speech tonight. And... he kissed me."
A genuine, beautiful smile broke through Emilia’s tear-stained face. "Oh, Bert," she murmured, reaching out to squeeze his hands. "I'm so happy for you."
"I didn't want to tell you right away," Bertrand said, looking down at their joined hands. "Not after everything you’ve been through. It felt selfish."
"No, Bert. I’m so glad you did," she insisted, hugging him tightly. "You deserve happiness more than anyone."
"Thanks, Em," he whispered into her hair. "But... I know nothing can ever come of it. I am the heir to House Beaumont. I must marry a woman of equal standing, produce heirs... the scandal if anyone found out about us, about two men together..."
"So, you’re stopping it?” Emilia asked, her brows furrowing with worry. “Before it goes any further?"
"No," Bertrand said, his jaw tightening with a rare, quiet defiance. "I like him, Emilia. I’ve never felt like this before. I don't want to lose him. But the path ahead is..."
"Bert, we will work this out together, okay?" Emilia cut in, her voice gaining a sudden, fierce strength. "You and your...?”
“Daniel,” Bertrand replied, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Dan.”
“Dan,” Emilia nodded. “If it is meant to be, we will find a way. You cannot lose hope."
Bertrand looked at her, his eyes shining with gratitude. "Then promise me, Em. Promise me you will do the same. I know it hurts now, but you’ll be alright. Okay?"
Emilia offered a small, watery smile. "Thank you, Bert. I can always rely on you."
"Always, Em. Shall we head back inside?"
"Give me a few minutes," Emilia said, gesturing to her face. "I need to compose myself, and I want to be alone for just a little while."
Bertrand nodded understandingly, giving her hands one last supportive squeeze before slipping back through the heavy doors, leaving her in the quiet sanctuary of the night.
Emilia leaned her weight against the cold limestone balustrade, gulping in the crisp autumn air. The freezing wind peppered her bare shoulders with goosebumps, but the physical chill was a welcome shock to her system, dulling the frantic, suffocating heat of the ballroom.
She looked up at the pale crescent moon, Bertrand’s words swirling in her mind. A small, fragile spark of hope began to rebuild itself in her chest, fighting against the black poison of Neville's lies.
"I love you, Drake," she whispered into the empty night, fresh, silent tears spilling over her lashes. "I'm so sorry. Please don't destroy what we had for the Crown. It was worth so much more than that..."
A sob broke from her throat, and her hand instinctively flew to her neck, her fingers reaching for the familiar, comforting weight of Drake's ring.
But her fingers grasped empty air.
Her breath hitched in sudden, violent panic. Her hand scrambled frantically against her bare skin, searching, clawing at her collarbone.
Nothing.
The realization hit her like an icy plunge into frozen water. The ring is gone.
In her blind, hysterical fury in the bedroom, she had ripped the silver chain from her neck. She had stood on her balcony and flung it—the only physical piece of Drake she had left, the token of the greatest, most honest summer of her life—into the pitch-black darkness of the gardens below.
A wave of sheer terror washed over her. What have I done?
She had to find it. She couldn't lose it forever. If Drake never came back to her, if she had to live the rest of her life as a puppet princess in a silent cage, she still needed that ring. It was her anchor. It was proof that she had once been loved by the most incredible man she had ever met.
She spun around, her mind racing. She would have to rush back through the crowded ballroom, slip past her father’s guards, run out the front doors, and search the dark, frosty garden beds beneath her balcony with her bare hands. She didn't care how undignified it was. She didn't care if the whole court saw her on her knees in the dirt.
She took a frantic step toward the terrace doors.
But before she could reach them, the heavy glass door creaked open and a tall silhouette stepped out into the moonlight, cutting off her only path of escape.
"Good evening, Your Highness," a smooth, oily voice drawled, dripping with mock-reverence. "You look as lovely as ever."
"Lord Tariq." The name left Emilia’s throat as a frozen puff of air, her voice cracking under the sudden weight of her shock.
She stood frozen as his silhouette stepped fully into the silver pool of moonlight. The handsome, symmetrical features that the Cordonian court so highly praised were twisted into a look of mocking amusement. It was a face she had hoped to never look upon again. The memory of Applewood—of his heavy weight pressing her against the door of her suite, the stinging slap she had delivered to his cheek, and the white-hot rage with which she had threatened to ruin him as she defended Drake—flashed behind her eyes.
But here he stood, his posture dripping with an intolerable, preening arrogance that proved his pride had completely swallowed whatever shame her threats had once caused him.
Tariq took a slow, deliberate step toward her, his polished leather shoes crunching softly against the frost-dusted stone of the terrace. "I saw you leave the ballroom, Princess," he said, his voice dropping to that smooth, oily register that made her skin crawl. "You seemed... distressed."
Emilia instinctively tilted her chin upward, her spine snapping straight as she forced her shoulders back. She could feel the dampness of her tears cooling on her cheeks, and she was acutely aware that her carefully applied makeup was likely ruined, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of showing weakness. She would not let this vulture see her bleed.
"I am perfectly fine, thank you, Lord Tariq," she replied, her voice cold and sharp as a shard of glass. "I merely required some fresh air."
"Oh?" Tariq let out a soft, mocking chuckle, stepping closer until the cloying scent of his heavy clove cologne and expensive brandy invaded her senses, choking out the clean autumn breeze. "Silly me. Here I was, thinking that your sudden flight was because your beloved stable hand had left you all alone."
Emilia’s heart did not just leap; it hammered violently against her ribs, the sudden shock of his words stealing the breath from her lungs. "Excuse me?"
"I had a most illuminating conversation with Neville Vancouer this evening," Tariq sneered, his eyes gleaming with a malicious, vindictive pleasure. "He and I go way back, you know. We first met at one of these very balls, in fact. He was quite forthcoming about how your precious gutter rat is currently shovelling manure at his family’s Château in France."
He stepped closer still, crowding her personal space, his gaze dropping to the bare skin of her neckline with a predatory familiarity. "I warned you at Applewood, Princess. That degenerate Walker is not good enough for the likes of you and me. Tell me, did Daddy finally find out about your dirty little secret? Did the King not like that stable filth daring to touch what isn't his?"
A white-hot spark of rage flared through the ice of Emilia's grief, temporarily drowning out her sorrow. "How dare you speak to me like that," she hissed, her eyes flashing with a fierce, dangerous light. "Drake Walker is a far better man than you will ever be, Tariq. He has more honour in his little finger than your entire family line possesses."
Tariq’s face darkened, his jaw tightening as the insult hit home, his bruised ego from their Applewood encounter rearing its ugly head. He let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "I very much doubt that, Your Highness. A peasant who smells of sweat and dung? You threw away your dignity for a servant and look where it got you. Alone, crying in the dark."
Disgusted and suffocated by his presence, Emilia took a sharp step forward, intending to shoulder past him. "Get out of my way."
But before she could bypass him, the heavy glass door of the terrace creaked open once more.
A second silhouette stepped out, cutting off her angle of escape. Neville Vancouer stood in the doorway, a champagne flute held loosely in his fingers, his eyes gleaming with a quiet, feline satisfaction.
"Everything alright, Princess?" Neville asked, his tone dripping with a mock concern that was entirely hollow.
"No," Emilia said, her voice rising as a cold dread began to settle in her stomach. She was trapped between the two of them, the freezing stone balustrade of the terrace pressing against her lower back. "I’m not feeling well. I need to return to my suite immediately. Let me past, please, Monsieur Vancouer."
Neville didn't move. He took a slow sip of his champagne, his smirk widening as he exchanged a dark, knowing look with Tariq. "Oh? You do look dreadfully pale, Emilia. Perhaps you need an escort? The palace halls can be so terribly dark and lonely at night."
"I do not need your escort," Emilia said, her breathing growing shallow and frantic as she tried to find a gap between them. "I wish to be alone."
Instead of stepping aside, the two men began to close the distance. They moved in unison, their bodies blocking the golden light pouring from the ballroom doors, casting long, suffocating shadows over her. Tariq’s smirk was venomous, fuelled by the memory of her rejection, while Neville’s expression was one of predatory hunger.
"There's no need to be so hostile, Your Highness," Tariq murmured, his voice low and threatening as he stepped closer, forcing her to lean back against the freezing limestone. "We only want to help you. We can be your shoulder to cry on. Your... comfort."
"Indeed," Neville chimed in, his tone smooth and predatory. "You don't need that servant, Emilia. He was a distraction. A temporary amusement. But now that he's gone, you must think of your future. We can show you what a real gentleman can provide."
The physical proximity of the two men was overwhelming. The smell of their cologne, the heat of their breath in the cold air, and the realization that they were actively, physically trapping her made Emilia’s head spin. Her hand instinctively twitched toward her collarbone, a desperate, phantom search for the ring that was no longer there.
Trapped, her back pressing hard against the freezing limestone of the balustrade, Emilia slowly slid her free hand behind her along the rough, frosty stone. Her fingers frantically clawed at the masonry, searching in vain for a loose decorative piece, a heavy stone planter, or anything she could use to defend herself in the dark.
But there was nothing. Only the cold, unforgiving edge of the parapet.
Faced with her own helplessness, a fierce, primal instinct flared to life beneath her terror. She pulled her hands back, tucking them close to her chest and tight into hard, trembling fists. If they tried to touch her, she would fight. She would claw at their faces, scream until her lungs burst, and strike out with every ounce of strength left in her body. She would not go down quietly.
They were practically toe-to-toe with her now, the heat of their bodies suffocatingly close. Tariq reached a hand out toward her shoulder, his eyes gleaming, and Emilia tightened her posture, bracing herself to swing.
"What is going on here?"
A voice cut through the damp terrace air like a razor. It was deep, calm, and carrying a quiet, unmistakable authority that made both men freeze instantly.
Tariq and Neville snapped their heads around, clearly startled that their private, predatory corner had been breached. Standing in the soft golden wash of the ballroom doors was a young man. He was tall and broad-shouldered, clad in an impeccably tailored dark dress coat that seemed to absorb the moonlight.
Tariq responded first, his lips curling into a sneer of aristocratic annoyance as he stepped back slightly from Emilia, though he still blocked her escape. "Nothing you need concern yourself with, my Lord," Tariq drawled, dripping with condescension. "We were simply having a private, friendly conversation with the Princess."
The young lord didn't look at Tariq. His piercing blue eyes bypassed both men entirely, landing squarely on Emilia.
He took in the ruined trails of her makeup, the frantic rise and fall of her chest, and the way she stood trembling in her midnight silk—trembling from far more than just the biting autumn wind. Her eyes were wide, dilated, and glittering with a mixture of raw panic and defiance, like a deer caught in the blinding headlights of an oncoming car.
The stranger’s jaw tightened, a hard, dangerous line settling over his features. He stepped fully into the dim terrace light, his boots crunching softly on the frost.
"From where I am standing," the Lord said, his voice dropping to a low, icy register that sent a shiver down Emilia’s spine, "I am not at all convinced Her Highness is interested in your company. I suggest you leave. Immediately."
Neville let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, stepping forward to flank Tariq. "And who are you to suggest anything? Do you think you can just wander out here and claim her for yourself? I think not. Who are you anyway?"
The young lord didn't offer a name. His expression remained a mask of cool, unyielding stone. "That is of no concern to you. Leave. Now."
"Or you'll do what?" Tariq spat.
Ego and brandy fuelling his aggression, Tariq took a stride forward until he was practically nose-to-nose with the stranger. With a snarl of disgust, Tariq brought his hand up and pushed the lord’s shoulder angrily, trying to shove him back.
The young lord didn't even sway. He simply looked down at the hand on his coat, then up into Tariq's eyes. "Do that again," he murmured, his voice deadly quiet, "and you will find out."
Neville and Tariq exchanged a brief, mocking sneer, entirely misjudging the man before them. They turned fully away from Emilia, setting their sights on this lone interloper. Before Emilia could even scream a warning, the space between the three men vanished.
"How dare you?" Neville sneered, stepping up beside his friend. "Do you have any idea who I—"
Tariq didn't wait. He drew back his arm and threw a wild, heavy punch straight at the stranger's face.
The young lord moved with a fluid, terrifying speed.
With a practiced ease, he brought his forearm up, effortlessly deflecting Tariq’s strike outward. Before Tariq could recover his balance, the Lord pivoted, swinging his leg out in a swift, sweeping kick that caught Tariq cleanly behind the knees.
With a breathless grunt, Tariq’s legs gave out. He crashed heavily onto the stone terrace, his elegant suit scraping against the frost-bitten stone as he groaned in sudden pain.
Neville’s eyes went wide. Panicking, he lunged forward, raising his hands to strike. But the young lord was already moving. He grabbed Neville by the neck of his tailored jacket, utilizing Neville's own momentum to spin him around and slam him hard against the limestone wall of the alcove.
The thud of Neville's chest hitting the stone echoed in the quiet night. Before he could draw a breath, the Lord pinned him there, catching his right arm and wrenching it firmly up behind his back.
"It is entirely clear to me," the Lord hissed, his face inches from Neville’s ear, "that the men in this court lack the basic decency they were bred to possess."
He applied a sharp pressure to the arm lock, forcing Neville to gasp in pain, his aristocratic posture completely breaking.
"Princess Emilia clearly does not want your company," the Lord continued, his voice vibrating with a quiet, lethal fury. "You will leave this terrace now. And if you ever crowd her, speak to her, or so much as look in her direction again... I will make you deeply regret it."
Neville’s face went white, his breath hitching as the pain in his shoulder flared. "Okay! Okay, let go!" he whimpered, his arrogance vanishing in an instant. "You've made your point! Let me go!"
The young lord released his grip with a contemptuous shove. Neville stumbled, clutching his arm, his eyes darting frantically toward the terrace doors.
On the floor, Tariq was already scrambling back to his feet, nursing his bruised ego and looking at the stranger with a mixture of shock and sheer terror. Realizing they were utterly outmatched, both noblemen offered one last, hollow glare before turning on their heels. They scrambled past the stranger, practically running as they threw open the heavy doors and disappeared back into the protective, crowded warmth of the ballroom.
The doors creaked shut behind them, leaving the terrace in a sudden, ringing silence.
Emilia stood frozen against the balustrade, her hands still balled into fists, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps as she stared at her rescuer.
The young lord turned back to her. In the biting night air, his breath was a quick, pale mist rising from his lips, catching the soft gold light spilling from the ballroom. His posture had completely relaxed, his broad shoulders dropping as the violent energy of the fight drained away.
Emilia’s eyes remained wide. She didn't move a muscle, her heart still hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She didn't recognize this man. She had spent her entire life navigating the Cordonian court, and she had thought she knew every face, every title, and every lineage. Yet, he was completely foreign to her.
"Are you alright, Your Highness?" he asked, his voice a deep, steady baritone that carried none of the mocking cadence of Neville or Tariq.
"Y... yes," Emilia managed to whisper, her throat tight.
The lord offered a small, reassuring smile. He took a single step toward her, but as he did, Emilia instinctively flinched, her shoulders tensing as she braced for another threat.
He stopped instantly. Sensing her lingering panic, he raised his hands in a gentle, placating gesture, showing her his open palms to prove he meant no harm. "It’s alright, Princess Emilia. I’m not going to hurt you."
To prove his words, he deliberately walked away from her, crossing the stone terrace to lean his weight comfortably against the frosty balustrade several feet away. He gave her space—physical, unpressured space that let her breathe.
Emilia let out a long, shuddering breath, the tension slowly draining from her limbs. Her fingers uncurled, her trembling hands dropping back to her sides. "Thank you. Lord...?"
"Rhys. Liam Rhys," he said, his smile widening slightly in the moonlight.
"Thank you, Lord Rhys."
"Please, just Liam is fine," he said softly, looking over at her.
Emilia looked at him, her gaze lingering on his features. He was undeniably handsome—tall, broad-shouldered, with neat blonde hair that gleamed like spun gold under the crescent moon, and eyes of a striking, icy blue. But what struck her most wasn't his appearance; it was his demeanour. He wasn't polished to the extreme, hollow perfection of the other noblemen. He stood with a casual, easy grace, and his eyes held a genuine, clear warmth.
"Just Liam?" Emilia let out a small, breathless laugh, her lips curving for the first time in hours. "Forgive me, but it is rather unusual for anyone from the nobility to forgo their title. Most lords here carry theirs like a shield."
Liam chuckled, a warm, rich sound that seemed to banish the lingering chill of the terrace. "I know. But personally, I’ve always felt that a title is something that should be earned, not just inherited. And besides... Liam suits me much better."
Emilia felt the last of her defences crumble. "Well, thank you, Liam."
"You are very welcome, Your Highness," he replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Please, call me Emilia," she corrected gently, warming to his easy manner.
"You're welcome, Emilia," he amended, his voice soft. "I'm just glad I came out for some fresh air when I did. Are you absolutely sure you’re okay? Those two..."
"I am fine. Thanks to you," she said, taking a cautious step closer to him, though she still kept a respectful distance. "Really. If you hadn't stepped out when you did..."
"It was nothing," Liam dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Decency demands that much, at least. Though I have to say, your fists were looking rather formidable. I think you might have given them a run for their money even without me."
Emilia laughed, a genuine, light sound that made the heavy weight in her chest feel a fraction lighter. "Me too. I was fully prepared to swing." She paused, her curiosity getting the better of her. "I’m sorry, but I don't believe we’ve ever met. And I am fairly certain I know everyone in the Cordonian court, and most of the foreign ones, too."
Liam let out a self-deprecating laugh, shifting his weight against the stone. "Yeah. I’ve been... away."
"Away?"
"I’ve been in Italy for the past few years," he explained, looking out over the dark, frosty gardens. "Studying, mostly. Working a bit, too."
"Oh?"
"I wanted to do something for myself," Liam said, his voice turning reflective. "To learn about the world outside of this sheltered, gilded life we’re expected to live. Sorry, I don't mean to sound ungrateful for our privilege..."
"Not at all," Emilia cut in, her voice hushed and sincere. "I find myself wishing I could do the exact same thing. Every single day."
Liam’s blue eyes locked onto hers, filled with a deep, silent understanding. "I returned only recently. My mother requested—or rather, strongly insisted—that I come back for the social season, now that my studies are officially over, and I’ve learned a bit more about politics and business outside of Cordonia."
"And how are you finding being back?" Emilia asked, leaning her own lower back against the balustrade, mirroring his relaxed posture.
Liam huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head. "It is exactly as I expected."
"In what way?"
"Pretentious," he said flatly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Exhausting. That’s why I needed to slip out here for a breather. I just needed a little bit of freedom for a moment, you know?"
"Oh, I know. Believe me, I know," Emilia sighed, her gaze drifting down to her satin shoes. "That is exactly why I was out here when Tariq and Neville..."
"Yeah. They shouldn’t bother you again," Liam said, his tone turning momentarily firm, a shadow of the fierce protector crossing his features. "But if they do, you let me know. Immediately."
"I will," Emilia promised, touched by the protective instinct. "So... where did you learn to fight like that? That leg sweep was rather impressive."
"I took some self-defence classes while I was in Rome," Liam explained, a boyish grin gracing his lips. "The statesman I worked with, Signor Francesco, was a firm believer that one should always be able to protect oneself, regardless of status. So, I took some classes. To be honest, that is the very first time I’ve actually had to use any of it. I’m just glad my muscle memory kicked in."
"Me too," Emilia laughed softly.
Liam looked at her in the pale moonlight, his gaze softening. Despite the faint, ruined trails of makeup on her cheeks and the wind-blown strands of her perfect curls, she was beautiful. More beautiful than his mother had described, and far more captivating than the pristine, empty-headed debutantes currently spinning on the dance floor inside.
"So," Liam said gently, his voice dropping to a quieter register. "What was it you were trying to escape tonight, Emilia? Forgive me for asking, but you look like you’ve been through a lot more than just those two idiots." He gestured vaguely behind him toward the ballroom doors.
Emilia’s smile faltered, the cold reality of her heartache rushing back to fill the silence. "Oh. Well... it’s..."
Seeing her face fall, Liam immediately held up a hand. "I apologize. It is entirely none of my business. Please, don't feel pressured to explain."
"No, it's fine," Emilia said, swallowing the lump in her throat. She looked out over the dark gardens, her voice barely louder than the autumn wind. "I... I’ve been going through some very difficult things recently. It’s been hard for me the last few months, and I just... I needed to get out of that ballroom. I felt like I couldn't breathe in there."
"I understand," Liam said simply. There was no pity in his voice, no cloying sympathy, just a quiet, validating acceptance of her pain.
"I was actually just about to go back inside when Tariq and Neville showed up," Emilia continued, her fingers tightening around the cold stone of the balustrade. "I lost something earlier. A… a necklace of sorts... a very important necklace. I dropped it from my balcony before the ball started, and I was going to go down into the gardens to try and find it."
Liam looked out over the pitch-black lawns, the frosty hedges illuminated only by the faint silver of the crescent moon. "I'm not sure you'll have much luck in this light, Emilia. It’s freezing, and the shadows are incredibly long."
"No, perhaps not," she admitted, a heavy sadness settling over her features as she thought of Drake's ring lying lost in the cold dirt.
"Well," Liam said, turning his body fully toward her. "If you'd like, I could help you search for it tomorrow. There is a much better chance of finding something small in the daylight, and two sets of eyes are always better than one."
Emilia blinked in surprise. "Oh, I couldn't possibly ask you to do that. You hardly know me."
"You didn't ask. I offered," Liam pointed out, his blue eyes sparkling. "I would be happy to help you. Truly."
Emilia looked at his kind, open face, and felt a tiny, fragile blossom of comfort. Lord Liam Rhys was kind, and she desperately needed a friend right now. She loved Bertrand, but he was returning to Ramsford tomorrow. Olivia, Hana, and Rose loved her, but lately, they had a painful tendency to look at her with fragile pity, as if she were made of glass and might shatter at any moment.
Liam knew nothing of her broken heart. He didn't know about Drake, or his banishment, or her grief. He was just a kind stranger who offered help without expectation. It would be incredibly nice to have a friend who didn't look at her like she was broken.
"Okay," Emilia smiled, a genuine, soft expression that reached her eyes. "I would really appreciate the help. As long as you're sure you don't mind."
"Not at all," Liam smiled back, stepping closer and offering his elbow. "Now, shall we head back inside? It is getting rather freezing out here, and they will be starting those incredibly long, boring homecoming speeches soon. Personally, I would be deeply grateful to stand next to someone who hates them just as much as I do."
Emilia let out a bright laugh, the sound clear and lovely against the quiet night. She wiped her eyes quickly, trying to rescue what remained of her makeup, then reached out, her fingers resting lightly on the fine, dark wool of his sleeve. The warmth of his arm was a comforting, grounding contrast to the freezing limestone.
"That sounds wonderful," she said.
Together, they turned toward the heavy glass doors, ready to face the court side-by-side.
Relationship : King/Prince Liam rys x Dutchess/ Queen Riley Brooks ( or whatever is your mc name)
Prompt: -- "what did I ever do to deserve you my dear?" she said, --
It could be angst or fluff or lit anything just that if you take up this I want Riley to say this.
Alsooo, what's your fav character from trr?
I've always loved requests, since it gets my creativity flowing more so than anything else. In other words, yes, you may request a fic 😊 As for my favorite character from TRR, though I adore every single one of them, the honor of fav will always go to Lord Maxwell Percival Beaumont. He always makes me smile and laugh whenever I do a replay of the story. I love him as both friend and love.
Now let's get to the fic 😉 Taking this from Book 2 of TRR. For some reason this turned very, very angsty 😐 Don't know how that happened, LOL.
Masterlist
Out the Window
Fydelia...
"That was exhausting." Riley grumbled once she and Maxwell returned to her room.
Her first night back amongst Cordonian nobles was tougher than she thought it would be. She'd expected doubt and even being snubbed. What she hadn't expected was for Liam to avoid finding a way to talk to her.
Did he really believe she'd fooled around with Tariq? Had he been lying about being in love the night of his coronation just to get sex out of her? He certainly appeared a little too comfortable with Madeleine hanging off his arm. And allowing her to feed him! Ugh. Just the absolute worst thing a person could possibly see.
"I don't think I've ever been this wiped after a Court dinner." Maxwell rubbed the back of his neck. Knots didn't even come to mind when he felt how tense he was back there. Boulders might be a better description for the hard lumps his muscles were currently in.
"This might have been a bad idea." Riley told him while slumping back against her bed pillows.
The skirt of her blue dress flared up, nearly drowning her in its many layers. She batted it down with a huff all while wondering what in the world she was doing in Cordonia. She could easily be back in New York, no worries, no trying to impress a group of people who somehow had photographic evidence of her being the literal worst, and no more draining what little was left in her savings account on ridiculous dresses such as the one trying to smother her.
While Maxwell attempted to help her tame the wild fabric with a mind of its own, a knock sounded making them freeze.
"Who could that be?" Riley whispered.
"Dunno." Maxwell said with a great deal of apprehension. "Maybe Bertrand?"
Riley's nose wrinkled at that possibility. She loved the man, but she was in no shape or form willing to hear another lecture on propriety.
Audibly swallowing, Maxwell cracked the door open.
His dimples popped up in a grin when he was handed a large bouquet of roses.
Riley sat up with a start when he showed them to her.
"Where'd those come from?" She asked.
He shrugged, still smiling. "Maybe from a secret admirer."
Riley buried her face in the fragrant blooms. She took a deep breath, wishing they were magical and could take her away from this place. Opening her eyes, she noticed a piece of paper wrapped around one of the stems.
She quickly unfurled it while a frown formed upon her face.
"What's it say?" Maxwell attempted to read over her shoulder.
"It's from Liam." She crumbled the paper in her fist. "He wants to meet me in his room."
"I don't think that's doable." Maxwell argued. "His room is all the way on the other side of the castle. You'd never be able to get over there without dozens of people seeing you."
Riley briefly eyed her window.
"Don't even think about it!" Maxwell exclaimed when he realized where her mind was at.
"I'm not stupid!" She snapped.
Then again, she realized she just might be for even thinking she had a chance with Cordonia's king.
Seeing the worry upon her best friend's face, she reached out and hugged him.
"I'm not going out the window." She reassured him.
She glanced down at the wad of paper in her hand and decided to have a note of her own delivered.
"Hey Max?" You can easily see Liam, right?"
"Yeah."
She rushed over to a desk and pulled out some paper and a pen. Sitting down, she tapped the pen on her bottom lip while thinking of what she wanted to say to the man she'd once thought of as Prince Charming.
Her eyes narrowed the longer she considered her circumstances. After all, she chased after Liam for months, while he had a virtual harem at his beck and call. What if the night with Tariq had been her doing? It wasn't like Liam had made her the only woman in his life. Practically every moment they stole away from the court had him mentioning he should pay more attention to the other ladies. Why would she even think he felt what she'd felt?
She'd made every first move, whether it was in initiating conversation or kissing him. All that she'd attempted to do and the results she'd received all pointed to one thing.
Maxwell's eyes widened at the vicious swipes her pen made as it furiously moved across the paper. He was surprised she wasn't ripping through it as she dotted i's and crossed t's.
Once she was satisfied with all she'd written, she folded it and placed it in an envelope.
"Here you go." She mumbled. "I'm pretty sure after Liam reads this that there won't be anymore flowers delivered."
."You sure you want me to give this to him?" Maxwell hesitated at the door. "Maybe you should sleep on it instead."
Riley squared her shoulders. "No, I want you to take it to him. At least then I'll know I said everything I wish I could have in person."
Saying a quick prayer that Bertrand wouldn't kill them both for this, Maxwell made his way through Madeleine's home in search of Liam.
****************
Liam tore into the envelope while Maxwell attempted to soften the blow he knew was in that letter.
The young king's brow furrowed as he read through Riley's feelings and views of not only the actions of the Court but also in his own choices concerning her.
His eyes widened at the end.
Now I know without a doubt that I shouldn't have ever come here. Not for you. Not for adventure. Not for anything. I'm stuck here for the time being in helping restore Bertrand's and Maxwell's reputations. They are the ONLY ones who mean anything to me. I ask that you help me fix things for the Beaumont's (which I believe you owe me after dropping me faster than I could blink after seducing me in your ridiculous hedge maze). Once they are back where they need to be, I will leave for home and you will never have to see me again.
Riley
P.S. No more roses or flowers of any kind. If you knew anything about me, you'd know I hate cliché romance crap like this.
"She can't mean this." Liam crumbled the letter, refusing to accept any part of her dismissal of himself.
"Weeeellllllll." Maxwell hedged. "I think tonight was the last straw."
When Liam merely blinked at him, Maxwell continued.
"You know? The straw that broke the camel's back?"
"I know the idom!" Liam snapped in frustration. "But what happened tonight to make her feel this way?"
"Oh, well, um, you didn't talk to her." Maxwell explained.
"Of course I did!" Liam argued. "I greeted her warmly, or as warmly as I possibly could given the circumstances."
"You haven't spoken to her about being dragged out of the castle." Maxwell pointed out. "Why you chose Madeleine over her, or why you did it after sleeping---"
Maxwell slammed his hand over his own mouth for letting that major detail slip.
Liam winced at his oldest friend knowing how badly he'd behaved with Riley. Granted, he had not intended for that night to end with seeing the one he truly loved treated so horribly. And yet, he'd stood there with no emotion while it all unfolded.
Clearing the regret out of his throat, "Be that as it may," Liam searched for a way to explain. "That was why I wanted to secretly meet with her here. I want to explain to her my reasons for everything that happened that awful night."
"Sorry, but no can do." Maxwell told him about the distance between their rooms.
Liam glanced down at the crumbled paper in his hand. He couldn't allow another second to pass with Riley believing he was nothing short of a cad. He had to speak to her in person and plead his case. He needed to see for himself if there was any chance for her to forgive and believe that his heart was truly hers.
Raking his hands through his hair, he looked about the ornate prison of a room he was stuck in for some inspiration. Surely there was a way to leave this suite without anyone being the wiser.
His eyes lingered on the double doors of his balcony.
Maxwell felt a sense of deja vu. Surely he wasn't friends with two people who were crazy enough to precariously climb their way to one another?
Liam took off his coat, ordered Maxwell to make sure Riley's window was unlocked, and made his way outside his balcony.
Maxwell dashed after him and watched as the new king began the dangerous path to the woman he loved.
****************
"Did you give him my letter?" Riley asked when Maxwell returned.
"I did." He casually eased over to one of her windows and opened it.
"What are you doing?" She paused in turning back the bed covers.
"Seems stuffy in here." He mumbled on his way out the door. "Doesn't it seem stuffy to you?"
"I figured it was all the nobles polluting the air." She teased. "Of course, you're an exception."
He grinned at her as he prayed she wouldn't hate him for what was about to happen next.
"Sweet dreams, blossom." He quietly shut her door.
Riley took a deep breath and made her way over to her open window. She felt a touch better at having vented all her frustrations in her letter. She could actually look about her with interest now that all her bottled up emotions had been set free.
She couldn't deny that Madeleine's home was lovely. The sandstone castle walls gleamed in the moonlight, giving an almost mystical feeling. Soft music and faint rumblings of voices drifted on the wind, reminding her that tonight's celebration of the newly engaged couple was slowly coming to close.
Her heart ached that she was still here. Even though Maxwell and Bertrand deserved her loyalty, she wondered if it wouldn't be better for them and herself to leave Cordonia.
"How am I going to even begin to prove my innocence?" She mumbled.
A dark shadow passed overhead.
A muffled scream squeaked out while she stumbled back in shock.
"Forgive me." Liam panted once he was straddling her windowpane. "I didn't mean to startle you."
"What in the hell are you doing here?" She snapped once she was able to still her racing heart.
"I believe you are aware I wanted to see you." He began. "I--"
"And I believe my note showed how little I wanted to see you." She bit out.
"Please." Liam caught her hand when she turned away from him. "Allow me to explain."
Yanking her hand away, she folded her arms and grumbled something about the nerve of kings and their stupid authority.
Liam nervously swallowed. "I don't even know where to start other than that all I've done, I did for you."
Riley's suspicious glare turned to one of complete anger.
"Whatever did I do to deserve you, my dear?" She said in a fake syrupy sweet voice. "To think you got me to sleep with you just so you could have the strength to propose to another woman."
She pretended to wipe a tear from her eye.
"You're so thoughtful."
Liam rubbed his hands over his face. He could see how his actions looked and that she truly thought the very worst of him, but he had to try.
"I did it to protect you." He tried again. "I--"
"Good job on protecting me." Riley snickered in derision. "Not only is my reputation destroyed, but I was also publicly humiliated by being dragged out by guards as if I'd stolen the Crown jewels."
"I know." He said with a great deal of remorse. "Please, just hear me out before dismissing me from your life."
Riley rolled her eyes. Knowing she'd never get any sleep if she didn't allow him his say, she reluctantly agreed to listen without interruption.
Liam told her about his mother's death along with his fear of the same fate befalling Riley. He did his best to reassure her that he still planned on them finding a way to be together.
Her eyes narrowed when he told her that Madeleine agreed that they could still maintain their relationship in secret.
"Hold on." Riley interrupted his profession of love. "You not only expect me to conduct an investigation, on my own, into whoever set me up, you also want to conduct an affair in the midst of it?"
Her hands balled into fists.
"Are you insane?!"
Liam took a step back.
"Liam, I'm a waitress! An unemployed waitress! How do you expect me to do better than a freaking king with unlimited resources and power at his fingertips?" She demanded.
"I can't use the king's guards." He pointed out. "If it's someone within the Court, then your safety might be--"
"Then hire someone outside your palace!" She snapped.
"But I--" he tried to speak.
"No, you know what? Forget I said anything!" She stormed over to the window he'd climbed through. "I'll do it all since you're too much of a coward."
He stumbled back in disbelief.
"Riley, I love you." He argued. "I'll move heaven and earth for us to have our happy ending."
"If that were true then you'd have not only picked me that night, you'd have already cleared my name." She gestured towards her window. "Now if you'd be so kind, your majesty, I'd like you to leave."
Liam felt his heart drop. Her cold demeanor left little hope that she could find her way to forgive him.
Squaring his shoulders, he walked over to her and dropped down to one knee.
"What are you--"
"I'll fix this." He declared. "Whatever it takes, I swear I'll clear your name."
He carefully took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
"Then I'll do all I can to win your heart again." He vowed. "I don't care how long it takes, we will have the life we dreamed of on our date."
Riley blinked back tears. The last thing she wanted to do was to be swayed by his words. Hadn't she gotten hurt the last time she believed him?
"We'll see." She said.
Liam felt like a knight who'd been given a sacred task by his queen. Bowing his head, he tenderly kissed her hand once more. Getting to his feet, he climbed through her window to begin his journey back to his lonely room.
He thought of how he'd solve this problem. Riley was right. It was foolish of him to think she could easily investigate whoever set her up. He also shouldn't have asked her to basically become his mistress.
"I won't lose her." He grunted as he pulled himself over the railing of his balcony. "I will save her and our chance at happiness."
Series Premise: Hidden in the shadows, poised to challenge the status quo are enemies of the state. The loyalties and honesty of family and friends will be tested. ‘Keep your friends close, your enemies closer’.
Smoke and Mirrors Masterlist
Main Pairing: Liam Rys x F!MC Riley Brooks-Rys, OTP ‘LiRi’
2nd Pairings: Leo Rys x Amalas, Drake Walker x F! OC Delaney Leigh, Olivia Nevrakis x M! OC Alex Cossoy
*Most characters belong to Pixelberry Studios
*Not Beta’d, please excuse all errors
Rating: M🔞*Series Warnings: NSFW material, sexual innuendo, adult language/swearing/drinking/gun violence. Not recommended for anyone under 18 years of age.
Chapter summary: Amalas delivers the news that Riley has been abducted by Lena. Alex Cossoy, the Interpol liaison officer and Olivia, head of the Royal guard, begin the lockdown of the palace and begin the search and recovery of Queen Riley. Gabriella continues her attempts to distract Liam while Riley is surprisedly reunited with a past acquaintance at the Striking Ceremony being held by the Via Imperii.
A/N: My submission for the Choices Monthly Challenge - Pop Prompt Palooza – Dialogue Prompt, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but...”, Setting Prompt, A crowded room.
May MAYhem 2025 Prompts, Secrets/Lies
@choicesmonthlychallenge @lovealexhunt
Lena Eleanor Rys ... Liam’s little sister. Although Liam is interested in developing a relationship with her and ‘saving’ her from the Via Imperii. Lena doesn't appear to reciprocate his feelings. She explains that Liam doesn't deserve Cordonia's throne and only became king due to birthright -- because he was born second, and their older brother abdicated. She argues that she has worked to be worthy of that power for her entire life, and a kingdom should choose its ruler based on who is the most worthy.
Or...
Lena Sigrid Runarsdottir ... ‘the mercenary princess of Vallenheim’, a member of the Via Imperii, ‘The Fist’.
Lena moves like smoke—elegant, elusive, and impossible to contain. Tall and poised, she carries herself with the cool precision of a predator who knows she’s already won. Her sharp cheekbones and striking blue eyes make her beautiful in a way that feels dangerous—like glass under moonlight or a dagger dipped in perfume.
Her voice is low, measured, and hypnotic—more threat than promise. She rarely raises because she never needs to. People listen. They obey. Or they disappear.
Lena is not impulsive. She watches. Waits. Calculates. Her brilliance is clinical, her cruelty efficient. She has the mind of a tactician and the heart of a winter storm. Every move she makes is part of a larger game directed by ‘the Circle of the Via Imperii.’
To her, loyalty is a currency. Love is a liability. And weakness? A death sentence.
Cordonian Palace Grand Ballroom
Olivia watched in apprehension as Queen Amalas appeared at the entrance of the ballroom and with laser focus, searched the crowded ballroom. Her heart raced as Amalas, her former lover, made eye contact with her and approached with an air of urgency, her regal demeanor shadowed by palpable concern and urgency.
Amalas swiftly and walked directly in front of Olivia, bypassing others trying to get her attention. As Olivia’s breath caught in her throat, Alex rose to greet the Queen formally, hiding his surprise. Olivia's mind was racing with questions about this unexpected visit; and she had little time to process before Amalas bluntly informed them of Lena's escape from her incerceration..
Amalas’ lips pressed into a thin line as she turned to Olivia and Alex. Her voice was calm, but the steel beneath it rang clear.
Ever stoic.
“Alex, you must have your team prepare for a worst-case scenario.”
Alex blinked. “Worst case? Your Majesty, what exactly are you referring to—?”
Before the words had left his mouth, Olivia felt it — that creeping dread. The grand ballroom, so meticulously arranged for the evening’s diplomatic gathering, suddenly felt like a cage. The chandeliers shimmered too brightly, the marble floor gleamed too much, like a dream teetering on the edge of nightmare.
Across the room, nobles murmured, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath the surface.
Olivia watched Amalas’ hand tremble ever so slightly. That alone set her on edge. Amalas was unshakable — always. For her to crack, even a little, meant something had gone very, very wrong.
Alex’s phone buzzed. He stepped away, voice sharp and professional as he issued rapid-fire instructions to his team. Olivia turned to Amalas, eyes narrowed.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Don’t you dare dance around it.”
Amalas met her gaze, regal and grim. “Lena has escaped.”
Olivia froze. “Lena? That’s not possible. She was in maximum security—”
“She had help,” Amalas said. “And not just from the outside. We suspect someone on the inside assisted. Someone with access to court logistics. Someone who wants Riley removed.”
Olivia’s blood ran cold. “Riley’s still in the palace.”
“And that makes her a target,” Amalas said flatly. “We can’t afford to gamble.”
Alex returned, his expression grave. “We have a confirmed breach. The cell Lena was transferred to in France was compromised. Interpol suspects coordination from inside France. Maybe even Cordonia.”
“I’ll alert Liam,” Olivia said at once, turning to move, but Alex stepped in front of her.
“I’ll handle it. You need to stay here with Amalas.”
Olivia narrowed her eyes. “Alex. Did you know about Lena's escape before tonight?”
Alex hesitated — just long enough.
“You did,” she said quietly, eyes flashing. “You knew Lena was a risk again, and you didn’t tell me.”
“I was trying to protect you,” he said, voice low.
She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Don’t give me that. You don’t get to make that decision for me.”
The weight of betrayal settled between them, heavy and raw. But before anything more could be said, Amalas broke in.
“There’s no time for this. Liv, I need your head clear. If Lena has infiltrated the palace, we’re looking at more than just a chance at an assassination attempt. This could be a coup.”
Olivia swallowed hard, emotions clashing violently beneath her carefully curated exterior. But then she straightened her spine, the Duchess of Lythikos returning to the surface.
“Understood. Tell me what you need.”
Alex met her gaze. The hurt was still there, but so was something else — respect. “I’ll coordinate with the royal guard and notify his majesty. You and Amalas secure the ballroom. Riley’s in the south wing. I have already notified Mara to personally escort the queen to a safe house...but she has not responded yet.”
"That's odd ... why not?" Olivia exchanged a look with Amalas and immediately called for back up ss the women ran toward the grand staircase.
The hallways of the southern wing echoed with the sound of Olivia’s heels striking the marble floor. Beside her, Queen Amalas moved with swift, purposeful steps, her efficient outfit allowing her to climb the staircase two steps at a time. Guards rushed past them in tight formation, the palace now humming with coordinated efficiency.
As they approached Riley’s suite, Olivia’s gut twisted. Something felt wrong — the royal suite was too quiet. The usual stationed guards weren’t at the double doors. The tension prickled at her skin.
She raised a hand, signaling Amalas to stop. Olivia drew a dagger from her thigh holster, her instincts screaming.
The door to Riley’s suite was slightly ajar.
Olivia pushed it open with the flat of her hand.
The room was a wreck with furniture overturned. A shattered vase, spilled water and flowers across the floor. The scent of jasmine clung to the air, deceptively sweet amidst the chaos. And near the center of the room—
“Oh gods…” Amalas breathed.
Riley’s personal guard — Mara — lay on the ground, her uniform torn and blood seeping from a recent wound on her shoulder. Olivia rushed to her side, kneeling swiftly.
“Mara! Hey—stay with me!” Olivia tapped her cheek, searching for signs of consciousness.
The guard groaned, her eyes fluttering. “I… I... tried to stop them…”
“Where’s Riley?” Olivia demanded, her voice sharp with fear.
Mara’s hand trembled as she pointed toward the shattered window. “Taken. Two of them. One had her under gunpoint… the other... called her by name.”
Amalas pressed a hand to her mouth. "Riley knew them!”
“They didn’t kill me,” Mara choked. “They said… they needed her alive.”
Olivia’s jaw clenched as she turned to Amalas. “Lena.”
“And someone working with her,” Amalas said grimly.
A guard entered behind them, pale and shaken. “Duchess Nevrakis — the palace gates were breached. One of the decoy vehicles was just spotted leaving the outer perimeter... and we can’t raise Queen Riley’s tracker signal.”
“Of course ... they jammed it,” Olivia muttered, standing. Her eyes were fire.
Amalas scanned the room. “This was planned. Precise. They neutralized the guard without killing her. They wanted her to deliver a message.”
Olivia’s hands curled into fists. “And the message is that we’re too late.”
She turned to the guards. “Seal the palace. No one leaves or enters without my clearance. Get the royal medic here for Mara. And someone tell Liam—Riley’s been taken.”
As they moved into action, Olivia faced Amalas, her voice low and cold.
“They took my friend. My queen. And they think we’ll hesitate.”
Amalas met her gaze, her voice a quiet vow. “Then we’ll show them what a mistake that was.”
---
"Eirik, how much do you know about the Via Imperii?" Leo asked casually as he poured two fingers of Macallen into a crystal tumblr. Liam stood near the edge of the bar, flanked by Drake and Maxwell.. They had been speaking casually about the King Eirik's delegation, but Liam’s focus had drifted.
He scanned the crowd, eyes subconsciously searching for one face — Riley’s.
She was supposed to join him by now.
“Still not used to these things,” Drake muttered, tugging at his collar. “Too many forks, too much smiling.”
Maxwell chuckled. “It’s called diplomacy, brother. You survive by nodding, drinking the right wine, and knowing when to escape.”
Drake rolled his eyes. “I’m two out of three.”
Before Liam could comment, Gabriella returned and sauntered up beside him in her midnight blue gown gown that shimmered benath the chandeliers.
“Your Majesty,” she purred, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “You’re impossible to reach tonight. I was starting to think I needed a royal appointment just to steal a dance.”
Liam didn’t even look at her. His gaze remained locked across the dancefloor.
“I’m waiting for someone,” he said simply, his voice distant.
Gabriella’s smile faltered slightly, but she leaned in regardless, lowering her voice suggestively. “You know, you work too hard. If Riley is too busy playing the queen, perhaps you could use a little... distraction.”
Drake’s brow furrowed. Leo’s expression darkened. But Liam’s face remained still, Unreadable.
“She’s not playing anything,” Liam said coolly. “She is the queen.”
Before Gabriella could respond, the ballroom doors opened fast—too fast. Alex strode in, his face pale, his movement clipped and urgent. The moment Liam saw him, he straightened and moved forward.
Alex didn’t hesitate. He cut straight across the dancefloor with purpose. When he reached Liam, he lowered his voice, but it nonetheless carried the weight of a hammer.
“Your Majesty... I don’t know how to tell you this, but—Riley is missing.”
Time stopped.
Liam’s blood turned to ice.
“What?” he said, barely a breath.
“She was taken,” Alex continued grimly. “Her guard was found injured in her suite. Olivia and Queen Amalas were seconds too late. We believe Lena’s involved. There was a breach.”
Drake took a sharp breath beside him. Leo’s fists clenched.
Gabriella stepped back, suddenly realizing the gravity of the moment.
Liam stared at Alex, the words registering slowly. “Are you certain?”
Alex nodded. “We have confirmation. She’s gone. And we’ve lost her security signal.”
A pause.
Then Liam moved.
No hesitation.
o ceremony.
“Clear the room,” he commanded. “Now.”
“But—” Gabriella started.
“Get out,” Liam snapped, his voice laced with venum and fire.
As guards began ushering confused remaining guests toward the exit, Liam turned to Alex.
“Mobilize every unit. No one leaves Cordonia without being checked. No one enters without vetting.
Get Director Ryerson here, now.
Find that car. I want every satellite, every drone. You have full clearance.”
“I’m already on it,” Alex said. “Olivia’s coordinating the internal systems lockdown of the palace."
Amalas appeared, turning to Eirik. "Tell me everything you know about the Via Imperii."
"...and keep in mind, Eirik, that we already have the answers," Olivia snarled.
Eirik's eyes locked onto Amalas', and he smiled. "The Via Imperii is headquartered in Vallenheim."
Olivia stared at him -- "Vallenheim... Isn't that some snowy kingdom up north ... near France?"
"Oh, how convenient. Leo added with disdain.
"One that's been happily in Via Imperii hands for decades now. They're a dangerous bunch, and they're not afraid to use their influence and money to get their way."
"Eirik, I don't know what to think. Are you one of them?"
Liam watched his body language for tells.
"That's not all," Eirik continued. "They have spies everywhere. They're not just a secret society, they're an army, and they've infiltrated every level of society."
"How?"
"By becoming part of the government, or by simply buying politicians. They're not afraid to use bribery and blackmail to get what they want. They don't care who gets hurt."
Amalas' expression hardened, and she clenched her jaw.
"So, you're saying they could have people working inside the palace?" Olivia asked, glancing around nervously.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, but...
"Lena escaped from Interpol"
Liam repeated the words, his tone full of disbelief.
"And you know this how?"
"We have sources," Amalas explained.
"What sources?"
"I cannot say," Amalas replied.
"You have sources, and yet, you can't tell me?" Liam questioned.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because if I did, they would be compromised."
"I'm not a fucking idiot, Amalas," Liam growled, his patience waning.
"I never said you were," Amalas responded calmly.
"Then stop treating me like one," Liam snapped, glaring at her.
"I'm not trying to," Amalas defended.
"Then why won't you tell me who your sources are?"
"Because the less people who know, the better," Amalas explained, her expression growing stern.
"I don't give a shit!" Liam roared, his temper flaring.
Amalas took a step forward, closing the gap between them. She glared at him, her eyes narrowed “I don’t know how to tell you this, but...
Liam's eyes widened in shock, his mouth hanging open slightly. He stared at her in disbelief, unable to speak.
"Lena has kidnapped her," Amalas continued, her tone flat and emotionless.
"Kidnapped her?" Liam repeated, his voice barely audible.
"Yes," Amalas answered.
"It's been verified."
"How do you know that?"
"My source was able to confirm it," Amalas explained.
"When?"
Liam responded, clearly frustrated.
"Less than an hour ago."
Liam's expression darkened, his anger boiling over. "Why the fuck am I just hearing about this now?"
"Because I didn't want to risk the chance of Lena hearing about it," Amalas replied, her voice calm and collected.
"Why the fuck would you care if Lena heard about it?"
"Because we're dealing with someone who's not only dangerous, but smart. And if she finds out we're onto her, she'll disappear into the wind, and we'll never find her," Amalas explained, her gaze never leaving Liam's.
"We'll never find Riley."
Liam's nostrils flared, his jaw clenched tightly.
"I understand your anger, Liam," Amalas said. "But we need to keep our heads. Getting worked up will not help us find her."
Liam's fists clenched, his knuckles white.
"We have a lead on where she's headed," Amalas continued, her tone still calm.
"Where?"
"Blackspine."
"Blackspine mountains?" Liam repeated.
"Yes."
"How can, you be sure?"
"Because that's where the Via Imperii is headquartered."
"And how do you know this?"
"I can't say," Amalas said.
"Bullshit!" Liam shouted.
"It's the truth," Amalas argued.
"How the fuck am I supposed to trust you when you won't tell me everything?"
"I'm sorry, Liam," Amalas apologized, "but I cannot tell you more."
Liam glared at her, his eyes burning with fury.
"Please, trust me, Liam," Amalas pleaded.
"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Liam muttered bitterly.
"No," Amalas agreed. "You don't."
Liam turned away from her, his body trembling with anger.
"I'll get a search party together," Olivia said, pulling out her cellphone.
"What are we waiting for then?" Olivia said, already tapping her phone.
"Let's go."
---
Liam's POV...
The breeze brushing over me from moving outside the palace walls barely touches me. Beads of sweat gather at my brow, one slipping down into the corner of my eye, burning as if to remind me of everything I’m trying not to feel. My body is overheating, not just from the suffocating fabric of my suit, but from the pressure mounting inside my chest.
I try to breathe—just one deep breath—but fear has wedged itself like stone in my throat. I can’t swallow. I can’t speak. If I breathe through my nose, I know I’ll lose control. I’ll fall apart. My hands tremble despite being clenched into fists, and all around me, the sounds and voices of my brother, my friends, my royal guard melt together into a distant hum. The only sound that remains is the relentless hammering of my heart.
Riley is gone.
Lena took her.
And I—King of Cordonia—stood powerless.
The weight of my crown has never felt heavier.
Blackspine Mountains
Riley looked out the window at the falling snow. She was in a bedroom now, the flickering light of a fire danced across the room's rustic wooden walls. The lodge was cozy, with a single bed adorned with a thick, patchwork quilt in hues of deep burgundy and forest green. A large window offered a breathtaking view of the snow-covered landscape outside, while a stone fireplace crackled warmly, casting shadows that flickered like the memories of the journey Riley had just endured. The room was a sanctuary, a tranquil haven amidst the chaos that had led her there, yet the tranquility felt like the calm before a storm, as Riley's thoughts drifted back to the tram ride up the mountain.
After being dragged into the late evening outside the palace doors, Riley was pushed into a black SUV at gunpoint. The driver and passenger sitting in the front seat were both cloaked in black masks and everything went dark after someone forced a white cloth over her mouth and nose.... drugging her, till she passed out.
Riley awoke inside a gondola - a mountain sky tram with large glass panels that allowed the breathtaking panoramic views of the snow-capped peaks and dense pine forests below to flood into the spacious, airy interior.
The gondola itself was nothing short of luxurious. As the tram started to ascend, Riley was at once struck by the tasteful decor. The interior was lined with polished wood panels, the rich grain adding warmth and elegance. Large, comfortable seats upholstered in soft, dark brown leather.
The windows of the gondola were expansive, ensuring that the magnificent views were not obstructed. As the gondola gently glided away from the station, Riley felt as though she were floating through a winter wonderland, the world below unfolding in all its serene beauty.
If only ... Lena was not pointing a gun at her head.
The cable car swayed slightly, its rhythmic motion a stark contrast to the tension coiled in Riley’s chest. The biting cold outside was a world apart from the oppressive heat of her memories, yet the chill seemed to seep deeper into her, entwining with her dread. She glanced at Lena, whose grip on the gun remained steady, her expression unreadable yet charged with a silent authority. Questions swirled in Riley’s mind, but she dared not ask again; the answers, if ever revealed, seemed bound to a fate darker than the snowy peaks surrounding them. Below, the world grew smaller, and with it, any lingering sense of safety evaporated, leaving Riley suspended in a precarious limbo as the gondola inched closer to the summit, where the unknown awaited like a shadowy specter.
Riley: “So, are you going to tell me what this is all about?”
Lena: “Wasn’t planning on it.”
As the tram moved higher, Riley started to shake with fear, not knowing what she will face when they reached their destination, at the top of the mountain.
What was there?
Who was there?
The Striking Ceremony:
--Power is nothing without a purpose. Purpose must be shaped by Might.--
Around the circle, there were five chairs. Four of which had masked figures dressed in cloaks sitting eerily and ominously.
Riley felt an unrelenting tension as the ceremony unfolded, each moment steeped in foreboding. The masked figures exuded an air of authority that pressed down on the room like a suffocating weight, their silence speaking volumes. The black ledger rested ominously in the center, a relic of secrets and power that seemed capable of unraveling destinies. The room itself seemed to hold its breath, as though aware that whatever was about to happen within the confines of the circle would irrevocably alter the lives tethered to its shadows. The air grew heavy with anticipation, drawing every eye to the ledger that seemed to pulse with a dark resonance, awaiting the moment it would bear witness to judgment.
Riley stood at the edge of the circle and watched in disbelief as Lorelai Lee, Hana Lee’s mother and the wife of Xinghai Lee, was brought forward in for trial for treason.
[Lorelai confessed that she thought the Via Imperii were just the elite of the elite. She joined as a way to gain social status for her family. She did not know what they really were, not asking questions until she had her daughter, Hana. They wanted to take her away to a school and raise her according to their standards ... to turn her into a pawn for political gain. Lorelai left at once to keep Hana safe. Then returned home to Shanghai.
]
Riley gasped.
Hana was then brought into the circle and stood beside the black ledger in handcuffs. Her gaze locked onto the floor.
Hana’s restrained stance, her shackled hands trembling slightly, painted a picture of helplessness, yet Riley sensed a quiet, defiant strength beneath her bowed head.
I can’t believe it’s been four years since my last post! The urge to dust off my fanfiction writing skills and get back into it is so strong at the moment. I’m interested to see if some familiar faces are still around in the fandom! Might be seeing a new fanfic from me soon here 👀
Luego de la fuente, seguimos el camino hacia los escalones de un antiguo edificio de piedra cerca de la fuente. Él suelta mi mano suavemente y la pasa por la barandilla.
|| Este edificio tiene una historia fascinante. Es una de las bibliotecas más antiguas de Cordonia. ¿Sabes? Tengo una anécdota muy especial con este lugar, || dice, sonriendo mientras tal parece que comienza a recordar || Cuando era niño, mi madre solía traerme aquí. Mi recuerdo más fuerte de ella ocurrió en estos mismos escalones. ||
Liam se sienta en un punto específico de los escalones y dirige su mirada hacia el pasado || Recuerdo que ella se sentaba justo aquí, y yo me acurrucaba a sus pies mientras me leía mi historia favorita en voz alta. Incluso ahora, cuando pienso en ese día, puedo recordar el suave aroma de su perfume de jazmín. ||
Conmovida, me acerco y tomo su mano, besando suavemente sus nudillos.
|| ¿Tu madre amaba los libros? || pregunto con curiosidad, queriendo conocer más sobre esa parte de su vida.
|| Podría decir que sí. Pero como tú, mi madre no era nativa de Cordonia. Ella decía que siempre que se sentía como una forastera aquí, visitaba esta biblioteca. Decía que siempre estás en casa en una biblioteca, porque el conocimiento que contiene es universal. ||
|| Tu madre parece haber sido una mujer muy sabia. Ahí debe ser de dónde lo heredaste. || le digo sonriendo.
|| Amor, ese es el elogio más bonito que me hayan dicho. No imaginas lo mucho que significa para mí. || Liam se levanta y me ayuda a bajar las gradas || Ven tengo un lugar especial que mostrarte || Luego, comenzamos a caminar hacia el campanario. Sus pasos eran firmes pero suaves, y el resplandor de las luces de la plaza iluminaba su rostro con una mezcla de nostalgia y propósito. El campanario se alzaba majestuoso al fondo de la plaza, su estructura de piedra mostrando el desgaste del tiempo. Mientras nos acercábamos, la sombra proyectada por el campanario creaba un contraste dramático con las luces cálidas que brillaban a nuestro alrededor. Liam parecía inmerso en sus recuerdos, mirando el campanario con una intensidad que me intrigaba || Hay una cosa más en esta plaza que quiero mostrarte: el campanario. Mi hermano me trajo aquí la noche que me contó sus planes de abdicar. Estábamos parados en este mismo lugar cuando supe que el trono sería mío. En ese momento, no estaba seguro de que ser Rey fuera lo que yo quería. Tenía tantos planes en mi vida. Quería casarme con alguien que amara, tener una familia, poder vivir tranquilo. Entonces no supe qué responder. ||
Liam se detiene, su mirada fija en el campanario mientras una brisa nocturna mueve suavemente su cabello. Su voz baja en un susurro, como si compartiera un secreto profundamente guardado.
|| Y luego… ¿qué pasó? || pregunto, mi curiosidad agudizándose al notar la pausa en sus palabras.
|| Él dijo que sabía que no era una elección fácil y que me apoyaría sin importar si aceptaba o no la corona. Mientras hablaba, yo no podía apartar la vista del campanario. Fue en ese momento, frente a la estructura más antigua de la ciudad, cuando entendí la magnitud de lo que estaba en juego. Me pregunté: "Si no soy yo, ¿quién más podría hacerlo?" Y fue ahí cuando me di cuenta de que debía aceptar, a pesar de lo que eso significara para mí personalmente. Mi país me necesitaba, y aunque me costara, quise responder a esa llamada. ||
|| Eres sin duda un hombre increíble, Liam. La forma en que te entregas a lo que amas, tu pasión y tu generosidad, es lo que más me atrae de ti. Admiro ese corazón noble y humilde que tienes, siempre poniendo a los demás antes que a ti mismo. || Con estas palabras, me acerco a él, envolviendo sus hombros en un abrazo apretado.
|| Gracias, amor... || Liam me mira con una intensidad que me conmueve. || Sabes, antes de conocerte pensé que tenía que sacrificar mis sueños. Pero aceptando mi rol también me llevó a ti, y tú eres la pieza que faltaba en mi vida. Ahora puedo decir que lo tengo todo. Desde que te encontré, todo ha mejorado para mí. ||
|| ¿Cómo puedo no derretirme con estas palabras? || Me siento abrumada por la sinceridad de sus sentimientos. Le acaricio la mejilla con ternura, sintiendo el calor de su piel bajo mi mano. || Liam, mi vida encontró sentido cuando te conocí. Me has devuelto la alegría y has llenado el vacío que sentía. || Me inclino hacia él, rozando mis labios con los suyos. Él responde al beso con una calidez que me envuelve, y sonríe al separarse, apoyando su frente contra la mía.
|| Me haces tan feliz, Riley. || Susurra con una sinceridad que me llena de emoción.
|| Estoy feliz de poder hacerte tan feliz como tú lo haces conmigo. || Le respondo, viendo cómo cierra los ojos, respirando profundamente con una sonrisa de satisfacción.
|| Espero que hayas disfrutado la historia de nuestra ciudad tanto como yo disfruté contándotela. ||
|| Me encantó, Liam. Pero lo que más valoro es ver cómo te estás convirtiendo en el Rey que Cordonia necesita. Quiero que recuerdes que, aunque no puedes controlar el tiempo ni todos los aspectos de tu vida, lo que puedes hacer es dar siempre lo mejor de ti. Y para Cordonia, lo mejor de ti es increíble. ||
|| Me reconforta escuchar eso. Me siento afortunado de tenerte a mi lado, y si soy siquiera la mitad del Rey que crees que soy, consideraré mi reinado un éxito. || Liam sonríe, su mirada llena de una mezcla de emoción y complicidad. || Todavía hay un lugar especial que quiero mostrarte. || Con una ligera presión en la parte baja de la espalda, Liam me guía hacia el coche, su entusiasmo palpable. || Vamos, será un final perfecto para nuestra noche. ||
Nos dirigimos hacia el coche con una sensación de anticipación y complicidad, sabiendo que la noche aún nos depara una última sorpresa.
**
Después de un breve paseo, llegamos a un acogedor restaurante situado en una colina. Desde la entrada, la vista de la bahía se extendía ante nosotros, con las aguas brillando bajo la luz de la luna y un suave murmullo de conversaciones en el aire.
Jason y Sebastián realizaron una rápida inspección del lugar. Una vez que obtuvimos el visto bueno, Liam y yo subimos al restaurante. El interior estaba decorado con elegancia: mesas dispuestas con delicadas mantelerías y sillas cómodas, iluminadas por una suave luz de velas que creaba un ambiente acogedor.
Nos dirigimos hacia la terraza, que ofrecía una vista panorámica impresionante de la bahía. Desde allí, el horizonte se extendía ante nosotros en una gama de tonos azules y dorados, con las luces de los barcos parpadeando a lo lejos. La brisa nocturna traía consigo el suave aroma del mar, y la vista de las aguas resplandecientes bajo la luz de la luna era sencillamente mágica. La escena era como un cuadro vivo, y no pude evitar sentirme completamente enamorada de la belleza que se desplegaba ante mis ojos.
Liam, con una sonrisa satisfecha, me condujo hacia una mesa con la mejor vista, donde nos sentamos, disfrutando del esplendor de la noche y del ambiente tranquilo del lugar.
|| Liam, este lugar es hermoso || exclamo maravillada mientras él me abre la silla y tomo asiento, seguido de Liam, que toma el suyo.
|| En verdad que lo es || responde él, y al mirarlo, noto que sus ojos están fijos en mí. Sonrío sonrojada por su atención. || Me alegra que lo disfrutes, hermosa. Encontré este lugar en una de mis excursiones y lo he mantenido como mi pequeño secreto, hasta esta noche. ||
|| Bueno, entonces lo considero un honor || le respondo. Justo en ese momento, un camarero se acerca, le sonríe a Liam y hace una pequeña reverencia.
|| Su Majestad, Duquesa… Bienvenidos. ¿Puedo ofrecerles algo de comer o beber? || pregunta el camarero con curiosidad.
|| A mí me encantaría solo una copa de champán || respondo.
|| Que sean dos. Gracias, Luis. Eso sería todo || dice Liam, y el camarero asiente y se aleja. Detrás de nosotros, escuchamos a dos clientes cercanos discutiendo sobre la conferencia de prensa y el Tour de la Unidad. Aunque no parecen haberse dado cuenta de nuestra presencia, los fragmentos que escuchamos son positivos || ¡Vaya! Supongo que se están difundiendo noticias sobre tu éxito || comenta Liam con una sonrisa.
|| Querrás decir “NUESTRO” éxito || le aclaro con una sonrisa. || Aunque debo decir, nunca imaginé que ser duquesa vendría con tanto champán y comida elegante. ¡Creo que estoy empezando a disfrutar de este papel! ||
|| Oh, así que te estás adaptando al glamour, ¿eh? || dice Liam con una risa. || No te preocupes, hay mucho más por venir. ||
|| Lo sé, lo sé. En algún momento me imagino con una corona en la cabeza, tratando de no tropezar con mis propios vestidos. ||
|| Te aseguro que la corona te quedará perfecta || responde él, bromeando. || Aunque tendrás que trabajar en tu equilibrio para las fiestas elegantes. ||
Nos reímos juntos, pero luego me coloco un rostro más serio.
|| Ahora, hablando en serio… me gusta, pero creo que tengo mucho por aprender. ||
|| Mi amor, espero que te des cuenta de la diferencia que estás marcando. Lo estás haciendo genial. Cordonia tiene suerte de tenerte, especialmente ahora. ||
|| Gracias, es muy valioso lo que me dices ||. De repente, el camarero regresa con nuestras bebidas y nos deja unos aperitivos por cortesía de la casa. Mientras disfrutamos de nuestras copas, nos dejamos llevar por la hermosa vista que se extiende ante nosotros; el Palacio se alza majestuosamente sobre una colina, iluminado por la luz de la luna || Sabes, incluso después de todo este tiempo, sigo pensando que Cordonia es como algo salido de un cuento de hadas. Los bailes, los elegantes vestidos, la arquitectura impresionante… incluso los misteriosos enemigos... No puedo creer que sea real || comento, con una mezcla de asombro y admiración en mi voz.
|| Yo he vivido aquí toda mi vida y a veces siento lo mismo que tú || responde Liam, su mirada profunda fija en el agua antes de volverse hacia mí. || Riley, me gustaría disfrutar de este momento no como un rey y una futura reina, sino como pareja. ||
|| Me encanta la idea. Venir aquí los dos solos fue una excelente decisión. Con todo el alboroto del Tour, se siente como una eternidad desde que pudimos ser simplemente nosotros. No me malinterpretes, me encanta ser duquesa y entiendo la importancia de la gira de la unidad, pero… || Y antes de que pueda terminar, Liam me interrumpe, acercándose un poco más.
|| Lo entiendo, amor, créeme que lo entiendo. Una de las muchas lecciones que me has enseñado es que, a veces, mirar el panorama general no es suficiente || explica Liam, su voz baja y suave, mientras sus ojos se clavan en los míos.
|| ¿Y qué quieres decir? || pregunto, con curiosidad, sintiendo el calor de su mirada.
|| Quiero decir que, aunque estamos luchando por todos en Cordonia, también estamos luchando por nosotros. Por esos preciosos momentos en los que podemos fingir que la vida es solo esto… Relajarnos en un bar con la persona que amamos y ser normales || dice Liam, su tono lleno de ternura.
|| Me gusta eso. Cuando nuestros ideales no son suficientes para llevarnos adelante, nos tenemos el uno al otro || le respondo con una sonrisa cálida, sintiendo cómo mi corazón late más rápido.
|| Siempre, mi amor || afirma Liam con un toque de promesa en su voz.
|| Gracias, Liam. Necesitaba esto… y gracias por querer compartir esta parte tuya conmigo || le digo, sintiendo una profunda conexión mientras nuestras manos se entrelazan.
|| Yo también lo necesitaba, no te imaginas || me responde, su mirada intensa revelando cuánto significa para él este momento. || Y con el tiempo, espero compartir cada parte mía contigo. ||
|| Creo que hay algo más que puedes compartir conmigo || le digo, inclinándome hacia adelante y capturando sus labios en un beso tierno pero cargado de emoción. Liam responde con un gemido bajo, su mano acariciando mi mejilla mientras nos sumergimos en el beso.
|| Riley... || exclama, su aliento cálido contra mi piel. La pasión en su toque me hace temblar, y aunque el deseo me invita a prolongar el momento, me alejo con reluctancia, disfrutando del cosquilleo persistente en mis labios.
Terminamos nuestras bebidas mientras disfrutamos de la vista de la bahía, iluminada por la luna, y el ambiente a nuestro alrededor se vuelve cada vez más íntimo. Al salir del bar, tomados de la mano, caminamos lentamente por las calles adoquinadas de la ciudad. La noche promete más, y una parte de mí no puede esperar a continuar esta velada en la intimidad de nuestra habitación, donde los susurros y caricias completarán la mágica velada.
♕♕♕♕
A la mañana siguiente, después de un delicioso desayuno, todos partimos de nuevo hacia el palacio para recoger nuestras cosas y prepararnos para el viaje al estado de Kiara. Afortunadamente, la situación en Applewood se había calmado bastante tras la conferencia de prensa. La plantación del árbol fue un gran éxito, según las encuestas realizadas por Madeleine. Ahora solo quedaba alistarme y prepararme para conquistar a Kiara y su familia.
Sabía que mañana se llevaría a cabo el Festival Internacional de Arte y Comida, por lo que debía estar más que lista para asegurar el apoyo necesario para Liam y, sobre todo, para la nación.
En mi habitación, conversaba con Maxwell mientras estaba prácticamente lista. Anita me ayudó, como siempre, con su excepcional peinado y maquillaje. Solo faltaba esperar a Madeleine, quien se encargaría de seleccionar el atuendo perfecto para la ocasión. De repente, la puerta de mi habitación se abre y Madeleine entra con un porta vestidos en mano, observando a Maxwell de pies a cabeza con su habitual mirada de desaprobación.
|| Eres puntual, Madeleine. Muy bien... ¡A trabajar! || exclama Maxwell con una sonrisa juguetona, levantando las manos como si estuviera a punto de hacer magia. Madeleine lo mira seria, su expresión tan rígida como siempre.
|| Maxwell, te recuerdo que yo estoy aquí para ayudar a Riley. ¿Qué haces tú aquí, si deberías estar preparándote? ||
|| ¿Prepararme yo? ¡Por favor! || responde Maxwell, fingiendo escándalo y llevándose una mano al pecho dramáticamente || Estoy aquí por apoyo moral. Además, con este carisma natural, ya estoy listo para conquistar el mundo. ||
Madeleine suspira, rodando los ojos como si ya hubiera escuchado eso mil veces.
|| Ok... Haré como que no estás aquí || Dice para luego mirarme con atención || Muy bien Riley, te detallaré la agenda del día de hoy. Al llegar a la finca de Kiara, nos acomodaremos y compartiremos con su familia. Mañana está previsto el Festival Internacional de Arte y Comida. Te llevas bien con Kiara, ¿verdad? || pregunta Madeleine mientras me observa atentamente.
|| Por supuesto. Kiara siempre se ha caracterizado por ser una mujer con quien puedes tener conversaciones interesantes || respondo con una sonrisa.
|| Correcto. Ella es una de las nobles más competentes de la corte. Para que lo tengas en cuenta, he preparado notas sobre su familia. Recuerdo que la última vez tuviste problemas con el expediente, así que me he esforzado en hacerlo más accesible para ti || comenta Madeleine mientras me extiende una pila de tarjetas, en lugar de una gran carpeta como la vez anterior.
|| Esto es diferente... pero, ¿cómo esperas que Riley aprenda todo esto...? || interviene Maxwell sorprendido, observando las tarjetas || Si estamos a punto de salir hacia donde Kiara. ||
|| ¡Exactamente! Maxwell tiene razón… ¡Son más de cien tarjetas! En Applewood me diste una carpeta con anotaciones en francés y alemán, ¿y ahora esto? || digo un poco alterada mientras observo la pila.
|| Riley, tardé toda la noche en prepararlas. Te resultará fácil leerlas en tu tiempo libre || dice Madeleine, completamente tranquila.
|| ¿Tiempo libre? || replica Maxwell, agitando las manos dramáticamente || Eso es lo que menos tiene mi pequeña flor ahora mismo. ||
|| ¡Cielo santo! Está bien, haré un resumen... || Madeleine suspira, aparentemente resignada, antes de empezar a explicarme lo más importante sobre la familia de Kiara.
Hakim, su padre, es un renombrado diplomático. Joelle, su madre, es una famosa artista del país. En cuanto a su hermano mayor, no tiene mucha información sobre él ni su nombre, pero él suele evitar la corte y prefiere mantenerse fuera del ojo público.
|| Entonces, ¿tengo que impresionar a un diplomático de carrera, a una artista famosa y a un hermano misterioso? Si tienes alguna sugerencia, será más que bienvenida || digo, sintiendo la preocupación apoderarse de mí.
|| En las esferas sociales que Hakim y Joelle frecuentan, reconocer la bandera de otro país es un signo de respeto. Y sobre todo, reconocer los colores de su casa seguramente causará una buena impresión || dice solemnemente Madeleine.
|| Y no olvides su adorable escudo de la casa || exclama Maxwell, pero de manera inmediata ella lo mira con fastidio.
|| Por favor, Maxwell… Aconsejaría no llamar "adorable" a una cresta centenaria frente a Kiara, por favor || replica Madeleine, indignada.
|| ¡Lo siento! Pero no es mi culpa que sus antepasados eligieran un lindo búho como símbolo || dice Maxwell en su defensa, mientras Madeleine saca del estuche un impresionante vestido negro.
|| Este es el vestido que he escogido para ti || dice Madeleine, sonriendo orgullosa. Entro al baño para cambiarme. El vestido es ceñido, envolviendo mi figura con precisión. La tela se ajusta suavemente a mis curvas, llegando justo por encima de las rodillas. Los hombros quedan completamente al descubierto, mientras que el escote en forma de "V" cae con elegancia sobre mi busto, dejando una mezcla perfecta de elegancia y sensualidad. Madeleine me entrega un par de zapatos negros de tacón alto y unos aretes de perla que brillan con discreción. Me miro en el espejo y por un momento me quedo sin palabras. El vestido es perfecto, resaltando cada aspecto sin perder la clase. Al salir, tanto Maxwell como Madeleine me observan maravillados || Perfecto, sabía que sería el adecuado || exclama Madeleine con orgullo.
Se acerca a mí con un pequeño brazalete en la mano, y noto que es un delicado diseño en forma de búho, el símbolo de la familia de Kiara. Con suavidad, lo coloca en mi brazo, justo debajo del hombro, ajustándolo perfectamente a mi piel. El detalle es intrincado: las alas del búho parecen envolver mi brazo, como si el símbolo ancestral de la familia de Kiara fuera una guardia silenciosa. La mirada concentrada de Madeleine y el gesto cuidado con el que lo coloca muestran la importancia de este detalle. Es más que un simple accesorio, es una pieza cargada de significado, una representación del respeto y la conexión que debemos honrar en el evento.
|| Mi Flor, te ves hermosa como siempre. Ese vestido es magnífico y ese brazalete es único… Todos tendrán los ojos puestos en ti || exclama Maxwell, emocionado.
|| Debo decirlo, Madeleine. Estoy impresionada, me encanta || le digo, sintiendo el peso del brazalete en mi brazo como un recordatorio de la importancia del evento.
|| Con un poco de suerte, espero que nuestros anfitriones piensen lo mismo || responde Madeleine con una sonrisa satisfecha. || Ten presente que al evento internacional vendrán visitantes de todas partes para mostrar las delicias del arte y la comida de sus países. Es un testimonio anual del trabajo que hacen Hakim y Joelle, así que mostrar entusiasmo por sus esfuerzos será clave. ||
De repente, la puerta se abre suavemente y entra Mara, siempre profesional, pero con una leve sonrisa de respeto.
|| Su Excelencia, todo está listo. Estamos por partir || informa con su tono calmado, pero firme.
|| ¡Genial! || respondo asintiendo || Gracias, Mara. Ya casi estoy lista ||
|| ¡Es hora de irnos! || exclama Maxwell, emocionado, mientras Madeleine y yo intercambiamos una mirada que confirma que estamos listas para el desafío que nos espera.
**
Cuando llegamos a los terrenos soleados de la casa de Kiara, los autos se detuvieron suavemente frente a la entrada principal. Liam y Drake, por su parte, se habían adelantado para atender algunos asuntos importantes, así que nosotros llegamos un poco antes. Maxwell, Hana, Sara, Olivia y yo salimos de los vehículos, admirando de inmediato la belleza del lugar. Los jardines, amplios y perfectamente cuidados, estaban rodeados por árboles imponentes que parecían abrazar la mansión con su sombra. Las flores en tonos vibrantes de rojo y púrpura daban un toque de color, mientras el aroma a jazmín y lavanda flotaba en el aire. La casa de Kiara era una obra maestra arquitectónica, con grandes ventanales que reflejaban el cielo despejado y una entrada majestuosa decorada con columnas blancas.
Justo cuando estábamos admirando los alrededores, el auto de Liam se detuvo junto a nosotros. Bajó con elegancia, sus ojos buscando los míos de inmediato. Al acercarse, su mirada recorrió lentamente mi vestido, dejando claro cuánto le agradaba.
|| Riley, ese vestido es casi tan espectacular como la mujer que lo lleva puesto || me dijo con una sonrisa que prometía más de lo que sus palabras dejaban entrever. Luego, inclinándose hacia mí, su voz baja me erizó la piel. || Aunque espero con ansias a la noche para verte sin él ||.
El calor subió a mis mejillas al sentir su suave aliento cerca de mi oído, y antes de que pudiera responder, sus labios rozaron los míos en un beso suave, pero lleno de intenciones. Su aroma amaderado llenaba mis sentidos, dejándome deseando más.
|| ¡Cielos, Liam! No se vale jugar así… || murmuré, dejándome llevar por el suspiro que escapaba de mis labios. Él, sin perder la sonrisa, deslizó su mano entre la mía, y antes de que pudiera recuperar la compostura, me besó de nuevo, esta vez con más firmeza. Sonreí, apretando su mano mientras avanzábamos hacia la entrada. La casa de Kiara brillaba bajo el sol, con detalles elegantes y sutiles que hablaban de una refinada sofisticación || Vaya, la casa de Kiara es hermosa || exclamé, emocionada.
De pronto, la puerta principal se abrió de golpe y Kiara apareció, descendiendo las escaleras acompañada de un hombre, ambos irradiando una energía cálida y acogedora.
|| ¡Qué alegría que ya estén aquí! ¡Bienvenue! || exclamó Kiara con una sonrisa radiante, mientras nos recibía con los brazos abiertos, lista para iniciar nuestra visita.
|| ¡Hola todos! || Saluda el hombre que acompaña a Kiara con una sonrisa || Bienvenidos a nuestro hogar. ||
|| Su Majestad, Duquesa, es un verdadero honor tenerlos en nuestra casa || dice Kiara con gran cordialidad.
|| Le plaisir est pour nous || (El placer es nuestro), responde Liam con amabilidad.
|| Es un placer finalmente visitar tu hogar || le digo a Kiara, devolviendo la sonrisa.
|| Ustedes dos son muy amables || responde Kiara sin vacilar.
|| ¿Vas a presentarme a tus amigos, o debería comenzar a adivinar los nombres? || pregunta el hombre que la acompaña con un tono amistoso.
|| Oh, lo siento, ¿dónde están mis modales? Les presento a mi hermano, Ezequiel Theron || dice Kiara, disculpándose mientras señala a su acompañante.
|| Encantado de conocerlos. Kiki me ha contado todo sobre ustedes || nos dice Ezequiel con una sonrisa.
|| Espera ¿dijiste Kiki? || pregunto sorprendida y con una sonrisa divertida. || ¿Podemos llamarte así también? ||
|| Por favor, agradecería que no lo hicieran... Es un apodo familiar || responde Kiara con un leve sonrojo, mirando a su hermano con una mezcla de cariño y reproche. || Normalmente solo se usa en presencia de la familia. ||
|| Lo siento, Kik… Kiara... ¡De cualquier manera! Duquesa, Su Majestad… Realmente es un honor tenerlos aquí. Este es básicamente el sueño de papá hecho realidad || dice Ezequiel, y luego, al darse cuenta de su error, se corrige rápidamente. || ¡No es que él sea el único que quiera verlos a todos! Obviamente... ||
|| Zeke, un poco menos de palabras y más sonrisas || lo interrumpe Kiara con una mirada seria, pero de repente su atención se dirige a Drake. || Y... umm… Hola Drake... te ves tan... quiero decir, ese traje te queda muy bien || añade con nerviosismo, notoriamente avergonzada, mientras intenta controlar sus gestos nerviosos.
|| Muchas gracias, Kiara || dice Drake con una sonrisa cortés, aunque su incomodidad es evidente. || Aprecio el cumplido. || Se aclara la garganta y continúa, intentando desviar la conversación de manera sutil || Este traje fue una recomendación de Sara, mi novia. Ella tiene un ojo excepcional para la moda. || Mira a Sara con una sonrisa agradecida, destacando su papel en la elección del atuendo.
|| ¡Oh, ¿tienes novia? || pregunta Kiara, visiblemente sorprendida. Inmediatamente, Sara se adelanta, marcando claramente su territorio.
|| Así es, soy yo. Mi nombre es Sara Potter. Encantada de conocerte || responde Sara, extendiendo su mano, que Kiara toma con un apretón sutil pero firme. Luego, Sara da un paso más cerca de Drake y enlaza uno de sus brazos con el de él, mostrando un sutil gesto de posesión.
|| Es un placer conocerte, Sara. Je te souhaite beaucoup de joie || (Te deseo mucha felicidad) dice Kiara, con una mirada momentáneamente melancólica antes de recomponerse y ofrecer una sonrisa cálida.
|| Merci beaucoup, Kiara. C'est très gentil de ta part || (Muchas gracias, Kiara. Es muy amable de tu parte) responde Drake con amabilidad. Sara, con una expresión que revela claramente su celos, sonríe pero con un toque de frialdad, y añade:
|| Oui, c'est très gentil || (Sí, eres muy amable). Para aliviar la tensión en el aire, me dirijo a Kiara con preocupación.
|| Kiara, ¿cómo te sientes? Oímos que resultaste herida en el ataque al palacio. ||
|| Oh, oui… Qué noche tan aterradora, pero tuve suerte. Después de un tiempo de descanso en casa, estoy de vuelta en una sola pieza || nos responde Kiara.
De repente, un crujido de grava interrumpe el ambiente tranquilo, anunciando la llegada de otro automóvil frente a la casa de Kiara. La puerta del vehículo se abre con prisa y alguien sale rápidamente, visiblemente apurado, sosteniendo a dos perritos con correas.
