"Love isn't loud—it's the silence after he says your name like a death sentence."

Melissa alone in her chambers, fingers resting lightly on a velvet cushion, watching the moonlight stretch across the marble floor.

The air still smelled faintly of milk and red paint.

And the question echoed again in her skull:
Why him?

A made man. A soldier. A servant. A kept thing—Daniel had been called all those names. She had heard them whispered through halls, behind fans, in polite scorn.

A man like that didn't commit. Didn't belong. Didn't last.

So why had her daughter picked him to shatter everything?

She called for Lysandra.

Lysandra entered quietly, still wrapped in a fresh robe. Her hair was damp, her eyes sharp.

"You asked for me?" she said.

Melissa gestured to the seat beside her. "Sit."

Lysandra obeyed, but her back was straight. Her hands ready. She was braced for judgment.

Instead, her mother said, "You didn't choose the easy path."

Lysandra blinked. "No."

Melissa nodded. "And the man you chose—he wasn't bred for courts. He wasn't raised to hold power gently."

"No," Lysandra said again, more quietly this time. "He was made for war. But he kneels to me."

Melissa's expression didn't change. But something in her chest shifted.

"I should've seen it earlier," she said. "That you weren't going to live a story like mine."

Lysandra hesitated. "You never stopped Father. You never stood up for me."

"I couldn't," Melissa said softly. "But that doesn't mean I didn't watch. And plan."

She stood and crossed the room, returning with a bundle of cloth, documents, and a box. She set them gently in Lysandra's lap.

"Blank royal travel papers. Unsealed. You and your soldier can forge names, histories, routes."

Lysandra's lips parted. "What is this?"

"Freedom," Melissa said. "My dowry jewels. A small chest of coins. A few things no one ever accounted for. Tell him to take them. When you run."

Lysandra looked down at it all, stunned.

And for the first time in years, Melissa reached for her daughter's face.

Not to correct. Not to criticize.

Just to touch her.

"You grew up fast," she said, brushing a lock of hair from Lysandra's cheek. "Too fast. And I couldn't stop it."

"You gave me silence," Lysandra whispered. "I thought that meant you agreed with them."

Melissa's voice trembled, just slightly. "I gave you silence because it was the only weapon I had left."

A knock.

Both turned to the door.

Melissa rose. Walked to it. Opened it.

Daniel stood there, head bowed. Still. Waiting.

Melissa looked at him. Really looked.

Then said, quiet and deadly serious: "Keep her safe."

Daniel nodded once. "With my life."

And Lysandra, for the first time, realized:

She wasn't running away.
She was being sent.

By a mother who'd been silent too long.

And had finally decided to fight the only way she knew how.

***

"I told you to bring only the essentials," Lysandra said, tugging a velvet-lined box from the top of her closet.

Daniel—sitting on the edge of her bed, a half-unpacked satchel beside him—grunted. "Define essentials."

She turned, arms full of documents, coins, and two knives. "Not your damn training boots. You'll slow us down."

"They're broken in—"

"I don't care if they're enchanted by the stars, leave them."

He rolled his eyes, opened his mouth—

A knock.

They both froze.

Then—

Knock. Knock. Harder.

"Get under the bed," Lysandra hissed, already moving to the door.

Daniel stared. "What—"

"Now."

He dove just as she shoved her documents into a drawer and smoothed her dress. She yanked the door open.

Connor. And Thalia.

Both pale. Breathless. And visibly disturbed.

Thalia's hair was tangled. Her cheeks were blotched with tears. Connor looked like he'd just walked out of a battlefield with no armor on.

"Um..." Lysandra blinked. "What—"

They pushed past her without waiting for an invitation. Connor shut the door behind him. Locked it.

Thalia leaned against it, shaking.

"Don't run," Connor said. His voice was hoarse. Urgent. "Whatever you're planning—don't."

Lysandra stiffened. "Excuse me?"

"Felipe," he said. "I overheard him. He was with your mother."

Her heart stopped.

"What... kind of with?"

Thalia let out a sob. "You don't understand—he said—if you run, if you go missing before the wedding—your mother will be your replacement."

Lysandra felt the blood drain from her face.

Connor rubbed his face with both hands, pacing. "I don't even think he was bluffing. I—gods—I saw her. She wasn't even resisting. Just standing there like it was... already done."

"I didn't want to believe it," Thalia whispered. "But he touched her chin like—like property. He said if one mare bolts, you breed the one in the next stall."

Lysandra staggered backward, hitting the edge of the bed.

Daniel tensed beneath it, muscles locked, barely breathing.

Thalia was sobbing now. "And Father agreed. He just agreed, Lys. As if she was part of the plan."

Lysandra's hands were shaking. Her throat felt raw.

"She gave me everything to run," she whispered. "Papers. Money. Her jewels. She knew."

Connor nodded. "Then you have to go. Tonight. Because if Felipe touches her—"

He stopped. Couldn't finish.

And under the bed, Daniel's hands were clenched into fists so tight they'd bleed.

Lysandra stood still, spine straight, heart hammering against her ribs—but her voice was calm when she spoke. "I'll walk down that aisle."

Connor stared at her. "You'll what?"

"You heard me. I'll go through with the wedding."

Thalia's mouth fell open. "Lys, no—"

"You," Lysandra said, turning to Thalia, "will take my mother somewhere safe."

She looked at Connor next.

"You'll make sure they get out before Felipe realizes I'm still here."

Connor's jaw clenched. "You're seriously going to marry my father?"

Lysandra tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing.

"Whether I marry him or not is my choice. Not yours."

"Then why go through with it?" Connor asked, voice cracking. "You can't possibly—"

She cut him off. "Because right now, Felipe believes I'm running. If I do the opposite, I buy time. I control the stage. I keep her alive."

She took a step closer to him. "You failed as a boyfriend, Connor. Don't fail me as a friend."

That shut him up. After a beat, he muttered, "...Fine."

Thalia looked between them. "Seriously—how do we even do this?"

Lysandra inhaled slowly, looking at both of them like pieces on a board she was about to rearrange."I said I can handle it. I'm the one who created this beautiful, terrible mess in the first place."

She met their eyes, steady and unapologetic. "So let me be the one to resolve it."

She pushed Connor and Thalia out the door with more force than grace.

"Go," she said, voice tight. "Now."

Before either of them could speak again, she shut the door.

Locked it.

Pressed her back to it.

And exhaled—like it hurt.

Daniel crawled out from under the bed, tense and ready for orders. But the moment his eyes met hers—all the fury in him disappeared.

Because she wasn't angry.

She wasn't raging.

She was numb.

Her lips trembled once. Just once.

Then she slid down the door, her body crumpling to the floor like her strength had been a performance she could no longer hold.

Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled fast. Quiet. No sobs. Just the kind of crying that broke people slowly.

Daniel crossed the room in seconds and dropped to his knees, pulling her into his arms.

Her face buried in his chest, hands clutching his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her tethered.

"Tell me what to do, princess," he murmured, his voice steady, his fingers combing through her hair. "Just say it. Give the word."

She looked up, blinking through tears. "Can you leave everything behind for me?"

He stilled.

"If I run—will you follow me?"

Daniel cupped her face, thumb brushing her cheek with unbearable gentleness.

Then he said it—low, rough, reverent: "I'd follow you into exile. Into madness. Into a thousand lifetimes where you never look back. Name it, Lysandra. Name the ruin, and I'll carry it."

She stared at him, shaking, jaw clenched. "Vale," she said, using the secret word between them. "Trust me."

He nodded once.

"No matter what I say," she whispered. "No matter what I make you do—trust me. Things might sound insane. I'll give commands that don't make sense." She swallowed hard. "Do it," she whispered. "No questions. Just do it."

Daniel leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. "Always."