I woke up to soft light bleeding through linen curtains and the faint smell of coffee drifting up the stairs.

For a moment, I just lay there-wrapped in a tangle of sheets, Maxwell's scent still clinging to my skin, the warmth of last night still pressed against me like a secret I never wanted to let go.

Then I noticed the note on the nightstand.

Written in his messy, scrawling handwriting on a folded napkin:

"Gone downstairs to make breakfast and bribe the horses with apples. Nimbus is officially mine now. Frederick gave in-probably regrets it already. Don't fall in love with me more when you see how well I scramble eggs. x - M"

I laughed into the pillow, hugging it to my chest. God, he was ridiculous.

Ridiculous and perfect.

Stretching lazily, I slid out of bed, grabbing one of Maxwell's oversized button-up shirts from the chair, slipping it on over my training shorts. My legs still tingled from the night before, and I didn't even care how sore I was.

I padded barefoot down the creaky staircase, brushing my hair back, expecting to find him somewhere between the kitchen and the barn.

The kitchen was warm and golden, sunlight pooling through the wide windows. The table was already set: scrambled eggs, golden toast stacked high, jam jars, coffee, and a proper pot of Earl Grey, steaming faintly beside a folded cloth napkin.

I blinked at it.

"He's... the whole damn package," I whispered under my breath, a crooked smile tugging at my mouth.

Prince. Cook. Horse tamer. Disaster in a royal suit. And somehow the man I had fallen stupidly, deeply in love with.

I reached for a toast slice, piled some eggs on top, still grinning like a teenager. I felt... safe here. Comfortable in a way I hadn't in years. Like I could finally exhale.

But then-I heard it.

A sound at the door. Not the usual light creak of it opening.

It was sharp. Like someone shoved it with too much strength.

I froze.

Toast halfway to my mouth.

"Maxwell?" I called, eyebrows narrowing.

No answer.

I put the toast down, walking slowly toward the front room, scanning for the familiar shape of him at the door or on the porch.

Nothing.

I called again, louder. "Maxwell?"

Still nothing.

Then-footsteps.

But not his.

He always shuffled a little, always whistled when he walked, always shouted something stupid like "Emergency toast incoming!" when he came back inside.

This was... different. Heavy. Intentional.

My heart thudded, sharp and fast.

I stepped back toward the kitchen, grabbed the cast-iron pan from the stove with a shaking hand. The footsteps grew closer, deliberate. I could hear them now, entering the hallway that led to the kitchen.

"Maxwell?" I tried one more time, barely a whisper now.

And then-

A man stepped into view.

All black.

Face covered, except for his eyes and mouth.

Every muscle in my body locked.

He stood there like a shadow. Still. Watching me. I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. My fingers tightened on the handle of the skillet, my breath caught halfway up my throat.

This wasn't random.

This wasn't a burglar.

This was planned.

And I was alone.

Alone in Maxwell's house.

And whoever this was... they had come looking for something.

Or someone.

My pulse raced, every cell in my body screaming at me to run, fight, scream-do something. But my feet stayed planted, breath caught in my throat like a frozen whisper.

The masked man tilted his head slightly, as if studying me like a specimen beneath glass.

"Are you the journalist?" he asked, voice muffled but sharp, cutting.

I said nothing.

Not because I was brave, but because my brain had officially gone offline.

He took a step forward, gloved hands at his sides. "No answer? Doesn't matter. You probably are. Let's go."

I took a breath to shout-to do something-but it was too late.

The world tilted.

Something jabbed into my neck. Cold and metallic. I didn't even see it, didn't hear him move. Just a quick sting, like a bee, and then-

Darkness.

⸻

I woke up disoriented. The air was cold. My fingers ached from the chill, my skin prickled.

Stone.

I was lying on stone.

My eyes fluttered open, but the room was dim-lit only by a single bulb swinging from above, casting eerie shadows across the walls. The scent was old-dust and stone, damp air clinging to everything. Like I was in some medieval chamber beneath the world.

And in front of me, the man.

Still masked. Still watching.

He didn't speak. He didn't need to.

I sat up slowly, my body weak, still foggy from... whatever he'd used. My mouth tasted like metal and my wrists were slightly sore, but not bound.

Not yet.

I was on the floor. A thick rug beneath me. No furniture. Just that single bulb, the masked man, and what looked like a massive iron door behind him.

Where the hell was I?

The air shifted.

Footsteps.

Deliberate. Slow.

High-heeled, I thought. But also heavier ones behind. More than one person.

The masked man stood up straighter.

And then-they entered.

I blinked once. Then twice.

A tall man with blonde hair, pressed in a pristine navy coat lined with silver thread. His features were sharp, pristine, sculpted in fury. And beside him, a woman just as tall, with a regal posture and cutting coldness in her stare.

I didn't have to guess.

I didn't even have to pretend to be shocked.

I looked up.

And there they were:

Prince Rupert and Princess Arabelle.

The Duke and Duchess of Northwald.

Frederick's parents.

They stood before me like ghosts from the palace nightmares no one talked about.

They looked... angry.

But not at each other.

At me.

Arabelle's red lips curled into a smile. Not warm. Not kind. Something closer to a smirk.

"Well," she said, voice cold as the chamber walls, "you're not nearly as impressive in person as your writing makes you out to be."

Rupert stepped closer, hands behind his back, staring down at me like I was something he'd scrape off his boot.

"You've made quite the mess, Miss Thompson."

My mouth was dry. "Where... where am I?"

Rupert chuckled. "Where you need to be. Somewhere you'll have time to think."

"And reflect," Arabelle added. "On the danger of putting your nose where it doesn't belong."

I swallowed hard. "You're the ones who framed Maxwell."

Arabelle didn't flinch. "We did what was necessary to protect the throne. And you've jeopardized that with your... little article."

"You drugged me," I whispered, shaking.

"No," Rupert said. "He did." He motioned to the masked man, who stood silent. "We don't get our hands dirty. Not unless we have to."

I stood-legs trembling-but I stood. "Why? Why would you do this to him? To your own family?"

Arabelle's eyes narrowed. "Because Maxwell is a threat. Because Frederick is naïve. Because this family is one whisper away from ruin."

My voice cracked. "So you ruin them first?"

A silence fell.

Rupert looked at me then-not with anger, but with something worse. Pity.

"You don't understand our world, Miss Thompson. But you will."

He turned to the masked man.

"Don't hurt her. Not yet."

Then he and Arabelle turned and left, the door slamming shut behind them with a terrible finality that echoed like a bell.

I stood there, heart pounding.

Not just for me.

But for Maxwell.

Frederick.

Everyone.

Because if these were the people playing the game behind the throne... then we had only just seen the surface.

And I was the one who'd dared to dig.

The chamber hadn't changed. Still cold, still damp. But it felt smaller now, more suffocating.

Time had passed. Hours? A day? I didn't know. But I could feel the world spinning without me, and something in my gut told me Maxwell knew I was missing.

He had to.

I sat on the edge of the stone floor, hugging my knees, eyes trained on the iron door when I heard it again.

The latch turning.

My shoulders stiffened.

The door creaked open, casting long shadows across the chamber floor. First came the sharp clip of Arabelle's heels, then the heavier steps of Rupert behind her.

They entered like smoke-silent, purposeful, suffocating.

But this time was different.

They looked... rattled.

Arabelle's brows were drawn in tight lines, and Rupert's jaw ticked with tension, a fine crack in his perfect, princely mask.

They stood in front of me, and Rupert asked with venom and disbelief, "Who are you?"

I blinked. "You know who I am."

"No." His voice was harsher now. "Not your name. Not that. Who are you - really? What kind of journalist has the entire palace on alert? What kind of commoner sends princes into a full-blown search party?"

Arabelle crossed her arms, her cold eyes narrowing. "Maxwell has mobilized half the Royal Guard. He's asked for support from neighboring families. He's spoken with the House of Altair, the Council, even the royal press committee. They're turning over every stone in the kingdom to find you."

Rupert leaned closer. "So tell me... who are you to him?"

I kept my expression as calm as I could. Poker face. Heart racing. "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Arabelle sneered.

I shrugged, biting back my panic. "Maybe he just wants to protect his assignment."

"A prince," Rupert hissed, "doesn't call in a national alert for a journalist unless he's screwing her."

My mouth went dry.

Their eyes locked on mine. Watching. Calculating. And then, almost in perfect sync-

They laughed.

Not kind laughter.

Mocking.

Spiteful.

A dagger disguised as a chuckle.

"Oh, Maxwell," Arabelle sighed dramatically, "what a joke he's become. In love with a commoner. And not just a commoner-a journalist."

"A journalist who threatens the entire family's standing," Rupert added. "It's poetic. Really."

"You will be his downfall," Arabelle said, staring me down. "Just wait and see. The kingdom will never believe him now. Not with his heart involved. Not if he's blinded by love."

I felt something rise inside me. A fire. A clarity.

"You think love is weakness," I said quietly. "But you have no idea how powerful it is."

"Oh, please," Arabelle snapped. "Spare us the fairytale."

"No," I stood, even though my legs trembled. "You don't get to tell me I'm nothing. You don't get to laugh at what you don't understand."

Rupert raised a brow.

I stepped closer.

"This world of yours?" I pointed around the chamber. "It's not all that different from mine. There are good people, bad people, selfish people, brave ones. But power doesn't excuse cruelty. Tradition doesn't excuse abuse."

Their expressions began to shift.

And I didn't stop.

"You say you're protecting Frederick. But you're hurting him. Every month you start a new rumor just to preserve an image of a son that doesn't exist. You think that's noble? You think that's love?"

Arabelle's smile faltered.

"Frederick deserves to love who he loves. To live the life he chooses. And if the Crown can't support that, then at least his parents should."

Rupert stepped forward, eyes burning. "You presume too much-"

"No," I interrupted, voice firm. "I don't presume. I know. I've seen what you've done. I've read the articles. I've watched him suffer. You're not trying to protect him. You're trying to erase him."

"You are nothing-" Arabelle began.

"Maybe," I snapped, "but I know what love looks like. And it's not this. It's not what you show your son. It's not what you think makes a crown strong."

They were angry now.

Angrier than before.

Arabelle's face had gone pale, her lips pressed in a tight line.

Rupert's eyes were sharp with fury.

"You insolent girl," he spat. "You dare stand here-here-and lecture us?"

I stared back. "Yes. I do."

For a beat, they said nothing.

Just stared.

And then Rupert moved to Arabelle, whispered something I couldn't hear. She nodded once.

The door slammed.

And I thought that would be the worst of it - their venom, their threats, their twisted laughs.

But it wasn't.

It was the silence that followed. The stillness that wrapped around me like a noose.

Then I heard it.

A voice, low and cold, slipping under the door like smoke.

"End it. Now."

It was Rupert.

My breath hitched.

"No loose ends," Arabelle added.

The sound of footsteps retreated.

Then... a pause.

And the click of the door again.

The masked man entered, slow and quiet.

The heavy boots scraped against the stone. His figure filled the frame of the door like a shadow that had finally swallowed the light. He stepped into the chamber, the iron door groaning closed behind him.

My pulse roared in my ears.

He walked forward, closer... closer.

My voice barely worked. "Are... are you going to kill me?"

No response. His face was still hidden - mouth, nose, jaw, all obscured by that black, tactical mask. Only his eyes visible.

Sharp. Icy. Blue.

The same color as...

He stopped just a few feet in front of me.

My arms tensed against the ropes. "Please," I whispered. "If you're going to do it, just-don't make it slow."

Then he crouched.

And with slow, deliberate movements, he reached up and pulled the mask off.

My lungs emptied.

"No," I breathed.

The mask dropped to the floor.

The man looked at me - really looked.

"I would never hurt you," he said softly. "Not again."

And that voice...

That voice.

That face.

I froze.

Because I knew it.

I knew him.

My body reacted before my mind could process it.

"No..." I choked. "No, no, no-"

It was him.

James.

The eyes I had seen a thousand times in dreams - in nightmares.

The same eyes that had haunted me for years.

The boy who once followed me too closely on campus. The one who left unmarked envelopes in my mailbox. The one who said he loved me - even when I barely knew his last name.

And the same boy who vanished after I reported him for stalking.

I had never seen him again.

Until now.

Until this moment.

"How-how did you-?"

James leaned closer. "I told you once, Amy. I told you that you didn't see me. You didn't really look. But I always saw you."

My chest tightened.

"I tried to move on," he went on, his tone shifting - gentler, but unstable. "I left you alone. I watched from afar. And then you-" his jaw clenched, "you chose him. Maxwell. Like he could ever love you like I do."

I couldn't breathe.

"You don't-"

"I know everything about you," he whispered. "What you like. How you think. How you sleep. How you smile."

My stomach turned.

"I saved you from those monsters," he said, almost proudly. "And now you're mine. Finally."

He reached out, fingers ghosting my cheek.

I flinched.

James's expression darkened for a moment. Then softened again - disturbingly fast.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Amy. I promise. I just needed you to see me. And now... now, no one is going to come between us again. Not even him."

I stared at him, shaking.

I had faced royalty. I had faced corruption. I had stood in front of the Crown and defended the truth.

But this?

This was the one monster I thought I'd outrun.

And now, he had me.