The throne room was cold that morning.
Aurelia stood in the center of it, head bowed, heart pounding as her father's voice echoed against the high stone walls.
"You left the castle."
King Aldric's voice was a low, dangerous thing. The court had been cleared for this, only a handful of guards and advisors remaining. Her brothers watched in varying degrees of horror and frustration. None of them spoke.
Aurelia said nothing.
She dared a glance at her brothers, lined against the wall. The eldest, Prince Alric, wore a tight, unreadable expression, his jaw clenched. Dorian looked away entirely, clearly furious but unwilling to meet her eyes. Even the younger ones, Gareth and Elias, shifted uncomfortably, as though wishing they could be anywhere else.
Only Hadrian, the youngest of the sons, gave her a fleeting, sympathetic look before quickly lowering his gaze.
None of them spoke, it wasn't their place.
Aurelia was the youngest. The afterthought. The illegitimate daughter their father loved, but who didn't truly belong. And right now, none of them would risk stepping between her and the king's wrath.
The king's voice cut through the silence again. "Do you have any idea what could have happened to you, child? The kingdom is dangerous for your kind. There are men in this land who would see a royal daughter's blood spilled without hesitation. There are things far worse than men lurking in the shadows."
"I—" she started, but her throat closed up.
There was no excuse. And none that would matter.
She felt her chest burn again with the memory of that dream, of the necklace's glow, of those silver eyes in the dark.
"I wasn't harmed," she courageously answered.
The slap of her father's goblet against the floor made everyone flinch.
"You will not speak as though your recklessness is excusable." His voice dropped lower. "You are a princess of Aldervane. Your life is not yours to gamble. You are to marry for the good of this kingdom. Every breath you take is borrowed, every step you make on the shoulders of a thousand before you. You were not born for freedom, I won't have my blood disgraced by reckless foolishness," the king snapped. "If you refuse to guard yourself, then I'll see to it myself."
The words struck deeper than any blade.
Aurelia's chest ached.
But she wouldn't cry. Not here. Not in front of them.
Instead, she spoke softly. "I only wanted one night."
A bitter laugh from the throne. "And nearly cost yourself your life. That ends now."
He raised a hand. "Bring him in," he said to his guards.
The great doors opened.
A knight stepped inside, clad in dark armor trimmed with crimson. His face was hidden behind a silver wolf-shaped helm. A crimson cape brushed the floor behind him.
Aurelia's stomach dropped. Even without seeing his face, she knew.
Those eyes.
She forced herself not to react as the knight approached, kneeling before the throne.
"This is Sir Caelum," the king announced. "He is your new personal guard. He does not leave your side. Day or night. You will go nowhere without him at your back."
Aurelia's hands clenched at her sides. A gilded cage was still a cage.
"Father—"
"It is not up for debate," the king cut her off. "You will obey, or I will see you confined to your chambers until your wedding day."
"Father," she managed, her voice trembling with fury, "I don't need a shadow."
"It is not a request."
Her breath caught. Helpless rage twisted inside her, hot and bitter.
"I will not be followed like some wayward child."
"If you defy this, you will be locked away," the king snapped. "You think me cruel now, girl? Try me."
The silence that followed felt suffocating.
Aurelia's skin prickled with the weight of every eye in the room. She could feel the silent judgment of the court, the faint, pitying stares of servants who would never dare speak a word of it.
And still, those silver eyes watched her from behind the helm, steady and unblinking.
She hated them.
She hated him.
Because for the first time, someone else had seen her break the rules. Seen her reckless, desperate grab for freedom.
And now, he would be the one to chain her down.
Her throat burned, but she forced the words out, low and cold. Aurelia's lips trembled, rage and helplessness boiling beneath her skin. She wanted to scream. To run. To fight.
But she bowed.
"As you wish, Your Majesty."
The knight rose, his gaze briefly flickering toward her. A glint of something unreadable beneath the helm.
Aurelia forced herself to meet it, her voice low. "I don't need a shadow."
He said nothing.
She turned sharply on her heel and stalked out of the throne room.
And though she didn't see it, Lucien's gaze followed her until the doors closed behind her.
Aurelia's footsteps echoed through the cold stone corridors, each step heavier than the last. She wanted to run. To flee from it all. The suffocating expectations. The suffocating control. But there was nowhere to go. Her legs felt like lead as she moved down the hallway, and her thoughts churned in chaotic, helpless spirals.
The sound of her heels clicking against the stone grew louder, sharper, until she couldn't bear the noise anymore. She quickened her pace, desperate to escape the weight of the throne room, of her father's words, of the knight who would never leave her side.
She reached her chambers, her sanctuary. The door slammed shut behind her with a force that made the walls shake.
Inside, Aurelia leaned against the door, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She couldn't stop shaking. Her hands, still trembling from the king's cruel words, gripped the edge of the bed to steady herself.
Her mind wandered back to the knight, Sir Caelum—or rather, Sir Lucien, as she had come to know him. He was the one who had seen her for who she really was. The one who had witnessed her vulnerability in that fleeting moment when she had almost been taken away from the castle. But now, he was just another chain. A tool her father had used to assert his control over her.
Why him? Why now?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. She straightened, wiping away a tear she hadn't realized had fallen. She didn't want to see anyone. Not after everything. But the knock came again, more insistent this time.
Reluctantly, Aurelia opened the door.
A servant stood there, her face a mix of hesitation and concern. "Your Highness," she said softly, "the king requests your presence at dinner."
Aurelia clenched her jaw, but she said nothing. She just nodded, the weight of her father's control heavy on her chest. She couldn't refuse. Not now.
As she stepped into the hall, the sound of the servant's footsteps echoed in the silence. She followed the narrow corridors toward the dining hall, dreading what awaited her.
The doors opened, and the warm glow of the torches inside greeted her. Her father sat at the head of the table, flanked by her stepmother and the other wives. Her brothers, all but Hadrian, were already seated, their eyes flicking to her as she entered.
She kept her gaze fixed on the floor as she walked toward her seat, knowing that the eyes of the court were following her every move. She could feel their judgment, their disdain, their pity. And she hated it.
The king's voice broke the silence. "Sit," he commanded, his tone as cold as the throne room had been earlier. "You will eat with us. And you will do so in silence."
Aurelia sat, the chair scraping against the stone floor. She could feel Lucien's presence behind her, as constant and unyielding as the air she breathed. He was there, watching her every move, ready to intervene at the slightest hint of disobedience.
She could feel the heat of his gaze on her back, and it made her stomach twist with something she couldn't quite name. It wasn't fear, not exactly, but it was something close to it. Something that made her feel small, vulnerable, exposed.
Her father's voice rang out again, sharp and commanding. "You are to marry Prince Kael. And you will do so without protest. Your rebellion ends here, Aurelia."
She could feel the weight of his words pressing down on her, suffocating her.
Her heart raced. She wanted to scream, to defy him, but her father's eyes bore into her with an intensity that made her bite her lip to keep from speaking.
And there, in the shadows, Lucien stood like a silent sentinel, his presence unspoken but unmistakable. She could almost feel his eyes on her—steady, unblinking, watching for any sign of weakness.
Her hands clenched under the table. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Not yet.
The bird's wings may be clipped, but the heart—her heart—would remain free.