Things did not change overnight. At least, not in ways anyone could point to. Lord Fabio and his daughter returned to Ashford, but left Felix Kenwool to command the Ashford army.
Drexo returned to Cliffland from Dorne with the weight of a crown that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day. The victory at Dorne had not just given him land, it had given him a name. A presence. People now spoke of him with something close to belief. Not just a prince reclaiming what was stolen, but a king rising into power.
And yet, for all the noise outside, there were quiet battles he could not win as easily. Days were filled with steel.
The training yard had become his second home. Morning to dusk, he stood with warriors who had been holding swords since childhood. His hands blistered. His muscles ached. More than once, he fell hard enough to draw laughter from the watching soldiers.
But he never stopped. "Again," he would say, even when his grip trembled.
Blades clashed. Feet shifted. Sweat ran down his face, into his eyes, blurring his sight. Still, he pressed forward.
At first, they had doubted him. A king who could not fight. A ruler who had survived only because others bled for him.
But slowly, that began to change. He learned..Not quickly. Not perfectly. But stubbornly.
Each strike grew sharper. Each movement is less hesitant. He began to read his opponents, not just react to them. There were moments, brief and rare, where something inside him clicked. Where instinct took over and the sword moved before thought could slow it down.
Those moments were enough..Faith began to build. But when the sun set, and the training yard emptied. That was when everything else returned.
The nights belonged to Maria. It became a pattern neither of them spoke about, yet both followed without fail. When darkness settled and the castle quieted, Drexo would slip into shadow. A cloak drawn over his shoulders, his steps careful, measured.
No guards. No witnesses. Just silence.
The path to the Eastern forest became familiar. Almost too familiar. Each turn, each tree, each shift in the ground beneath his feet.
And she was always there, waiting.
That night was no different. Maria stood beneath the trees, the faint light of the moon catching the edge of her face. She did not speak when she saw him. She never did.
Words felt unnecessary. He reached her, and for a brief second, they simply looked at each other. Then whatever restraint remained between them broke.
Their lips met, urgent, desperate, as though time itself was against them. Hands found skin, pulling, holding, refusing to let go. The world outside that forest vanished. No crowns. No wars. No names.
Just them.
When the fire burned itself out, they lay on the dry grass, their breathing uneven, bodies still close.
Silence settled again. But this time, it was different.
Heavier.
Maria turned slightly, her chest rising and falling. "When will this stop?" Drexo frowned, still catching his breath. "What are you talking about?"
She did not look at him immediately. Her gaze drifted upward, toward the dark sky above them.
"This," she said. "Sneaking into the bush. Hiding like we are doing something wrong."
Her voice was not loud. But it carried weight..Drexo pushed himself up slightly, studying her face. "Maria!"
She turned to him now. "Pretending that we are not more than a king and a warrior."
That one landed.
Drexo's expression shifted. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. For a moment, he said nothing. "I am sorry," he said finally. "But I am still engaged to Friya."
The words felt heavier than they should have. Maria sat up abruptly. Irritation flickered across her face, sharp and unhidden. "So that is it?"
Drexo watched her carefully. "You mean all I will ever be to you is a mistress?"
The word hung there. Ugly. Unwanted. Drexo shook his head immediately. "No."
He pushed himself up to face her fully. "No, that is not what you are." His voice steadied. "I love you."
Maria's expression softened, just slightly. "And I want you to be my queen," he continued. "The one who will bear my children. The one who will stand beside me when all this is over."
For a moment, hope flickered across her face. A small thing. Fragile. "How?" she asked. "How does that happen when you are bound to another?"
Drexo exhaled slowly. "I will break the engagement." The words came out firm, but there was something behind them. Something cautious.
He held her gaze. "But not now." Maria's expression shifted again.
Drexo continued before she could speak. "Her father controls most of our sea forces. If I break it now, we will lose more than a marriage. We lose strength."
Silence stretched between them.
"We are still at war," he added quietly. "And I cannot afford to weaken us."
Maria looked away for a moment, processing. Then she nodded.
Slowly.
"I understand." The words came, but not easily. "Hopefully," she added after a pause, "the war will end soon."
Drexo nodded as well, though something in his eyes suggested he was not as certain.
The moment lingered.
Then, as if unwilling to let it end there, he pulled her closer again. Their bodies found each other once more, seeking comfort in something they could still control.
Time slipped. Hours passed without notice. Until the sky began to lighten. That was always the signal.
Without words, they separated. Dressed. Stepped back into the roles the world demanded of them.
By the time the first light touched the castle walls, they were gone. Back where they belonged. Or where they were expected to be.
But that night, they had not been alone. Hidden among the trees, far enough to remain unseen, close enough to witness everything, a figure remained still.
Watching, and waiting.
Havana's spy did not move until long after they had left. Even then, his steps were careful, deliberate. He retraced his path through the forest, his mind already racing ahead.
By morning, he stood before Havana's door. He knocked once. Then again. The door opened.
He stepped in and bowed low. "My lady." Havana did not look up immediately. She remained seated, her fingers lightly touching the arm of her chair.
"Do you have anything for me?" The spy lifted his head slightly. "Yes, my lady."
A pause.
Then he spoke. "The king is having a romantic relationship with commander Maria Woodland."
The words settled into the room like something alive. Havana's head snapped up.
"What?"
The spy held his ground. "I have been watching him for days. He leaves the castle every night."
Havana's eyes narrowed. "I followed him yesterday," he continued. "He went to the Eastern forest."
A brief hesitation. Then, "She was already there." Havana rose slowly to her feet. "And?" she asked, her voice quieter now.
The spy swallowed. "They did not meet to talk." That was enough. Havana staggered back a step, her hand brushing against the edge of the table behind her..For a moment, she said nothing. Her mind moved quickly, piecing together consequences before the emotions could catch up.
Friya. Fabio Kenwool. The alliance. The war. Everything.
"This," she whispered, almost to herself. Her fingers curled slightly. "This will not end well." The spy remained silent.
Havana turned away from him, her gaze distant now, fixed on something only she could see. Because she already understood what this meant. Not just a secret. Not just a betrayal. But a fracture. And fractures, spread.