Morning came without softness. Felix did not sleep well. Not really. He had closed his eyes, but his mind kept replaying the same scene. The forest. The whisper of leaves. The king's face under the moonlight.
By the time the first light slipped into his chamber, he was already awake, staring at the ceiling, jaw tight.
His fists clenched slowly. "How dare him?" He muttered under his breath. The words felt heavier now. Colder.
He rose from the bed in one sharp motion, his body stiff with determination. For a moment, he paced the room, his thoughts pulling him in different directions.
Confront him, expose him, or stay silent. None of it felt right. Or maybe all of it did. Then he stopped. "No," he said quietly. His eyes hardened.
He walked to the table, pulled out a sheet, and dipped the quill into ink. His hand hovered for a second, then began to move.
Every word came out sharp. Precise. No hesitation. He wrote everything. The forest. The voice. The face. The truth. When he finished, he read through it once. His jaw tightened again.
Then he folded the note. Carefully, and deliberately.
The raven flapped its wings once, twice, before settling on the edge of the window. Felix tied the note to its leg, his fingers steady now. "This is for Ashford," he whispered.
The bird tilted its head, then launched into the air. Felix watched it disappear into the morning sky.
For a long moment, he stood ther silently, then he turned away.
Cliffland breathed like nothing had changed. Drexo moved through the halls with the same calm authority. His voice was steady. His presence was firm.
No cracks.
No signs.
And when night came, he still slipped into the darkness. Still found his way to Maria. Still forgot the world in her arms. He did not know that he had been unmasked, not yet. But he wasn't the only one hiding his romantic affair. Cedric was.
But secrets had a way of multiplying. And Havana's spies were not resting.
The spy stepped into her chamber quietly and bowed low.
"My lady."
Havana didn't look up immediately. Her fingers tapped lightly against the arm of her chair. "Please," she said, her tone dry, "do not tell me this is about the king and Maria again."
There was a pause. The spy shook his head. "It is about Lord Cedric, and Lady Evelyn."
Havana's head snapped up. "Maria's maid?" The spy nodded once. The reaction was immediate. Her face twisted, disbelief flashing across it.
"Do not tell me," she began, her voice tightening, "that Cedric has something to do with that girl."
The silence that followed answered her.
The spy lowered his head slightly. "Regrettably, they are seeing each other."
Havana's hand flew to her head. "No!" The word came out sharp. Almost desperate. She staggered back and dropped onto the bed, her breath uneven.
"This cannot be happening." Her eyes shut tightly for a moment, as if that alone could undo what she had heard. "These children," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. "They are turning into something else."
Her hand tightened into a fist. "They think of nothing but their urges. Not the kingdom. Not the throne. Nothing."
The spy remained still. Waiting. Havana opened her eyes again and waved him off.
"You can leave." He bowed and slipped out. Leaving her alone with the weight of it.
The garden was quiet that evening. Cedric leaned back slightly, studying the chessboard in front of him.
Theon sat opposite him, his fingers tapping lightly against a piece. "You are thinking too much," Theon said casually.
Cedric smirked faintly. "That is because I am about to win." Theon raised a brow. "You say that every time."
Cedric reached forward, moving a piece with confidence. "Not this time." Before Theon could respond, a guard approached and bowed.
"Lord Cedric. The Warden requests your presence." Cedric straightened slightly, his brows pulling together.
"My mother?"
The guard nodded. Cedric stood. "I will be back," he said, glancing at Theon. "Do not alter the game."
Theon smiled faintly. "You have nothing to fear. You will not win anyway." Cedric shook his head and walked off.
The moment he stepped into Havana's chamber, something felt off.
Too quiet. Too still. He bowed. "Mother."
Havana did not return the gesture. She didn't even sit. "End your relationship with the girl."
The words landed hard. Cedric blinked. "What do you mean?" he asked slowly. "What girl are you talking about?"
"Lady Evelyn. End your secret affairs with her."
Silence.
Cedric froze. Just for a second. Then the realization hit. His expression hardened immediately.
"Do not tell me you sent your spies after me." Havana stepped closer. "This is my city," she said evenly. "Nothing happens here for long without my knowledge."
She turned her back to him, her posture rigid. "Break the relationship."
Cedric's jaw tightened. "She is of low background. You are the heir to the Rock Throne. You do not belong to the same world."
His hands curled into fists. "But I love her."
Havana turned slowly. A small smile touched her lips. Cold. Measured. "Love," she said softly, "is just a feeling. It comes, and it goes."
She stepped closer and cupped his cheeks, forcing him to look at her. "No responsible lord marries for love," she continued. "Marriage is for alliance. For power."
Her eyes locked into his. "You must end it. Before it becomes something you cannot control."
Cedric exhaled sharply. "What if I don't?"
The question hung in the air. Heavy. Havana's hands slipped away from his face. Her expression did not change. "Then forget about ever ascending the Rock Throne."
The words were quiet. But they cut deeper than any shout.
Silence stretched.
Cedric stood there, unmoving. His hands trembled slightly at his sides.
The Rock Throne.
Everything he had been raised to become. Everything he had worked for. His identity. And now, it has all boiled down to a choice.
He swallowed hard. Then nodded once. No words. No argument. He turned and walked out.
The trumpet shattered the calm of evening. Heads turned instantly. Feet moved. Eyes fixed toward the shore.
Cedric stepped out into the open, his thoughts still tangled when he saw the ship approaching.
Ashford colors. His chest tightened slightly. The ship docked slowly. Then she stepped out.
Friya Kenwool.
Her posture was straight. Her expression was sharp. She did not look like someone who came in peace.
Cedric approached and bowed. "My lady."
She didn't return it. Her eyes scanned past him. "Where is the king?"
"At the throne room," Cedric replied carefully.
Friya nodded once. "Inform him of my arrival," she said. "Tell him I demand to see him immediately."
Cedric's brows pulled together. "I am sorry, my lady," he said, his tone controlled. "I cannot deliver that message."
She stopped, then slowly turned. "He is the king," Cedric continued. "He commands. He is not commanded."
For a moment, they stared at each other. Then Friya walked past him. Straight ahead, without any hesitation, or permission.
The throne room doors opened without warning. The guards barely had time to react. Drexo looked up from his seat, surprised.
"My lady," he said, rising slightly. "I was not informed of your visit. How was your…"
She cut him off. "I want to see you in private." Her voice was sharp, cold, and final.
"Now." The room fell silent. And for the first time in a long while something felt like it was about to break.