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Chapter Summary –As the Coronation Ball continues late in the evening, Drake continues his pursuit of Riley Brooks, a newcomer from America, which was a breath of fresh air in his world. Leo arrives with his wife, Katie, to celebrate his brother. Madeleine takes the opportunity to confront her former betrothed. Hana recognizes a connection with Madeleine.

Words: 10k

A/N1: Bethany Beaumont, Maxwell’s mother, is originally from the U.S. and is Barthelemy Beaumont’s second wife. Annabelle Beaumont (deceased) is Bertrand’s mother.

A/N2: ‘Social Season’ in this AU series refers to a traditional period in the spring/summer for royalty and members of the court to take part in Balls, dinner parties and charity events.

A/N3: Heartfelt thanks to @Selina012 for joining me in writing ideas and with dialogue/content for this chapter and series.

A/N4: Thank you @selina012 for pre-reading

 The splendor of the Cordonian Royal Palace was on full display tonight, reaching its zenith on the night of King Liam Rys's coronation ball.

The very air itself seemed thick and sweet from the grand celebration, filled with a heady fragrance woven from high-end perfumes, century-old antique wood wax, and the thousands of white roses air-shipped from the royal greenhouses. Massive crystal chandeliers hung like a frozen, falling river of stars from the vaulted ceiling, which was painted with myths of creation. They cast millions of soft, brilliant rays of light onto the gleaming white marble floor below, illuminating the magnificent attire and glittering jewels of every guest.

This evening, Cordonia’s elite—those with influence, riches, and noble heritage—assembled together. As the orchestra performed, guests exchanged hushed conversations about politics, commerce, and upcoming ambitions before heading to the dance floor.

In the centre of the ballroom, Liam stood tall and confident, but his composure softened instantly when he glanced at the woman beside him.

Sophia Taylor, his newly betrothed fiancée and the future Queen of Cordonia, stood charmingly at his side. Her auburn hair was swept up into an elegant yet slightly informal chignon, with a few wisps framing her face and accentuating the swan-like grace of her neck. She wore no overly extravagant jewels with her exquisite scarlet ball gown ... only the diamond engagement ring Liam had given her. It glittered on her finger, quiet yet resolute, as if announcing her new status to the world.

Sophie listened to the opening strands of the next waltz, her hand warmly enveloped in his. She could feel his fingers give her a gentle, reassuring squeeze whenever a guest's gaze lingered on her for too long. It was his silent way of telling her, "Don't be nervous. I'm here." She would return a soft smile, and in that silent exchange lay a bond of love and understanding more eloquent than any grand declaration. One possessed a dignified and composed nature, whereas the other embodied grace and resolve; together, they made an ideal match when the king chose his queen.

Sophie had to admit, as she glanced up at her handsome fiancé, that she felt a sense of pride as the center of attention ... but her heart still fluttered in her chest. Her reality forever changed from this day forward.

How could anyone live up to these expectations? She knew everyone was looking to her to make the right impression, but what if she couldn’t?

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

‘You can do this and know what needs to be done.’ Sophie chided to herself silently.

"If I may say, your majesty," a voice said, drawing Liam's attention. A distinguished-looking older man bowed his head to Liam. "We all look forward to your, and the future queen's rule."

"Thank you," Liam smiled, nodding graciously.

"If I may, your Majesty..." A young, attractive woman spoke up. "It would be my honor if you saved a dance for me tonight." She batted her eyes, smiling sweetly at him.

Sophie's heart skipped a beat, but she stayed calm. She could tell that the woman's intentions were nothing but professional and was not a threat to her relationship. She knew how to read people, and the woman was simply a politician with aspirations for the crown, and that was nothing new.

Liam glanced at Sophie. "I would, but I've promised all of my dances tonight to Lady Sophia," he said, giving Sophie's hand another squeeze. "I'm sure you'll find many other eligible suitors, though."

"Ah, of course, your majesty. Congratulations on your engagement." She turned to Sophie, giving her a polite smile and bow.

Sophie returned with a polite nod and responded, "Thank you."

As soon as the woman had left, Liam leaned closer and whispered into Sophie's ear, "She's married, by the way."

"I had a feeling," Sophie replied dryly.

Liam gave her a wry grin. "She's also a member of the royal family in a neighboring kingdom, which might cause an incident. Not to mention, her husband is the prime minister. It would be political suicide."

Sophie couldn't help but laugh. "Then, it's a good thing you're a one-woman man," she replied, and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

Liam grinned. "Always."

"Your Majesty," another man spoke up. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but do you plan on taking an official engagement portrait together soon? I'd love to get a copy for my own collection."

"I do, yes. We've got a photographer coming to the palace soon. I'm sure we could get you a copy."

"Thank you. That would be wonderful. You two make such a fine couple."

"You're too kind," Sophie said, giving him a smile.

On the other side of the ballroom, near the long tables laden with exquisite desserts, Maxwell Beaumont, a camera in one hand and a bubbling cocktail in the other, weaved through his circle of friends.

"...So, I told him, if you have a problem with my taste in party music, you are more than welcome to go listen to classical symphonies in Bertrand's study all night. I guarantee the atmosphere there is sufficiently 'solemn'!" he recounted with dramatic flair, making everyone around him roar with laughter.

Daniel stood beside him, shaking his head in mock exasperation, though his lips were curved in an affectionate smile. He wore a chic black suit, an interesting contrast to Maxwell's slightly ostentatious suit with its silver embroidery. "Max, I'm willing to bet Duke Bertrand's study does not contain a weeping violinist who's sad because he can't comprehend your 'avant-garde' electronic music."

"Hey! That's art!" Maxwell protested, before leaning closer to Daniel and lowering his voice. "But seriously, when the old-fashioned band takes a break, would you care to try a real dance with me?"

Daniel looked into his sparkling, hopeful eyes and laughingly stuffed a macaron into his mouth. "Talk to me again when you've convinced His Majesty to turn the royal ball into a disco."

Their playful banter and laughter were the most genuine and vibrant notes in the grand symphony of the evening.

Meanwhile, near the entrance to the terrace, Drake Walker and Riley leaned against a massive Roman column, watching the glittering world before them with the detached air of outsiders. The orchestra's music rose and fell, its graceful melody filling the air around them, but their thoughts were elsewhere.

"Do you ever wonder what your life would have been like if you'd never come to the palace?" Riley asked softly, glancing up at Drake. "I try not to."

"Why not?"

"Because I might have spent my life thinking the grass is greener somewhere else. Only to come back and realize the grass was green where I left it all along."

"Is that the truth?"

Drake turned his gaze away, "I only care about what's real," Drake said, taking a sip of his whiskey. The pungent liquid slid down his throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste. This coronation of King Liam, as his best friend, he should have been joyous, but his straightforward temper and candid nature made him feel out of place. Watching Liam and Sophie's tender affection, Maxwell and Daniel's flirtatious banter, he thought of Melanie and that extremely undignified breakup. He had once believed he had found someone to stand by his side, only to find out it was all a carefully calculated ruse. Only with Riley did he feel a sliver of ease. This woman from America, like him, had eyes that saw through pretense.

Riley sighed and looked down at her heels, the same pair she'd worn to the last event at the palace. She could feel Drake’s dark gaze lingering on her and felt the warmth creep up her neck.

"You should care, Drake," she said quietly. "Because no matter what, you're real. You're here, and I don't know what I'd do without you."

He paused, the words catching in his throat, then nodded. "And I don't know what I'd do without a certain smart, snarky, stubborn New Yorker."

Riley smirked. "Careful, Drake. Your heart's starting to show."

"Not much," he shrugged. "Just the part that's grateful."

"Yeah, yeah," she said, nudging his shoulder.

"Come on, Brooks. Let's grab another drink and a bite to eat."

"Lead the way."

A waiter walked past with a tray of champagne glasses, and they each took one, clinking their glasses together.

"To the new king," Drake said, raising his glass.

"To Liam. Long may he reign," Riley replied, and they both drank.

Riley watched Liam together with Sophie, who appeared comfortable in his presence.

"I was afraid it was going to end badly. But here they are, together. It's like she was born for this life." Drake responded.

"Maybe she was," Riley shrugged.

"Maybe."

"Are you alright, Drake?"

Drake shook his head and looked away. "No," he replied honestly.

"Well, I'm here for you, Drake," Riley said.

"You don't know what it means for me to hear that."

"Oh, please," she laughed.

"Brooks," Drake began, turning to her. "I think it's time we-"

Suddenly, a hush fell over the room, and they both turned their attention to the entrance.

...Except for one person.

"His Highness, Prince Leo Rys, and Lady Katie Rys."

Countess Madeleine Amaranth stood in the shadows of a grand column in the least conspicuous corner of the ballroom, nursing a glass of red wine she had barely touched. The light here was dim, the crowd sparse. It allowed her to keep a presence while avoiding, as much as possible, the probing eyes of certain members of the court.

She felt like a phantom, an anachronistic ghost from a bygone era, forced to attend the grand celebration of her own burial.

The expensive, custom-made hunter-green velvet gown she wore felt like a heavy shroud. The emeralds dotting the fabric glittered coldly in the dim light, mirroring the state of her heart.

All of this should have been hers.

This ball, this celebration, the coveted spot beside the King. She should have been the heroine of the evening, accepting congratulations and envy, planning her magnificent life as the future queen. But now, she was nothing. She was merely the "former" fiancée of the "former" Crown Prince. A joke. A discarded, obsolete symbol.

Her gaze then shot like a poisoned arrow across the crowd, landing on the scarlet figure. Sophia Taylor. The orphan from America, the girl who, with a bit of luck and a pretty face, had stolen the spotlight from her. Madeleine watched the happy smile on her face, saw the undisguised love in Liam's eyes as he looked at her, and felt a fire ignite in her stomach.

She didn't love Leo, not ever. Their engagement had been a transaction from the start, an alliance for family glory and political gain. What she craved was everything the title "Queen" entailed—power, status, and supreme honor. Leo had merely been the ladder to that throne. But now, Leo had kicked the ladder out from under her and pushed her off the cliff for good measure.

What she couldn't bear was how those who once flocked to her now avoided her like the plague. She could feel the stares of the other noble ladies. They would glance over nonchalantly; their eyes filled with a pity that reeked of schadenfreude. Their whispers, even from across the vast ballroom, seemed to reach her ears with perfect clarity.

"Look, it's Countess Madeliene...poor thing."

"Yes, I heard Prince Leo found some commoner girlfriend abroad and gave up the throne for her."

"Tsk, tsk, and she was so magnificent then, and now..."

These words were sharper than any blade.

Her eyes fell on Penelope and Kiara. Her former "friends," her most loyal "ladies-in-waiting." They were now laughing merrily with another, as if they had never known her. Madeleine remembered the month she'd locked herself away in her estate in Krona, refusing all visitors. She had thought they would worry, that they would persist. But they hadn't. After a few rebuffed attempts, they had given up completely. Their friendship, it turned out, was as fragile as her engagement.

Madeleine gripped her wine glass, the cool liquid doing nothing to quell the fire in her heart. She downed the crimson liquid in one go. The harsh alcohol burned her throat and ignited the last, desperate fuse of her sanity.

Just then, the orchestra's music shifted, and a slow, emotional waltz began to play. The herald announced in his magnetic voice, "And now, let us welcome with the warmest applause our esteemed King Liam, and his beautiful fiancée, Duchess Sophia Taylor, for their first dance of the evening!"

The chandeliers dimmed, and a single spotlight found Liam and Sophie in the center of the dancefloor. Liam gave Sophie an elegant bow, and she responded with a perfect curtsy. Then, they danced.

Their steps were flawless, every spin, every glance filled with love and a seamless connection. Sophie's red gown bloomed in the air like a vibrant, blossoming rose, and Liam's eyes never left her. The world seemed to stop just for them. They were the prince and princess from a fairy tale, the very embodiment of perfect love in everyone's eyes.

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause and murmurs of admiration.

But for Madeleine, that applause was the death knell of her own tragedy.

She watched the perfect couple in the center of the dance floor, blessed by all, admired by all. That piercing spotlight illuminated not only their happiness but also her own inescapable, monumental failure and humiliation.

Leo Rys.

The name was like a rusty key, shoved brutally into her heart and twisted. Why was he here? Hadn't he abandoned the throne, abandoned all of this, for his ridiculous pursuit of freedom? By what right, what audacity did he show his face at his brother's coronation ball?

Madeleine instinctively turned her head toward the dancefloor. And then, saw him. And the clothes he was wearing.

In that instant, her breath caught in her throat.

That uniform. She knew it to her bones. It was the very deep blue, gold-trimmed formal attire standing for the highest authority of the Cordonian Armed Forces. The golden sash was slung across his broad chest, the tasseled epaulets glittered with authority under the chandeliers, and the medals of honor pinned to his breast—she had straightened every single one of them for him herself in the past.

For the last five years, every time they had attended a major court event together, every time they had stood side-by-side as the future King and Queen consort to receive the fealty of their subjects, Leo had worn a uniform exactly like this. That uniform was the symbol of their status, the very embodiment of their shared future, the vessel for all of Madeleine's ambitions and dreams.

But now, he was wearing that uniform, which symbolized duty and tradition, and the woman beside him was not her.

His companion, this Katie, was a stark contrast to Cordonian court fashion, dressed in a deep yellow ballgown. Her face was lit with a brilliant, guileless smile, one hand linked naturally through Leo’s arm. And Leo himself wore a genuine, unprecedentedly relaxed smile.

It was a bitter, classic proverb come to life: the setting was the same, but the players had changed. He was wearing their uniform, but for another woman. He had already abdicated, he was no longer the Crown Prince, yet he chose to wear this specific attire, turning it into a grand, personal farce directed solely at her. Was he mocking her? Was this his way of showing everyone that even without the throne, even with a new woman at his side, he could still command this world, and that she, Madeleine, was nothing more than a disposable accessory?

In Madeleine's eyes, that uniform was no longer a symbol of honor. It was a costume, the most vicious costume, worn for the sole purpose of her humiliation.

She watched Leo lean down to whisper something to Katie, and Katie threw her head back and laughed, even playfully swatting his chest—her hand landing directly on the Star of the Holy Cross medal, the one she had once believed would forever signify her status as his consort.

That happiness, that casual intimacy, was a red-hot poker pressed against Madeleine’s heart. She felt the blood freeze in her veins.

How dare he? How dare he wear that uniform, with that woman, and come here, to this stage that should have been hers, to attend his brother’s coronation.

It was a complete repudiation of the last five years of her life, a cruel trampling of all her pride.

Madeleine’s rationality was being devoured, bit by bit. She watched them walk casually into the hall, heading not for the main table, but straight toward Drake and Riley, as if drawn by a magnet. She saw Drake’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise before he greeted Leo with a brotherly slap on the back. She saw Riley embrace Katie warmly, as if they were old friends.

So, everyone knew.

Everyone accepted it.

Only she, Madeleine, was kept in the dark, cast out. She had become a complete and utter outsider.

Her breathing grew ragged, her chest heaving. Something inside her snapped. The string of reason and pride, stretched taut for so long, had finally broken. The storm was about to break.

To Madeleine, the spotlight on Liam and Sophie felt like public judgment. Each illuminated moment was a reminder of her defeat. Watching them dance, Sophie’s red dress stung her pride, and the applause echoed her loss.

Madeleine’s body stood rigid in the shadows of the column. The cold marble was the only thing that felt real. She forced her gaze away from the nauseatingly perfect couple, searching for an escape. She saw, in the distance, Penelope and Kiara chatting and laughing with several other ladies of the court. Kiara even gracefully covered her mouth with her hand as she laughed at some joke. They didn't look at her, not even once. It was as if she, Madeleine Amaranth, the woman who had been their inseparable companion, the one who had co-reigned over the core of the court's social circle, had simply become invisible air.

A familiar, acidic taste of betrayal rose in her throat. She remembered the month she had locked herself away in her manor, refusing to see anyone. Their visits had ceased after the third refusal. So, this was the shelf life of their friendship, its end date engraved on the back of the title "The Queen-to-be."

She took a deep breath, ordering herself to remain calm. She was still the countess of her duchy, she told herself, her bloodline still noble. She could not be defeated so easily. She needed to re-engage, to prove to everyone that even without Leo, without the title of Queen, she was still Countess Madeleine Amaranth of Fydelia, a woman not to be trifled with.

She straightened the non-existent creases on her hunter-green velvet gown, squared her shoulders, and plastered a well-rehearsed smile of detached elegance onto her face. She took a step, intending to join a circle of barons and viscounts discussing the safe and tedious topic of horses and hunting.

"Good evening, Lord Arnault," she began, her voice steady, trying to merge with their conversation.

The young baron she addressed started, as if spooked by a sudden phantom. "Oh—oh, good evening, Lady...Countess Madeleine," he stammered. The others in his circle shot her awkward, fleeting glances, and their conversation died. A suffocating silence descended upon the small group.

They were pitying her. Or rather, they were savoring her predicament.

Madeleine felt her cheeks burn. She tried to think of something to say to break the dreadful impasse, but her mind was a blank. Just then, a slight commotion at the grand entrance, followed by the herald's voice, rescued her from this invisible pillory.

She could bear it no longer.

She felt like a volcano about to erupt, the magma of her rage churning within. She set her wine glass down, the heavy crystal making a dull thud against the marble tabletop. Gathering her gown, she pushed through the crowd, step by step, making her way towards Leo.

Her gait was steady, each step landing on a shard of her own dignity. The surrounding guests sensed the unusual atmosphere, parting for her as she passed. The music seemed to fade, and all eyes focused on her, filled with curiosity, surprise, and anticipation.

She reached Leo. He had his back to her, laughing about something with Drake.

"Leo."

Madeleine spoke in a quiet, cold voice that immediately silenced the conversation.

Leo’s laughter died. He turned around slowly. When he saw Madeleine's face, twisted with fury, the smile vanished from his own, replaced by an expression of weary annoyance, as if he had been expecting this.

He said nothing.

He glanced at her briefly, his expression uninterested, then resumed talking to Drake as if Madeleine wasn’t even there.

This utter dismissal was more lethal than any vicious words could ever be. It was like an invisible hand, closing around Madeleine's throat, choking off the accusations and condemnations she had prepared.

"How dare you!" After a moment of suffocation, she finally found her voice, but it was made shriller by the humiliation of being ignored. "How dare you show up here dressed like that! At his—at your brother's coronation ball, wearing that uniform, with… her!"

Leo still did not look at her. He even turned his body slightly, shielding Katie more completely by his side, and continued his hushed conversation with his friends as if Madeleine's shriek were just an irritating bit of feedback in the background music.

"Countess Madeleine," he said simply, his tone implying, "what are you doing here?"

"How dare you," Madeleine's voice began to tremble, but she fought to control it, her eyes fixed on the medals on his chest. "How dare you show up here dressed like that. At his—at your brother's coronation ball, wearing that uniform, with… her." She used all her strength not to lose her composure on the last word.

Katie's smile faded, and she looked with confusion at this hostile woman, instinctively moving closer to Leo.

"I thought you would have at least a shred of shame, Leo," Madeleine’s voice grew louder, drawing more attention. "You abandoned your duty, your kingdom, your family… and your betrothal! You've turned the uniform that stands for Cordonia's highest honor into a costume to entertain your new lover! You've made a mockery of everyone, and then you stroll in here as if nothing happened, to celebrate your despicable 'freedom'?"

Leo's brow furrowed tightly. Not from guilt, but from sheer annoyance. "I suggest you lower your voice, Madeleine. This is Liam's coronation ball. Don't make a scene."

"A scene?" Madeleine laughed, a hysterical sound that was sharp and mournful. "I'm making a scene? Isn't my very existence right now a scene of your making?! You have turned me into the biggest joke in all of Cordonia! You have reduced me from the future queen to a cast-off woman whispered about behind cupped hands! And now you have the gall to tell me not to 'make a scene'? What right do you have?!"

Her voice echoed in the grand ballroom. Even the distant orchestra had stopped playing. The entire hall fell silent, and everyone held their breath, watching the epicenter of the royal storm.

Sophie and Liam had approached, Liam’s face grim. He started to step forward, but Sophie gently held him back. She shook her head, signaling him not to interfere. This was a reckoning between Leo and Madeleine, one that had to be seen through.

Madeleine’s chest heaved. She stared at Leo with bloodshot eyes as if she wanted to tear him apart. "You ruined everything! You never even gave me a formal apology, not a single explanation! You just vanished, and then you show up with her! Tell me, is watching me suffer, watching me be pitied and ridiculed by everyone, the most thrilling part of your 'grand adventure'?!"

Faced with her desperate accusations, Leo's expression remained utterly blank. He watched her without anger, without guilt, only with a deep, profound weariness and detachment, the way one might watch a stranger having a tantrum.

He finally spoke, his voice so calm it was cruel.

"This was never about you, Countess Madeleine."

"It was never about you. It was about me. About the person I refused to become, and the life I refused to live. You were simply a part of that life. A symbol I had to shed. And now, I have."

He paused, then delivered the final blow.

"Now, if you are finished, please step aside. We have friends to greet."

With that, he didn't spare her another glance. He put a gentle, firm hand on Katie's shoulder and guided her around Madeleine, as if she were nothing more than a pillar in his way, an inconvenient piece of furniture.

In that instant, Madeleine felt her entire world shatter.

Leo's indifference was more wounding than any vicious words could ever be. It was a complete and utter dismissal from the very core of his being. He couldn't even be bothered to argue with her, because wasting emotion on her was, to him, a superfluous effort.

She was left standing there, all alone, under the collective gaze of the entire court. Those stares were like a thousand needles, piercing her from every direction. She heard the stifled gasps, the snickers of schadenfreude, the silent looks of pity.

All her pride, all her pretense, was annihilated in that moment.

The wine glass in her hand, which she hadn't realized was empty, trembled. She tried to set it down on a passing waiter's tray, but her hand slipped.

The wine glass in her hand, which she hadn't realized was empty, trembled. She tried to set it down on a passing waiter's tray, but her hand slipped.

A choked, guttural sob, like that of a wounded animal, escaped from the depths of her throat.

She couldn't take it anymore.

She clapped her hands over her face and turned. Gathering her heavy, hunter-green skirt, she ran, heedless of her grace, bolting for the ballroom's grand doors, leaving all the glamour, all the stares, and all the humiliation behind her.

----------------

The sharp, crystalline sound of the shattering glass seemed to hang in the air, a final, jarring note that had abruptly silenced the magnificent symphony of the celebration. The entire grand hall plunged into an eerie, suffocating silence. The lilting waltz had stopped mid-bar; the musicians looked at one another, instruments in hand, then glanced helplessly at their conductor. The sounds of a successful party—the chatter, the laughter, the clinking of glasses—had all been vacuumed out of the room in an instant.

All that remained was silence. An awkward, heavy silence, thick with shock and curiosity.

Every eye was instinctively drawn to the small scene of devastation. On the mirror-like white marble floor, the scarlet wine spread like a startling pool of blood amidst the countless glittering fragments of crystal. It wasn't just a broken glass; it was Madeleine's dignity, shattered on the floor.

A quick-witted palace attendant, his steps nearly soundless, glided over. With a silver dustpan and brush in his gloved hands, he swiftly and professionally cleared away the debris. Another attendant knelt on the floor with a soft white cloth, carefully wiping away the red stain, trying to erase this unseemly drama from the very floorboards that symbolized royal glory.

King Constantine's face was an unreadable mask, but his narrowed eyes and tightly pressed lips betrayed his deep displeasure. Queen Regina sighed softly, a complex, almost pitying emotion flickering in her eyes. In the end, it was Liam, the new King, who gave the conductor a calm, reassuring nod.

As if granted a pardon, the conductor at once raised his baton. A new piece of music, more subdued and cautious than before, tentatively began to fill the hall.

The tension in the room eased, and the guests resumed their conversations in hushed tones. Their attention shifted away from the future of the new King and turned instead to the recent developments involving the former crown prince’s fiancée.

The scandal had now replaced Liam and Sophie's perfect dance as the evening's most talked-about 'entertainment.'

"Oh, my goodness..." Penelope whispered, her voice trembling. "That... that was just dreadful! I've never seen Madeleine like that. She looked... she looked as if she was going mad."

Beside her, Lady Kiara Theron, the diplomat's daughter, was far more composed. She simply raised her champagne flute and took a delicate sip, her gaze indifferent as she watched the spot where Madeleine had disappeared, as if seeing the predictable conclusion of a play she had seen many times before.

"I can't say I'm surprised," Kiara said, her voice as placid as still water. "When one's entire world is built upon the status and promises of others, a collapse is inevitable once the foundation is removed."

"But... but she was our friend!" Penelope's tone was full of a naive urgency. She tugged at Kiara's sleeve. "Shouldn't we... go and see if she's alright? She ran out all alone. What if... what if she does something foolish?"

At this, Kiara finally turned her head, fixing Penelope with a look that was almost clinical in its appraisal. "A friend?" she repeated the word, a sarcastic curve to her lips. "Penelope, have you forgotten? Who was it last month who shut herself away in her manor like an oyster, refusing even our visits? Who was it, just a few days ago in the royal gardens, who informed us in that haughty tone that she didn't need our 'pity and compassion'?"

Penelope was left speechless by the questions, stammering, "But... but she was in a bad mood then..."

"When she was in a foul mood, she pushed us away. Now that she needs comforting, are we supposed to run back to her with our tails wagging like loyal pets?" Kiara's voice remained calm, but it was edged with an undeniable sharpness. "With all due respect, Penelope, she closed that door herself. We are under no obligation to knock on it for her again."

Penelope looked into Kiara's rational, almost cold eyes, then at the crowds in the ballroom who were, indeed, resuming their chatter and laughter. The small spark of kindness and hesitation in her heart was finally extinguished by the tide of reality. She let her shoulders slump in defeat and nodded. "You... you're right."

"My word!" exclaimed Maxwell as he fiddled with his camera. "I've organised parties that caused less commotion than what's happening now. I wish I'd gotten a better shot—this is sure to be front-page news in Cordonia's society columns."*

"Max!" Daniel nudged him with his elbow, exasperated. "Can you not be so gleeful? I know that Madeleine woman isn't exactly pleasant, but she looked genuinely miserable."

"Miserable? That's called reaping what you sow," came Drake's voice from the side. He was leaning against a column, arms crossed over his chest, his expression as grim as ever. "She treated marriage like a business deal and Leo like a tool to become queen. The tool is no longer hers, so the business has gone bankrupt. There's nothing to pity."

Their analysis was cool and objective, but Sophie couldn't bring herself to be so detached. She looked at the spot on the floor, now clean but still seeming to hold an invisible stain, and said softly, "But it's just... something wrong. To want a title so badly that you lose yourself completely. To lose all your friends, and yourself..."

Her words cast a brief silence over the group.

It was then that Hana, who had been quiet all this time, suddenly spoke. Her voice was soft, yet startlingly clear.

"I think I'll go find her."

Everyone turned to look at her in surprise.

"What?" Maxwell was the first to react. "Hana, are you kidding? Why would you do that? She's like a grumpy lioness right now; she'll bite the head off anyone who gets close."

"He's right," Drake added with a frown. "This isn't your problem. You don't need to get involved."

But Hana shook her head. Her eyes, which usually held a timid light, were now shining with an unprecedented, determined glow. She turned to Sophie, as if seeking her understanding.

"Sophie," she said softly, "I have to go."

Sophie looked at her, her expression filled with concern. "Why, Hana? She's in a very unstable state of mind. I don't want you to get hurt."

Hana took a deep breath, as if summoning all the courage she possessed. She looked at Sophie, and at the other friends gathered around her, and said, word by word, "Because when she was standing there, shouting... I saw something more than just her."

Her voice trembled slightly but was incredibly sincere.

"I saw myself. A possible version of myself."

"I saw my parents, far away in Shanghai, planning my future like a precise map, telling me I must become part of the court, telling me I must pursue a wealthy man I don't even know. A business transaction. They call it the family's glory, my duty. They never once asked me what I wanted."

"I look at Madeleine, and everything she did—wasn't it also to meet her father's expectations, for the glory of the Amaranth family? She turned herself into a tool, a beautiful, polished tool for acquiring power. And now that the tool has been discarded, she is in so much pain, so desperate."

"I'm afraid," Hana's voice dropped lower, tinged with a real, undisguised vulnerability. "I'm afraid that if I keep obeying, one day, I will become just like her. So," Hana's gaze grew incredibly firm, "I want to go find her. Maybe... maybe she just needs someone to talk to who understands. Not someone who understands her failure as a 'former fiancée,' but someone who understands her pain as a 'daughter,' as a 'tool.'"

After Hana finished speaking, everyone fell silent. For the first time, they saw in this quiet, introverted girl such profound insight and such immense courage.

Sophie was touched; she didnt know Hana's background, but hadn't expected Madeleine's crisis to reflect Hana's own fate. Feeling sympathy for Hana, Sophie was also proud of her courage.

"Alright," Sophie finally said, her voice full of support and trust. "Then you should go. But promise me you'll be careful. If she's still very emotional, or if she makes you feel uncomfortable, you come right back, okay? Call me. I'll come find you immediately."

Hana nodded emphatically, a grateful, relieved smile spreading across her face. "Thank you, Sophie, and everyone. all of you. I will."

She gave her new friends one last look, then gathered her gown, turned, and walked without hesitation toward the golden doors through which Madeleine had vanished. Her figure was small, but her steps were uncommonly firm.

In the ballroom, the soothing music continued to play, and the guests had resumed their elegant chatter, as if the storm had never happened. But Sophie and her friends knew that tonight, something had quietly, irrevocably changed.

Hana slipped a shawl over her shoulders, raised her gown, and slipped out of the ballroom through the ornate doors, choosing the quiet nighttime palace gardens over the lively music and lights indoors.

Silvery moonlight streamed through the windows, casting light across the gallery and onto the gardens outside. Hana hurried past, adrenaline and resolve coursing through her, while the serious expressions of royal portraits watched her every move.

She feared confronting Madeleine, whose pride intimidated her. Yet, staying silent meant remaining trapped by her own timidity. Inspired by Sophie's courage and seeing Madeleine break down, she realised what she could become if she didn't change. This fear finally pushed her to face conflict.

She descended the marble steps. The night air, carrying the damp scent of roses and night-blooming jasmine, brushed against her face, cooling the nervous heat on her skin. The garden was much darker than the ballroom. Massive hedges, trimmed into geometric shapes, cast vast, deep shadows like silent beasts. In the distance, a three-tiered fountain tirelessly tossed jets of water into the air. The droplets shattered into a million glittering diamonds in the moonlight before falling back into the basin with a crisp, monotonous sound, like the echo of weeping.

Hana's gaze searched the winding paths paved with white gravel. Finally, behind the fountain, in the shadows of a row of Grecian statues depicting mythological figures, she found her.

Madeleine was huddled on a cold stone bench. She had kicked off one of her high heels, which lay abandoned at her feet. The magnificent hunter-green velvet gown was now wrinkled and crumpled in her lap, its hem stained with dirt and bits of grass from her desperate flight. She was no longer the lofty Countess, no longer the radiant queen-to-be. At this moment, she was just a helpless woman, abandoned by the world. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, her shoulders shaking violently with silent, suppressed sobs that were somehow more heart-wrenching than any loud wail.

Hana stopped a few paces away. She looked at Madeleine's back, at the spine that was once held so straight but was now bent in sorrow, and a powerful, aching sympathy rose in her heart. She took a deep breath. The cool garden air filled her lungs and solidified her final resolve.

She took a step forward. The gravel crunched under her foot, a sound that was faint, yet startlingly clear in the stillness.

Madeleine’s body went rigid. The sobbing stopped instantly. She was like a startled, wounded animal, whipping her head around.

Her face was pale in the moonlight, her makeup smeared by tears into dark streaks. Her eyes were red and swollen, yet full of stubborn hostility and alertness.

"Who's there?" her voice was hoarse, as if scraped raw by sand.

Hana's heart leaped into her throat. She took a few more steps forward, out of the shadow of the hedge, letting the moonlight illuminate her own face.

"Madeleine... Countess Madeliene?" Hana ventured, her voice lighter, more tremulous than she’d intended.

Madeleine squinted, taking several seconds to focus on the newcomer. A flicker of confusion crossed her features, as she clearly didn't recognize this Asian face, but it was at once replaced by a sharper, more piercing anger of being intruded upon.

"Who are you?" she demanded, as if Hana's very presence was a crime. "No matter who you are, get out!"

"I..." Hana was pricked by the thorns in her tone and instinctively took half a step back, but she didn't leave.

"Didn't you hear me?!" Madeleine's voice rose sharply. She struggled to sit up straight on the bench, trying to reassemble the shattered pieces of her pride. "Were you sent to laugh at me? Was it Sophia Taylor? Or that fool, Penelope? Go back and tell them that even in my ruin, I, Madeleine Amaranth, am not a spectacle for commoners and traitors to pity! Get out!"

The word "commoner" stung Hana for a moment, but strangely, she felt no anger. Because in Madeleine's furious, defensive roar, she heard a desperate whimper.

"My name is Hana Lee," Hana said, not leaving. She simply stood there, her tone so calm it was almost stubborn. "I wasn't sent by anyone. I'm not here to pity you, or to laugh at you."

Madeleine let out a cold, shrill laugh that sounded jarring in the quiet garden. "Oh? Then what are you here for? To admire a discarded antique as it decays in the moonlight?"

"No," Hana shook her head. Her gaze drifted past Madeleine to the fountain, endlessly repeating its cycle of rising and falling. "I'm here because... when you were in the ballroom tonight... doing what you did, I think... I understood how you felt."

"You understood me?" Madeleine sounded as if she had just heard the world's most absurd joke. "You? A girl whose name I don't even know, who appeared from God knows where, you say you understand me? What do you know of five years? Do you know what it's like to be groomed from birth for a single purpose, for your life to be a single path leading to the throne of a queen? Do you know what it feels like when that path suddenly crumbles beneath your feet? You know nothing!"

Her emotions flared again, her voice turning sharp. But Hana didn't argue. She just listened quietly, waiting for her to finish.

Only when Madeleine paused, panting from the outburst, did Hana speak again. Her voice was still soft, but it carried an undeniable force.

"Perhaps I don't know what five years is like, or what it feels like to be a queen in waiting," she said slowly. "But I do know what it feels like when your parents look at you, and see not you, but their own unfulfilled ambitions and the glory of their family name. I know what it feels like to have a price tag put on your life, to be told that your worth is measured only by the benefit you can bring to your family."

Madeleine's ragged breathing stopped abruptly.

Hana did not look at her. Her gaze remained on the distant fountain, as if she were telling someone else's story.

"My parents sent me to Cordonia not because I love its history or its art, but because they felt this was the best market where I could realize my 'value.' They told me to study court etiquette, to befriend the powerful, to… to catch the eye of Prince Liam."

She gave a self-deprecating smile. "They believe that if I could become the king's consort, the Lee family name would shine in Cordonia, even across all of Europe. They planned everything for me, just as your parents planned everything for you. They told me it was my 'opportunity,' my 'destiny.'"

Madeleine was completely silent now. She sat rigidly, the hostility and anger draining from her face, replaced by a deeper, dazed sorrow. She looked at Hana as if into a mirror—a mirror that reflected the most pathetic, unacknowledged truth of her own soul.

"I'm afraid," Hana's voice dropped even lower, filled with a real, raw vulnerability. "I'm afraid that if I fail to meet their expectations, they will be disappointed in me. I'm afraid that if I mess up, I will become worthless. And I'm even more afraid that... even if I succeed, that life is not the one I want at all."

She finally turned her head and looked directly into Madeleine's eyes. Her own dark eyes, usually so timid, were startlingly clear.

"So, when you were standing there tonight," Hana said, enunciating each word, "shouting those things at Prince Leo, what I heard wasn't the anger of a jilted fiancée. I heard the cry of a soul that had been imprisoned for too long, using all its strength to condemn the shackles of 'expectation' and 'glory' that had pushed it into the abyss."

"You weren't grieving a lost love. You were mourning a life that was manipulated, planned, and ultimately, turned to dust."

The garden fell into a long silence once more. Only the sound of the fountain continued its tireless splashing.

Madeleine slowly lowered her head, burying her face in her hands. Her shoulders no longer shook violently, but began to tremble with a silent, more hopeless kind of shudder. Hana's words, like a precise scalpel, had cut through the layers of pride and fury she had wrapped around her wound, exposing the deepest, most painful source of her agony.

She had always believed she was unique, that her suffering was singular. That she was a tragic victim chosen by fate. But now, this insignificant commoner girl, whom she had never even deigned to notice, had used the plainest language to voice the most secret, unacknowledged truth of her heart.

It turned out they were the same. Both just pawns on a board, moved by forces beyond their control.

It was unknown how long had passed before Madeleine's sobs gradually subsided. She neither raised her head nor spoke, but just sat there quietly, like a soulless statue, exuding an overwhelming sadness that seemed impossible to dispel.

Hana knew that she had said all she should. Any more words would be superfluous. She made no attempt to comfort her or get closer. She just stood there motionless, quietly watching her.

She knew she had done all she could. At this moment, Madeleine needed not more words but a space where she could face the ruins of her own heart alone. She silently gave her a barely perceptible curtsy, then prepared to turn and leave quietly.

Just then, a night breeze blew through the garden.

The wind was colder than before, carrying the damp chill of the late night, howling from the depths of the garden. It whistled through the hedges, ruffling Hana's gown and sending the mist from the fountain, like a thin, icy veil, lashing against Madeleine's bare shoulders and back.

Her expensive dark green velvet dress, though sumptuous, was not warm. After a long period of sitting still and emotional exhaustion, her body had turned cold. This sudden chill made her shiver involuntarily. She instinctively hugged her arms, trying to draw a little warmth.

And then, a sound so utterly common and undignified, shattered the night's quiet.

"Achoo!"

It was a loud, unguarded, even slightly pathetic sneeze.

Madeleine herself froze. She lifted her head abruptly, her face a mask of astonishment. It was as if the sneeze had come from a stranger inhabiting her body, a stranger who was mortal, vulnerable, and susceptible to the cold. It instantly shattered the last vestiges of her tragic, self-important pose.

Hana, who had been about to leave, stopped. She turned back and saw Madeleine’s face, a mess of tear-streaks, shock, and utter mortification. In that moment, Hana no longer saw the lofty Duke’s daughter, nor the humiliated former fiancée of the Crown Prince. She just saw a miserable lady who had been crying for too long in the cold and was about to fall ill.

Hana said nothing. She simply, silently, slipped the beige shawl from her own shoulders. It was woven from soft wool, a gift from her nanny before she left for Cordonia. It still carried the faint, warm scent of home.

She walked to the bench and gently held out the shawl, its warmth a tangible presence in the cool air.

"Put this on," she said softly, her voice full of an undeniable concern. "It's cold out. You'll get sick."

Her tone was so plain, so matter-of-fact. There was not a trace of pity or charity in it. It was the simple, primal kindness of one person seeing another in need and offering a piece of warmth.

Madeleine's eyes were fixed on the shawl.

Her first instinct was to refuse. To lash out with the sharp, proud cruelty that was her last line of defense.

"I don't need your pity!" — the words were already on the tip of her tongue. Her pride, the fractured, shard-like remnants of her pride, were screaming at her to slap away this common girl's offering. She, Madeleine Amaranth, even at her lowest, did not need charity from a nobody.

But somehow, the words wouldn't come out.

Because another gust of wind blew past, and her body, beyond her control, shivered again. She was truly cold. A cold that seeped into her bones, mixed with sorrow and dampness. It was a truth so real that her pride could no longer deceive her.

She looked at Hana. The girl's eyes were so clean in the moonlight. There was no curiosity in them, no calculation, no sympathy. Only a calm, clear concern.

Madeleine's lips parted, but the scathing refusal she had intended to utter was swallowed back down. Her hand, after a fierce internal battle, finally, slowly, hesitantly, reached out.

Her fingertips touched the shawl. The soft, warm texture was a stark contrast to the cold, smooth silk of her own gown. That warmth felt like a strange magic, traveling up from her fingertips, bit by bit, toward her frozen heart.

She took the shawl, her fingers so stiff they were clumsy.

"...Fine..."

The words were forced from her throat, so quiet they were nearly inaudible, raspy with a reluctance she couldn't hide. But she had said them.

Seeing that she had taken it, Hana lingered no longer. In that brief moment, she had keenly noticed the change in her: a barely perceptible softening at the corners of Madeleine's tightly drawn mouth. She knew that for someone like Madeleine, acceptance was already the most difficult concession. She realized that a tiny crack had appeared in the icy fortress of Madeleine's heart.

"You'd better go back inside and rest soon." She simply gave a small nod and said softly, then, she turned and left. Her light footsteps receded down the gravel path, until they vanished completely into the garden's darkness.

The entire world was silent again, and Madeleine was alone.

She sat on the cold bench, clutching the shawl that still held the warmth of another person's body. The warmth felt so foreign, so... bewildering.

Slowly, she draped the shawl over her own shoulders, which were trembling from the cold and from her weeping.

The moment that simple, rustic warmth enveloped her, Madeleine's tears, without any warning, began to stream down her face once more.

But these tears were completely different from before.

They were not tears of anger, of bitterness, of hatred. They were not tears of self-pity for her lost title or for being abandoned by Leo.

This was a new feeling, something she had never experienced.

It was... a flood of tears born from immense confusion and a faint, flickering warmth.

___________

The fire in the king’s study crackled low, the scent of smoke mingling with the sharp bite of aged scotch. Liam and Leo were each sprawled in the oversized high back chairs like two boys who had raided their father’s liquor cabinet.

Leo tipped the bottle dramatically, filling their glasses to the brim. “To the shiny new king,” he said, raising his glass.

Liam lifted his in reply. “To you, and the fact that someone actually agreed to marry you. Miracles do happen.”

Leo barked out a laugh. “Careful, little brother. I’ve still got years of embarrassing stories I could share at your wedding. Don’t tempt me.”

They drank, and for a while the room was filled only with the clink of crystal and the easy stretch of silence that belonged only to brothers.

“You ever think about how different things could’ve turned out?” Leo asked, swirling his drink lazily.

Liam shot him a dry look. “Different, how? You as king and me burning down the palace by accident?”

“Exactly,” Leo said with mock seriousness. “History’s greatest missed opportunity.”

Liam chuckled, shaking his head. “The world doesn’t run on what-ifs. Only on what comes next.”

Leo leaned back, grinning. “Then promise me one thing—we don’t let the crown turn us into grumpy old men with no sense of humor.”

“Fine,” Liam said, smirking. “As long as you promise not to make my advisors cry at every council session.”

“No guarantees,” Leo shot back, raising his glass again. “Making them cry is half the fun.”

Liam laughed, finishing the last of his scotch before setting the glass aside. He pushed up from his chair, stretching.

“Leaving already?” Leo asked, raising a brow. “The night’s still young.”

Liam’s smile turned sly. “Not for me. Sophie’s waiting.”

Leo groaned, tossing a cushion at him. “Of course she is. Go on then, Your Majesty. Don’t keep the future queen waiting.”

Liam caught the cushion, grinning as he headed for the door. Behind him, Leo’s laughter chased him into the hall, warm and familiar.

The halls of the palace were quiet at this hour, the echoes of laughter and clinking glasses from the evening’s banquet fading into memory. Liam moved with purpose, his steps light despite the weight of the crown.

He paused outside the chamber door, the golden handle warm beneath his palm. For a moment, he let the tension of the day roll off him—the speeches, the endless congratulations, the heavy scotch with Leo. Then he pushed the door open.

Sophie was already there, curled up on the edge of the bed in a silk gown the color of moonlight, her hair tumbling loose around her shoulders. She looked up as he entered, and the tired lines of responsibility melted from his face.

“You’re late,” she teased, though her smile gave her away.

“Leo kept me hostage with scotch,” Liam said with a laugh, closing the door behind him. “You should be grateful I made it out alive.”

Sophie arched a brow. “Hostage, hmm? Judging by your grin, you didn’t fight too hard.”

He crossed the room in a few strides, sinking onto the bed beside her. “Maybe not. But I had a better reason to escape.”

Her smile softened, her hand finding his. “And what reason is that, Your Majesty?”

Liam leaned closer, his forehead brushing hers, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You.”

Meeting her lips, Liam’s kiss deepened, no longer careful but hungry, as though he’d spent the entire night waiting for this one moment. Sophie melted into him, her fingers sliding up into his hair, pulling him closer. The silk of her gown whispered against his skin as he drew her into his arms, holding her as though he’d never let go.

“You don’t know what it does to me,” he murmured against her lips, “coming back from a day like this… and finding you here.”

Sophie smiled breathlessly, her hands smoothing over his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “Maybe I do,” she teased softly, before kissing him again—fierce this time, claiming him as much as he claimed her.

The fire cast a warm, flickering glow over the room, but it was nothing compared to the heat rising between them. Liam’s hands traced the curve of Sophie’s waist, pulling her closer, feeling her heart pound against his chest. Every brush of her skin ignited a fire he hadn’t realized had been simmering all day.

“Liam…” Sophie’s breath caught as his lips traveled from hers to her jaw, lingering, teasing, claiming.

He looked at her, his eyes dark with desire and tenderness. “I need you,” he whispered, voice low and raw. “I’ve waited all night for this.”

She smiled, hands tangling in his hair as she pressed her body into his. “Then don’t wait any longer.”

Their lips met again in a kiss that stole their breath, deep and insistent. Liam’s hands roamed over her back and shoulders, pulling her silk gown aside, revealing the warmth of her skin. Sophie’s fingers traced the line of his jaw, down his chest, feeling the strength beneath the kingly exterior, the steady heat that belonged only to her.

Every touch, every whispered word, made the world outside disappear. The crown, the court, the palace—all of it faded until there was nothing but Liam and Sophie, tangled in the sheets, in the firelight, in the sweet, desperate need of each other.

Liam’s lips trailed down her neck, across her collarbone, eliciting gasps and soft moans that made his own pulse race. “You’re everything,” he murmured against her skin. “Everything I’ve ever wanted… everything I’ve ever needed.”

Sophie pulled him back up, pressing herself against him, her mouth claiming his in a kiss that was fierce, tender, and unrelenting all at once. “And you’re mine,” she breathed, “completely.”

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Chapter Summary –

As the coronation evening continues, Hana Lee is introduced to a potential suitor for an arranged marriage. A tense standoff between Sophie and Barthelemy Beaumont has King Liam seeing red. The new relationship between Drake and Riley flourishes as Melanie silently watches. Bertrand has bittersweet memories of his one night stand with Savannah Walker.

Words: 7.2k

A/N1: Bethany Beaumont, Maxwell’s mother, is originally from the U.S. and is Barthelemy Beaumont’s second wife. Annabelle Beaumont (deceased) is Bertrand’s mother.

A/N2: ‘Social Season’ in this AU series refers to a traditional period in the spring/summer for royalty and members of the court to take part in Balls, dinner parties and charity events.

A/N3: Heartfelt thanks to @Selina012 for joining me in writing ideas and with dialogue/content for this chapter and series.

A/N4: Thank you @selina012 for pre-reading

A/N5: My submission for Choices Monthly Challenge – July Challenge 2025|@jerzwriter: Quote Prompt – ‘We met on vacation… I think…’

Cordonian Palace Grand Ballroom

"Announcing Mr. Xinghai Lee and Lady Lorelai Lee, accompanied by Mr. Vince Chen!"

Hana Lee stood at the edge of the dance floor, holding a glass of sparkling water, the tiny beads of condensation on its surface as cold as the sweat beading on her own palms.

She was dressed in a moonlight silver-grey gown. The top-grade silk chiffon was light and flowed with a gentle drape, its classic A-line skirt swaying like liquid moonlight with her slight movement. The silver thread had been used to hand-embroider a pattern of intertwining honeysuckle vines across the gown, which was then adorned with thousands of tiny, almost invisible diamond chips that only refracted a faint yet brilliant sparkle, like stardust, when the light from the chandeliers swept over them. The gown was beautiful, impeccable; it made her look exquisite and fragile, like a porcelain doll meticulously dressed and placed in a display window. Yet, to Hana, it felt like a suit of cold armor, locking the real her, securely inside.

Her friends were her sole support amid the wealth. Sophie looked stunning in her red ballgown, which perfectly suited her. Standing next to King Liam, she was no less magnificent than any princess of noble blood. Maxwell and Daniel were huddled together, whispering and laughing, the easy and intimate chemistry between them filling Hana with a sincere sense of envy and warmth.

"Opportunity."

"Responsibility."

"Disappointment."

These words were the tightening circlet of her upbringing. Hana unconsciously tightened her grip on the glass, her knuckles turning white.

They were here.

Hana's breath caught in her throat. She felt the blood rush to her head, a dull roar filling her ears. She instinctively straightened her back, like a startled fawn instantly on high alert. Sophie at once sensed her friend's rigidity and, following her gaze, saw the trio. She understood at once the true weight of that letter. She subtly moved half a step closer to Hana, her arm brushing against Hana's in a silent show of support.

"Hana," her mother, Lorelai, spoke first. Her voice was level yet carried an undeniable tone of command.

"Stand straight. Your posture."

Hana felt her body move as if pulled by marionette strings, her posture becoming even more rigid.

Her father, Xinghai Lee, was introducing ‘his exhibit’. "Vince, this is my daughter, Lady Hana."

Before Hana could react, Vince Chen had already stepped forward, closing the distance between them. A heavy scent of cologne and hair gel assaulted her senses, making her stomach churn.

"Lady Hana, a pleasure to finally meet you." His voice was a deliberately low, magnetic tone that he clearly thought was charming. "You are even more beautiful than in your photographs."

As he spoke, he reached out his hand, not for a polite handshake, but with an uninvited familiarity, intending to take hers.

This time, Hana did not retreat. Years of repression and the silent support of her new friends at her back catalyzed a rebellion she didn't even know she possessed. The moment Vince Chen's overly manicured hand was about to touch hers, she swiftly raised her own—

💥Smack!

A crisp, unhesitating sound.

She had slapped his hand away with the back of her own. The sound was not loud, but in their immediate circle, it was deafening.

Vince Chen's hand was left hanging awkwardly in mid-air. The slick smile on his face froze for a fraction of a second, a flicker of shock in his eyes.

“A little self-respect, Mr. Chen... Please."

Hana's voice was quiet, still laced with an uncontrollable tremor, but every word was cold and clear. She lifted her head, and for the first time, she did not look away, meeting Vince Chen's gaze directly.

This sudden act of defiance plunged the atmosphere into an icy stasis.

Hana's parents’ expressions changed instantly, their displeasure palpable.  Her mother's haughty smile vanished completely. She stepped forward, and grabbed Hana's arm, her nails digging into her flesh. "Hana!" she hissed, squeezing the words from between her teeth. "Are you mad?! Apologize to Mr. Chen at once!"

Her father's reaction was even colder. The shrewd businessman in his eyes was now replaced by pure fury and menace. He smiled an apologetic smile at Vince, then leaned in and spoke to Hana in a tone laced with warning, for her ears only. "It seems you need to be re-educated on your duties when we return home."

Yet, to everyone's surprise, after the initial shock, Vince Chen's expression transformed not into anger, but into one of heightened interest. He slowly retracted his suspended hand, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he looked Hana up and down, as if seeing her for the first time.

"Interesting," he murmured, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "I do love a rose with thorns. It makes the prize all the more satisfying to claim."

His words twisted her rejection into a coquettish game, and the condescending, proprietary tone was more humiliating to Hana than any outright anger.

Just as the suffocating tension was about to break, a crisp and elegant voice cut through the air like a sword.

"Greetings, Mr. Lee, Lady Lorelai."

Sophie stepped forward with a smile, naturally positioning herself beside Hana, subtly using her own body to create a barrier between Vince and her friend. As the fiancée of King Liam and the Duchess of Valtoria, her status and presence were enough to make Xinghai and Lorelai Lee take notice.

"Why, if it isn't the Duchess of Valtoria," Lorelai's expression at once shifted to one of even greater enthusiasm. "What a pleasure to see you here."

Vince's gaze fell upon Sophie, a flash of appreciation in his eyes, but it quickly returned to Hana, his possessive desire undiminished. He smiled at Sophie and said, "Nothing serious, Duchess Sophia. Hana and I were just getting acquainted. In fact, I was about to ask her for a drink, if she would grace me with her company?"

He tried to issue his invitation again.

This time, before Hana could refuse, Maxwell squeezed through with two brightly colored cocktails in his hands.

"Oh! Mr. Lee and Lady Lorelai! Aren't you Hana's parents? I've heard a lot about you!" he greeted them with his characteristic, over-the-top enthusiasm, and then, ‘accidentally’, spilled the better part of one drink all over Vince Chen's expensive trousers.

"Oh, my heavens!" Maxwell exclaimed, feigning utter shock and dismay. "I am so terribly sorry, Mr. Chen! It's so crowded in here! Your trousers... I'll get an attendant to help you at once!"

"You—" Vince's face darkened as he looked down at the sticky, multicolored liquid soaking his pants, his expression a mask of disgust.

Taking advantage of the small chaos, Sophie whispered to Hana, "His Majesty mentioned earlier that he wished to speak with you about the university fund. We should go now, let's not keep the king waiting."

It was an undeniable excuse. Hana shot a grateful look at Sophie and Maxwell, a wave of warmth flooding her heart.

"Father, Mother," she said, mustering her courage, "His Majesty has summoned me. Excuse me, but I must be leaving now."

As ugly as their expressions were, Xinghai Lee and Lorelai could say nothing against a royal summons. Her father could only grit out, "...Be quick about it."

Sophie gave them a polite nod and then, taking Hana's hand, led her firmly through the crowd and toward Liam, leaving the three of them behind with their varied expressions of fury and frustration.

The moment she turned away, Hana felt as if she had won a small but significant battle. Though this was only a temporary escape though, she knew her parents and Vince Chen would not give up. The support of her friends made her feel, for the first time, that she was not fighting alone.

She glanced at Sophie's serene and confident profile, at the fiery red gown, and a tiny seed of courage quietly took root in her heart. She knew she couldn't hide behind her friends forever. Someday, she would have to learn to be like Sophie, to stand up and say "no" for the sake of her own life.

... later in the evening

In a recess off the side of the grand ballroom, the clamor was muted, mostly absorbed by the heavy Persian rugs and velvet curtains. A few older nobles conversed in hushed tones, while Barthelemy Beaumont, the Duke of Ramsford, had just concluded his "lecture" to his niece, Sophia.

Sophie stood alone before a massive floor-to-ceiling window, the golden liquid in her champagne flute trembling slightly in her hand. She didn't drink, merely stared out at the royal gardens, illuminated by countless festive lights, trying to calm the turmoil inside her. Barthelemy's words, like invisible needles, had pricked at the confidence she had so carefully built.

"...As the future Queen, every word and every action reflects upon the Crown. Your origin is an indisputable fact, Sophia. You must work a hundred times harder to make up for this innate deficiency. House Beaumont gave you a ticket into this world, but how far you go depends on whether you understand the true rules of Cordonia..."

The words echoed in her mind. It wasn't concern; it was a condescending judgment.

"Sophie?"

A deep, baretone voice, laced with worry, sounded behind her. Liam had appeared at some point, noticing that Sophie had left the ballroom. Seeing her pursed lips and pale complexion, he immediately understood. His gaze flickered past her shoulder to where Barthelemy was now chatting amiably with another old duke, and Liam's sky-blue eyes instantly grew cold.

"What did he say to you?" Liam’s voice was quiet, but it simmered with suppressed rage.

Sophie turned, forcing a smile. "Nothing, Liam. Uncle was just... showing his concern. Reminding me of some points of court etiquette." She didn't want to add to his burdens on his important night.

Liam said nothing. He simply reached out, his thumb gently smoothing the worry lines from her brow. Then, he took her cold hand and, with the undeniable calm of a king, led her directly towards Barthelemy.

Sensing their approach, Barthelemy broke off his conversation and turned, his face a perfect mask of the seasoned aristocrat's easy grace and duplicity.

"Your Majesty," he said with a slight bow, his eyes, however, held a hint of an elder appraising a junior. "I was just about to offer my congratulations. The celebration tonight is unparalleled."

"Thank you for your praise, Duke Beaumont." Liam's voice was placid, devoid of any emotion, though his grip on Sophie’s hand tightened. "I saw that you were speaking with my fiancée, the Duchess of Valtoria. I trust your conversation was a pleasant one."

He deliberately emphasized Sophie’s title. It was a reminder, and a boundary.

Barthelemy’s smile didn't waver. He turned to Sophie with a look of feigned affection. "Of course. Your Majesty worries too much. Sophia is my niece, after all. As her elder, seeing her about to take on such immense responsibility, I couldn't help but share some experience, to help her better adapt to her future role. It was entirely out of familial concern."

He skillfully framed his actions as an "internal family matter," attempting to exclude Liam, the "King," from the conversation.

However, before Liam could respond, Sophie herself took a small step forward. She gently slipped her hand from Liam’s and stood independently before Barthelemy; her face composed with the impeccable grace of a future queen.

"Thank you very much for your concern, Uncle Barthelemy." Her voice was soft yet carried an unyielding firmness. "You are right, the role of Queen is indeed a heavy one, and I have much to learn. However, I believe His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen Mother will be my best, and indeed, my only tutors."

The statement, like a dagger wrapped in velvet, was precise and elegant. It acknowledged her "need to learn" while explicitly rejecting Barthelemy’s intrusive "guidance," firmly aligning herself with the highest echelon of royal authority—Liam and Regina.

Barthelemy’s pupils contracted almost imperceptibly. For the first time, he realized that this ‘lucky American girl’, whom he had consistently underestimated, now possessed a formidable strength of her own.

A silent, tense standoff filled the air.

It was Liam who finally broke the silence. He took Sophie’s hand again, a proud yet distant smile on his face.

"Well said, my Duchess," he first praised Sophie, then turned his gaze to Barthelemy, his expression having returned to the calm dignity of a king. "In that case, Duke Beaumont, I also hope you will focus your valuable energy more on the affairs of the Duchy of Ramsford."

His voice remained steady, but each word landed with weight.

"Our kingdom has faced much turmoil recently, and the threat of the 'Children of the Earth' has not been fully eradicated. I need senior, loyal nobles such as yourself to lead by example in your own lands, to be the staunchest shield for the Crown, and not... overly concern yourself with the affairs of my house."

‘The affairs of my house’ -- those words were spoken lightly yet carried immense gravity. They were like an invisible wall, politely but unequivocally shutting out Barthelemy’s so-called ‘elder status’ and ‘familial concern’.

Barthelemy's face finally stiffened. He knew he had lost. In this smokeless battle, the young new king had used the most restrained language to display the most absolute authority.

"...Yes, Your Majesty." After a long moment, he managed to force the words from his throat, then executed a bow that was more standard, and more rigid, than any before. "I shall heed your counsel."

With that, he said no more, walking backwards, then turned and melted back into a nearby group of nobles, his retreat carrying a hint of haste.

Liam watched his back disappear before he finally let out the breath he was holding. He looked down at Sophie, his eyes filled with a mixture of heartache and pride.

"I'm sorry you had to endure that."

Sophie shook her head. Tears appeared.

Liam placed his hand on her lower back and steered her into a vacant chamber down the hall.

For a long moment, silence hung between them. Sophie pressed trembling fingers to her lips, struggling to contain the swell of emotion. The faint strains of music drifting into the room served as a bittersweet reminder that the world outside, indifferent to her pain, carried on.

Tears shimmered in Sophie’s eyes, heavy but unfallen. Her voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper.

Despite all attempts to regain her composure, Sophie’s shoulders continued to shake with sorrow.

 “Sophie, my love …", Liam gently wrapped her in his arms. “Hey, hey there ... You need to calm down.”

His voice was soothing, but her tears now flowed unbidden, each one a testament to the anguish in her heart. Liam held her tighter, his own sorrow mirrored in his eyes as he struggled to find the right words to say. “We’ll get through this together, I promise,” he whispered, knowing that the promise of togetherness was the only solace he could offer at that moment.

“Please, please … tell me … Is it true?" Sophie’s words came out with gasps of air. "... his illness ..."

Liam knew all too well that the truth about Barthelemy ‘s ‘illness’ would be revealed eventually.  There was no illness. Only a well-orchestrated deception. His duplicity towards his wife and sons was despicable. 

He drew a deep breath, feeling the weight of the impending confession bear down on him. "Yes, Sophie, it is true," he finally admitted, the words bitter on his tongue. "Barthelemy has been deceiving us all, and there is no illness." The revelation hung heavily in the air, mingled with the palpable grief between them. Sophie’s sobs grew quieter; a mix of despair and disbelief settled in as she processed the betrayal. Liam’s heart ached watching her world unravel, knowing that the truth, though brutal, was a necessary step toward healing. His heart broke on how Sophie had found out.

As Sophie’s breathing became more regular, the tremors in her body revealed the depth of her turmoil. "How could he do this to us?" she murmured, her voice laced with the bitterness of betrayal. Liam’s hold tightened protectively around her, his mind racing to find words of comfort. “Sometimes, people’s actions are driven by motives we can’t comprehend,” he said softly, trying to soothe her shattered trust. “But we must find strength within ourselves to move forward and rebuild what was broken.” He wiped away a stray tear from her cheek, the gentle touch a silent assurance of his unwavering support and love.

...standing on the ballroom terrace...

Drake Walker’s gaze swept across the ballroom. Liam and Sophie were at the center of a swarm of aristocrats, the natural focus of attention, gracefully handling every toast and greeting. Maxwell was flitting through the crowd with his precious camera like a happy butterfly, capturing every 'splendid moment'. Even Bertrand, the ever-serious older brother, had a faint smile on his face as he chatted with his sister—Savannah, whose eyes, shining as brightly as the stars, made no secret of her adoration for him.

Everyone was happy. Except for him.

Drake raised his glass and drained the golden liquid in one gulp. The sting of the alcohol sliding down his throat temporarily numbed his irritation.

A crisp, familiar voice, tinged with mockery, sounded beside his ear.

“Well, well, well….so this is where you have been hiding.”

Drake relaxed almost instantly. He didn't even need to turn around to know who it was. In this palace filled with false pleasantries and tedious rituals, only this voice could so accurately pinpoint his thoughts without causing offense.

He turned and, sure enough, saw Riley. She was dressed in a sleek, dark green gown that complimented her olive skin and sharp, green eyes. She held a glass of apple martini, and looked him over with amusement, the charming smile on her lips seeming to say, "I knew I'd find you here."

"I'm inspecting the structural integrity of this pillar," Drake replied, his face a blank mask, his tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather. "Making sure it won't suddenly collapse under the weight of certain nobles' overly 'enthusiastic' congratulations. It's a very important security task."

Riley giggled at his deadpan humor, her clear laughter a pleasant note against the elegant music. "Oh, is that so? And what are your findings, our great protector? Is it, like you, seemingly indestructible on the surface but actually just wants to hide in a corner?"

"At least it doesn't talk," Drake retorted, but the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. Talking to her was so much easier than dealing with Melanie.

"I saw Countess Emilia talking to you earlier," Riley said, taking a sip of her drink, her eyes scanning him. "She looked like she was about to marry her daughter off to you on the spot. You're the most eligible bachelor in Cordonia now, you know. 'Sir Drake Walker, the king’s loyal advisor.'"

Drake let out a derisive snort. "She just wanted me to teach her muscle-headed son how to play polo for free. I bet he can't even tell which end of a horse is the front."

"You're always so cynical," Riley said, shaking her head, though her eyes danced with amusement. "But seriously, how does it feel? Going from the prince's friend to the King’s inner circle tonight." Though her tone was still playful, her sharp, green eyes watched him closely, as if trying to see past his defenses.

Drake hesitated, searching Riley’s face for any trace of mockery, but finding only genuine curiosity. He could feel the weight of the room pressing in, the gilded laughter and swirling silks of the court blurring at the edges, leaving just this small cocoon of honesty between them.

He considered dodging her question, as he had so many others tonight, but something about the way Riley lingered—her posture relaxed, her gaze steady—made it impossible. He exhaled, a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Riley’s eyes softened, the teasing note in her smile fading to something more tender. She didn’t interrupt or offer hollow reassurances. Instead, she leaned in, lowering her voice. “You know, you don’t have to be anyone but yourself with me,” she said. “Let them play their games. We can take a break from all the masks, at least for tonight.”

For a moment, the tension in his shoulders eased. The music, the clinking of glasses, even the burn of the whiskey felt distant—muted compared to the quiet understanding between them.

He looked at her, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “You do know how to talk me off a ledge.”

Riley tilted her head, green eyes glinting. “That’s because I know where you hide your ledges.”

A hush settled around them as the last echo of their laughter faded. Drake’s gaze lingered on Riley, searching, as if weighing an unspoken question. With the ghost of a smile, he tipped his head toward a quieter corridor branching off from the terrace. “You know,” he said, voice low so only she could hear, “there’s a bottle of decent whiskey in my chambers that’s been waiting patiently for a night like this. Care to join me? We could use a little escape from all this... royal theater.”

Riley’s eyebrow arched in playful challenge, but the warmth in her eyes softened her reply. “Is that your legendary hospitality, Walker, or are you just desperate for someone to appreciate your taste in overpriced liquor?”

He grinned, the tension draining from his posture as he dared offer a hand. “Maybe a bit of both. What do you say?”

She slid her hand into his, her laughter quiet and genuine. “Lead the way, Sir Drake. I could use a break from all the opulence.”

Just as they started to leave the terrace, a figure in the corner of Drake's eye caught his attention.

Melanie Smithson held a nearly untouched glass of champagne, a flawless social smile fixed on her face. She had just concluded a conversation with some viscountess, a conversation so dull it made her want to strangle herself with the delicate lace trim of her own gown. She needed a moment to breathe, someone she could actually talk to. In the Cordonian court, she felt the only person who could truly be called a friend was Riley.

They had been best friends, the staunchest of allies in the infinitely possible and brutally competitive city of New York. They had shared dreams and mocked the men and women who tried to claw their way into high society. Melanie had always believed their friendship was built on a shared, clear-eyed understanding: they both wanted a better life, but their methods were smarter, more elegant.

Her eyes scanned the glamorous terrace, and soon, she spotted Riley's signature dark green silhouette. A flicker of joy went through Melanie; she had finally found a harbor where she could temporarily lower her mask. She smoothed her dress, gracefully sidestepped a flirting young couple, and made her way toward Riley.

But as she drew closer, the smile on her face slowly froze.

Riley was there, yes, but she wasn't alone. Leaning against a marble pillar, laughing and talking with her, was none other than Drake Walker.

Melanie instinctively stopped in the shadow of a large potted plant, where the dimmer light was enough to keep her unnoticed. She watched them, a sense of absurd disbelief flooding her. Drake, the commoner stablehand she had "disposed of" not long ago, was now standing with her best friend. And they looked... far too comfortable.

She could see the familiar, sharp wit shining in Riley’s eyes—the same look she got on the streets of New York when dealing with the most difficult clients or the most arrogant men. And she could see Drake, the man who in her memory was always a bit stiff and clueless, now completely at ease. He was leaning against the pillar, a relaxed, genuine smile on his face that Melanie herself had rarely seen.

They stood close, but not improperly so. Yet, the atmosphere between them, that chemistry that can only exist between two people on the exact same frequency, was like an invisible barrier, shutting everyone else out. Melanie couldn't hear what they were saying, but she saw Riley laugh so hard at something Drake said that she threw her head back. She even gave his arm a playful slap, and Drake just shook his head, a look of pure indulgence in his eyes.

A searing wave of humiliation washed over Melanie’s mind. This isn't jealousy, she told herself. She had never loved Drake, had never even truly liked him. He was just a pawn for her to get close to Prince Liam and the Royal circle… a useful but disposable tool. She had felt nothing when she cast him aside.

What was this?

What did this make her look like? A fool with no judgment, who mistook a diamond for a stone? A failure who couldn't even control her own best friend?

She remembered complaining to Riley about Drake's "rudeness" and "lack of sophistication." And now, Riley was clearly charmed by him. This was tantamount to a public declaration that the problem had been with her, Melanie; that she was the one incapable of appreciating Drake's "qualities."

What was even more unbearable was the loss of face in front of Riley. Riley, her confidante from New York, with whom she had scorned those who schemed for personal gain. Yet she herself had become exactly that person—she had used Drake and then abandoned him when he "lost his value." She had never told Riley the whole truth. And now, Drake and Riley's closeness was like a mirror, reflecting her own ugly, utilitarian side back at her.

No, she couldn't let that happen. She couldn't let Riley—or the entire Cordonian court—laugh at her.

Melanie took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. Her fingers tightened around the cool stem of her champagne flute, her knuckles turning white. Anger and humiliation churned within her, finally settling into a cold, calculating resolve. She needed to regain control of the narrative. She needed to make Riley understand that Drake Walker was absolutely the wrong choice. She needed to protect her own judgment, to protect her "face."

She watched Drake and Riley laugh together again, and the sight was so jarring it almost made her want to shatter the glass in her hand. A direct confrontation would be foolish, she knew. She needed to play a role, the one she was best at: the concerned best friend, full of goodwill and worry.

She composed herself, wiping all traces of darkness from her expression. When she looked up again, her face wore a perfect, measured look of concern. She saw Riley heading towards the bar for a new drink, while Drake was momentarily occupied by another well-wisher.

The opportunity had arrived.

Melanie took a step forward, gliding gracefully toward Riley. Her movements were elegant and unhurried, as if she were merely about to engage in the most ordinary of sisterly chats.

"Riley," she called softly from behind, her voice filled with just the right amount of surprise and warmth. "I've been looking all over for you. I didn't expect to find you here."

The smile on her face was so sincere, the "concern" in her eyes so intense, that no one could have guessed that beneath the perfect mask, a war for vanity and face had quietly begun.

Holding her empty apple martini glass, Riley elegantly turned, ready to head to the bar. Behind her, Drake's figure was obscured by a few nobles who had come to congratulate him; she could hear him handling them with a tone that was impatient yet forced to be polite. A faint smile touched Riley's lips. This man was certainly interesting.

"Riley," a soft, familiar voice called out to her. "I've been looking all over for you. I didn't expect to find you here."

Riley turned to see Melanie approaching. Her "best friend" was wearing a pale lilac off-the-shoulder gown tonight, its skirt dotted with fine diamonds that sparkled under the lights, making her look noble and elegant. Her face wore a perfect, measured smile, her eyes full of warmth and enthusiasm.

"Melanie," Riley replied with a smile, clinking her empty glass against Melanie's full one. "I thought you'd be busy discussing Cordonia's economic prospects with the future Chancellor of the Exchequer. What brings you over to a commoner like me?" This was their old inside joke from their New York days, an unspoken understanding.

"Don't be silly," Melanie said softly. She naturally took Riley's arm and led her to a quieter corner of the terrace, away from the noise of the crowd. They leaned against the balustrade as the evening breeze drifted by, carrying the scent of roses from the garden below. "I saw you talking with Drake just now."

Melanie's opening was casual, like sharing a harmless piece of gossip. But Riley's intuition told her the words that followed were the main event.

"Yes, he's a decent conversationalist," Riley answered noncommittally. "At least more interesting than listening to Count Boskovich brag about his new pony."

"That's not what I meant," Melanie's brow furrowed slightly, her face adopting a look of mixed concern and difficulty, an act worthy of applause in any court drama. "Riley, you've just arrived in Cordonia. There are some things you might not understand. As your friend, I feel... I have to give you a little reminder."

"Oh?" Riley raised an eyebrow, rattling the ice in her glass. "Remind me of what? Not to drink too much free liquor, or not to get too close to the hero of the hour?"

As if she hadn't caught the sarcasm, Melanie sighed, her gaze turning wistful as she looked into the distance. "Drake... he's changed a lot lately."

The statement was masterfully vague, designed to pique curiosity.

She paused, gauging Riley's reaction, then added in almost a whisper, "He wasn't like this before. You know, he was simple, even a bit... crude. But now, he's starting to enjoy this feeling of being sought after. I'm afraid he's becoming... ambitious."

Riley almost laughed out loud. Ambitious? Drake? The man who looked like he'd been sentenced to life imprisonment just by wearing a suit? The man who would rather spend time with horses than speak a single word to a noble? It was the most ridiculous joke she had ever heard. But she didn't let it show, merely nodding thoughtfully.

"Riley, you're so smart and so charming," Melanie said, taking her hand with an earnest grip. "I don't want you to get caught up in the complexities of the court. Drake is the King's friend now, his status has changed, and the people who approach him no longer have simple motives. I just don't want to see you... get used by him, like..."

She stopped there, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air, ripe with possibilities. The sadness and grievance in her eyes seemed to silently declare that she herself was the one who had been "used," the victim abandoned after Drake had "risen to power."

The performance was perfect. Had it been someone as naive as Penelope, she would have already been filled with righteous indignation, utterly detesting Drake.

But this was Riley.

And she knew Melanie too well. Melanie's every glance, every gesture, every seemingly casual pause was a calculated move. She never did anything that didn't benefit her. Her so-called "worry" was more like a carefully packaged warning or declaration.

Riley subtly pulled her hand back, raised her glass, and said playfully, "Relax, Melanie. I'm just looking for someone to drink and chat with, not elope with him. I'll keep my eyes open."

She paused, her tone shifting as her gaze drifted back towards Drake, who was clumsily trying to escape a long-winded duke. "Besides, an 'ambitious' commoner hero sounds even more exciting, doesn't it? The story could practically write itself."

Melanie hadn't expected this reaction. She was taken aback for a second before her "concerned" expression returned. She patted Riley's shoulder gently. "It's good that you can think that way. Anyway, you know I'm always on your side."

"Of course I know," Riley replied with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

After a few more pleasantries, Melanie excused herself, claiming she needed to greet another lady, and gracefully departed. Her posture was still noble, as if her 'friendly' reminder had been nothing more than her duty as a best friend.

Riley stood alone by the railing, finishing the last of the cold liquid in her glass. She watched Melanie's figure disappear into the crowd, the smile slowly fading from her own face, replaced by a sharp, thoughtful expression.

Of course, she didn't believe Drake was the ambitious hypocrite Melanie had described. She was more inclined to believe that Melanie had said those things for reasons she refused to admit—like her own ridiculous vanity and pride.

And yet, the seed of doubt had been planted.

Not doubt about Drake's character, but doubt about what had really happened between him and Melanie. Melanie's words were mostly an act, but what was the small, carefully hidden kernel of truth within the performance?

"Interesting," Riley murmured to herself, placing her empty glass on a passing waiter's tray.

She decided then and there. She would find out for herself just how many secrets this man, Drake Walker, was hiding. And that process, she suspected, would be far more interesting than the ball itself.

House Beaumont, Ramsford

Bertrand Beaumont stared into his crystal tumbler, the amber liquid within barely rippling despite the tight grip of his gloved hand. The flickering firelight of the Beaumont Estate’s drawing room danced across the polished wood floors, but his thoughts were far from the present.

Savannah Walker.

'We met on vacation ... I think ...'

He had tried to forget her. Cordonia’s etiquette, his noble obligations, the long-standing feud with Drake—all had demanded he erase that night from his memory. But memory, he had learned, was stubborn.

It had been a moment of weakness. A stolen night wrapped in shadows and silk, her laughter ringing in his ears like a song he had no right to know. She had looked at him not as a Duke, not as a man with a legacy to uphold, but simply… as a man. And in that moment, Bertrand had let his mask slip.

He remembered the scent of her skin, the way her fingers had tangled in his collar, how her breath had hitched when he whispered her name in the dark. He had never meant for it to happen. But God help him, he’d never stopped thinking about it since.

A knock echoed sharply against the drawing room door. Bertrand stiffened, eyes narrowing.

"Enter," he said, his voice cold, composed.

The butler stepped in, clearing his throat. “A letter arrived for you, Your Grace. It was delivered by hand. No return address.”

Bertrand took the envelope, the weight of it unnatural, foreboding. He broke the seal. The paper inside was smooth, the handwriting unfamiliar.

One line.

“You may want to sit down, Your Grace. You’re a father.”

His breath caught.

The fire crackled behind him.

And the glass slipped from his hand.

[To be continued…]

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Chapter Summary – Crown Prince Liam Rys ascends the throne as the King of Cordonia. Without a doubt, Sophie loves Liam ... but to become the queen of Cordonia ...?!

Words: 6.2k

A/N1: Bethany Beaumont, Maxwell’s mother, is originally from the U.S. and is Barthelemy Beaumont’s second wife. Annabelle Beaumont (deceased) is Bertrand’s mother.

A/N2: ‘Social Season’ in this AU series refers to a traditional period in the spring/summer for royalty and members of the court to take part in Balls, dinner parties and charity events.

A/N3: Heartfelt thanks to @Selina012 for joining me in writing ideas and with dialogue/content for this chapter and series.

A/N4: Thank you @selina012 for pre-reading & for adding dialogue/ideas

A/N5: My submission for Choices Monthly Challenge – July Challenge 2025|@jerzwriter: Quote Prompt – ‘You were never supposed to find out’.

Coronation night, Sophie’s POV ...

The second I stepped out of the SUV, my heart started racing. The palace stood in front of me, glowing in the late-afternoon light—beautiful, imposing, and a big, bold reminder of what I was walking into tonight. This was not just any evening. This was the evening.

And I was expected to be more than just myself.

Every hallway felt like a mix of comfort and pressure. I knew these walls, but tonight they felt different—like they were watching me, waiting for something. There were voices echoing, footsteps shuffling, last-minute coronation details flying all around. The whole place buzzed with energy, and it only made the knot in my stomach tighter.

Still, I kept walking.

Mara was right behind me, quiet but solid, like always. Just knowing she was there helped. I wasn’t alone in this. That thought gave me something to hold on to as the weight of everything tried to settle on my shoulders.

I headed toward the courtyard — the gardens, my one place of peace in all of this. Maxwell will be waiting there. And right now, I needed his calm, his steadiness… just someone who knew me before all this crown-and-duty stuff started swallowing me whole. He was my big brother.

Walking into the gardens, the smell of blooming roses hit me, blending with the warm afternoon air like a mix of happy and melancholy memories. Maxwell was by the fountain, his presence a comforting light amid my chaotic thoughts. When he saw me, his face softened, silently acknowledging the mess that he knew had taken over my heart. The day's revelations weighed heavily on me, almost too much to bear, but his steady gaze offered solace, a lifeline I clung to. We didn't need to say much, but the understanding between us was deep, like he could feel the storm inside me. In this quiet moment together, I realized facing the truth and its consequences wasn't something I'd have to do alone—there were people standing by my side, no matter what. The emotional whirlwind inside me mixed fear with hope, sadness with longing, and Maxwell's presence made it all more bearable, grounding me amidst my swirling thoughts and feelings.

¤¤¤

Sophie intended to inform Max about her meeting with Uncle Barthelemy and his mother minutes before... but to her surprise, Maxwell already knew. Her aunt Bethany had already informed him of his father's actions.

"You knew?!" Sophie's mouth was open-mouthed in utter disbelief as she paced around the garden. She didn't know whether to be mad at him or appreciative of his insight. "Did my Aunt Bethany really call you to tell you about it?!"

"Yes," Maxwell looked guilty. Guilty as charged and he quickly added. "But don't blame Mom. She didn't really have any other options, especially when my father started freaking out. Mom just wanted me to help you, to calm you down, and well... this is kinda what I do best."

She bit her lip, feeling overwhelmed with a strange sense of gratitude. He had come through for her when she most needed a friend, just as he had always done. How had she never seen it before? Uncle’s actions were insufferable. She suddenly felt like an idiot.

"God, you're too good to be true," she huffed in annoyance and jabbed him lightly on the shoulder.

He grinned back at her, looking uncharacteristically sheepish and shook his head, shrugging it off.

"Trust me," he sighed. "I know. Mom told me what you said to my father. I... I have a lot of complicated feelings about what he has done," he trailed off with a wave of his hands, thinking to himself, ‘You were never supposed to know’.

"You'll hear about them sometime." Maxwell added as he looked down at his shuffling feet.

Sophie looked up at him curiously. "About your dad? Are these secrets known at court? Your mom was all for you - supportive and..."

Maxwell dismissed the comment with a wave. "Let's focus on more important matters tonight," he said, reaching into his suit pocket and pulling out a jewelry case. He opened it to reveal a lapel pin in the colors of House Beaumont: green, red, yellow, and black, arranged into a geometric star shape with white diamonds. He cleared his throat and added, "This was intended as a coronation gift, but we can also consider it an engagement present. You are, after all, a Lady of House Beaumont."

She smiled and threw her arms around his shoulders, squeezing him.

"Thank you, so very much, Maxwell," she sighed, wiping her cheek of a tear that crept down.

He returned her hug. "You know this doesn't come close to the amount of joy it gave me to see that you and Liam finally, well, you know," he teased, making a lewd gesture that Sophie promptly swatted him for. "Now... I have to finish helping with some final details."

"Then I'll just..." He jerked his thumb behind him, and retreated inside, throwing her a wink and awkward salute.

"What was that?" Liam inquired as he stared at him in bewilderment before turning back to Sophie and planting a kiss on her forehead. "What did I just walk into?"

"Just Maxwell being Maxwell." Sophie sighed and rolled her eyes, feeling the light touch of Liam's hand on her waist, and reached down to hold his hand. "Your coronation and the announcement of our engagement tonight."

"Oh, of course. How foolish of me." He brought her hand up to his lips and pressed them to her knuckles, not taking his gaze off her.

Sophie smiled and linked her arm with Liam as they turned to enter the grand ballroom.

“How are you feeling tonight, Sophie?”

Liam turned to watch her reaction, his voice steady yet filled with curiosity. "Are you ready for all of this?" he asked, gesturing subtly toward the grandeur of the evening, the glitter of chandeliers, the lively conversations, and the weighty expectations that seemed to swirl around them.

Sophie paused for a moment, her gaze sweeping across the room before meeting Liam's eyes. Taking a deep breath, "Ready or not, it feels like it’s part of the path we’ve chosen," she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "It’s overwhelming, but... also exciting in a way. With you here, I think I can handle anything.”

Liam gave her an encouraging nod. "You’re stronger than you realize, Sophie. Whatever comes tonight, we’ll face it together."

Sophie’s chest tightened. Liam always had a way of saying the exact thing she needed to hear—right when she needed it.

She didn’t get the chance to reply before a voice cut through the garden.

“Your Highness—Lady Sophia!” a woman called, hurrying down the path. It was one of the younger ladies-in-waiting—Vivienne, her face flushed with urgency and excitement. Bowing respectively, “I’m so sorry to interrupt, your highness, but we must begin preparations for Lady Sophia. The Duchess of Ramsford has just arrived, and the stylists are waiting upstairs.

Liam let out a low sigh, still holding Sophie’s hand. “Already?”

Vivienne gave a polite, apologetic nod. “The Queen Mother requested everything be on time this evening.”

Liam looked at Sophie. “Duty calls,” he said with a wry smile.

Sophie squeezed his hand. “Go. Be King. I’ll be upstairs getting poked and pinned and turned into someone who looks like she belongs beside you.”

“You already do,” he said, taking her hands and kissing her cheek.

As Vivienne led Sophie back toward the ballroom doors, Sophie took one last glance over her shoulder. Liam was still standing there, watching her go.

And at that moment, even with everything ahead, she felt steady.

The golden hour bathed the palace in warm, amber light as Sophie stood in the center of her chamber, heart fluttering like a caged bird. The soft rustle of silk and the scent of roses and lavender filled the air as preparations for the coronation ball began for her in earnest.

Her Aunt Bethany arrived first, her arms draped in protective linen as she carried a garment bag longer than Sophie was tall. Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of pride and mischief.

"Now, don't faint when you see it," Aunt Bethany warned with a grin. "I pulled a few favors. You’ll be the image of power and elegance tonight."

With a gentle flick of her wrist, she unzipped the bag to reveal a stunning deep red ball gown. The room seemed to exhale in admiration.

The gown was a masterwork of craftsmanship—tailored silk velvet that shimmered with the barest hint of gold thread when it caught the light. The bodice was structured and corseted, trimmed with delicate embroidery of climbing roses in metallic, creating a romantic silhouette that gave way to a dramatic, sweeping train. Tiny rubies were sewn into the embroidery, glinting like fireflies in the dimming light.

"It’s... it’s magnificent," Sophie whispered, her fingers brushing over the fabric with reverence. "Are you sure I can wear this?"

"Darling, you’re not just wearing it—you’re going to command the room in it," Bethany replied with a wink. "You’re not a bystander anymore. Tonight, you're walking beside a king."

Sophie took a deep, shuddering breath. "Auntie Beth, with wh... what happened earlier, I..I need to ..."

At that, the Queen Mother entered, regal as ever, flanked by two palace footmen who carried a velvet box between them. She nodded at Sophie, a sincere warmth in her voice.

"It’s time you had something of your own, as the queen in waiting," she said, gesturing for the box to be opened.

Inside lay a breathtaking diamond tiara. Not just any tiara—one crafted in the shape of olive branches and roses, once worn by a beloved Cordonian queen of the past, known for her grace and courage. Queen Kenna. The diamonds sparkled like captured stars, each one expertly cut and mounted on platinum filigree.

"You’re giving me this?" Sophie asked, stunned.

"Consider it a welcome to the family," the Queen Mother said, her gaze softening. "Liam made his choice quite clear. And so must my husband and I."

Sophie barely had time to catch her breath before the royal stylists and ladies-in-waiting bustled in with brushes, pins, and palettes.

"Sit, Lady Sophie! No fidgeting, we’ve a queen to unveil," one chirped, already sweeping her thick hair into a half-up style, weaving in delicate strands of pearls.

"Her skin's already glowing—just a bit of warmth on the cheeks and a red lip to match that gown," another declared, dabbing her cheeks and lips with precise care.

"This red is daring," one lady murmured, eyes wide with approval as she fluffed the train. "Not every woman can wear a color like this and make it look regal."

"That’s because not every woman has a love story unfolding beside a crown," Bethany said softly, watching her niece in delight.

Sophie blinked at her reflection once the preparations were done. She scarcely recognized herself. Her gown seemed to embrace her every curve, the tiara resting on her head like it belonged there all along. Her cheeks held a bloom of color, and her lips curled into a smile she hadn’t expected—one of quiet strength and readiness.

"You’re radiant," whispered one of the younger attendants, eyes bright.

"Are you ready?" Bethany asked, smoothing a final wrinkle from the train.

Sophie inhaled deeply, fingers brushing the base of her throat.

"Yes," she said, voice steady. "Let them see the woman he chose."

And with that, she stepped into the corridor, the light catching the facets of the diamonds on her tiara.

"Auntie Beth, may I speak to you in private?"

...later in the evening,

In the front lawn of the royal palace, everything was brightly lit, like a bright sea of light. Colorful lanterns cast a soft and warm light that made the entire front lawn seem like a dream. The red carpet stretched from the palace gate to the vehicle parking point in the distance, like a golden avenue leading to glory and splendor. The nobles, dressed in gorgeous attire, walked on the red carpet to the palace doors. Their emotions were mixed with solemnity and joy, as if they were entering a new era.

Members of the media lined up on both sides of the red carpet, armed with cameras, sound recorders, and live-stream equipment to capture the historic event. There were flashes of light and the sound of clicking shutters. The journalists not only focused on the upcoming coronation of Prince Liam but also cast eager eyes on every aristocrat who stepped on the red carpet, trying to capture every wonderful moment.

"Duchess Olivia, how does it feel to be called the 'Scarlet Duchess'?" Donnie Brine, a fast-eyed reporter, jostled over to Olivia and held the microphone to her mouth.

Olivia smiled, her bright red hair metallic in the light, and she was wearing a long red dress with a high fork that showed off her beautiful figure. "It feels great! Ever since I was a child, I've always said red is my color." She said in a sonorous voice, full of confidence.

"Countess Madeleine, as Prince Leo's former fiancée, how does it feel to be attending Prince Liam's coronation?" Ana De Luca, a professional female journalist wasted no time turning the microphone to Madeleine.

Madeleine smiled. Her blonde hair was curled up and she wore a long green dress, like a plant emissary, exuding a fresh and worldly air. "There are no words to describe this feeling, I just know that no matter what happens, I will always love Cordonia." She answered gently and firmly, that drew a round of applause from those around her.

Alongside the red carpet, a group of reporters swarmed around the nobility who had just arrived at the palace. Sophie's eyes widened in surprise. She had never seen anything so grand.

"Wow, it's busy! Even more than a New Year's Eve or the charity polo match!" She could not help but whisper, and Hana on the side also nodded repeatedly, her eyes shining with excitement.

"Huh? Who is that?" One of the paparazzi's eagle-eyed eyes caught the flaming figure on the red carpet. "Look! It's Lady Sophia! Here she comes!" He stared at her carefully and was suddenly overjoyed, and instantly caught the attention of the people around him. All the eyes of the reporters were focused on Sophie.

"Just in. We just got word that Lady Sophia Taylor has arrived." Donnie Brine shouted excitedly as reporters around her raised their cameras and pointed them at Sophie.

"And now, live, Lady Sophia Taylor, student representative of the University of Cordonia." Ana De Luca speaks professionally to the camera, her voice clear and strong, instantly thralling Sophie into the spotlight. Other journalists abandoned their original interview subjects and swarmed Sophie and Hana.

Madeleine's face flashed with surprise. She tried to hide her embarrassment by adjusting her hemline gracefully. Olivia's eyes widened, her anger burning in her chest. She thought she was the center of attention, but Sophie's arrival stole all the thunder from her.

"Lady Sophia, as a witness to the shooting, how do you feel about Prince Liam's coronation?" Ana De Luca pointed the microphone at Sophie and asked her the pointed question.

"It's a very special moment and it means a lot to Cordonia." Sophie smiled. She was wearing a delicate red ball gown that danced like a flame in the crowd. "Prince Liam is an outstanding leader, and I am confident that Cordonia will have an even better future under his leadership."

"I would also like to thank everyone for their support and assistance during this tragedy, especially my friend, Hana." Sophie answered questions gracefully and straightened her back. With that, she winked at Hana, who at once understood and stood beside Sophie.

"Yes, we've been through a lot together." Though being a little shy and timid, Hana held her nerve and managed to smile for the cameras, saying, "Sophie is such a brave and righteous girl who was there for me when I needed help."

"That's a friend in need, and I like this!" Ana De Luca nodded with satisfaction, then pointed the camera at the two and pressed the shutter.

The lights flashed, and Sophie and Hana smiled at each other, raised their hands in unison, and waved to the crowd.

"Now, I apologize, but we must go in." Sophie smiled at the journalists, firm and deliberate. With that, she took Hana's hand, bypassed the reporters, and headed straight for the palace. Behind them, a chorus of flashing lights and exclamations.

As they approached the palace doors, Hana's steps suddenly stopped, and her eyes were caught by a man in a royal uniform. The man stood straight, with a letter in his hand, and made a slight gesture towards her. Sophie followed Hana's gaze and jokingly asked, "Who is he? Is it the knight who protects you secretly?"

Hana froze unexpectedly, her pace slowed, and involuntarily clenched Sophia's hand. After a moment, she shook her head, trying to force a smile. "He's a messenger, probably from my parents. I'll be right back." With that, she let go of Sophie's hand and, with a faint hint of nervousness, walked toward the messenger.

The two exchanged a few words in low voices, so low that they were almost drowned out by the noise around them, and Sophie could only see faintly that Hana's expression changed from doubt to surprise to solemn. Her heart hung, and her intuition told her that the letter was not simple.

Hana suddenly shuddered like an electric shock, her eyes widened, and her face turned pale. She held the envelope tightly, her knuckles white with force. The messenger said something in a low voice, then turned and walked away. Hana stood there, stunned for a few seconds, then slowly turned around and returned to Sophia without a word.

When Sophie saw this, her heart was even more uneasy. She gently grasped Hana's shoulder and asked anxiously, "What's wrong, Hana? What's in the letter? You don't look right."

Hana hesitated for a moment, her eyes flickering, as if weighing something. Finally, she took a deep breath and forced a smile. "It's nothing serious," she said. "It's just that my parents asked me how I'm feeling and if I'll be able to go to the ball tonight." Her voice was calm, but the panic in her eyes gave her away.

Sophie frowned, easily aware that Hana was hiding something. But out of respect and understanding, she did not inquire directly, she gently patted Hana on the back of the hand and gently said, "Hana, if you have any difficulties or need help, do let me know. We're friends, aren't we?"

With her eyes slightly red, Hana gave Sophie a grateful look, then lowered her head and said in a barely audible voice, "Thank you, Sophie." I'm really fine. It's just... just some family stuff. You really don't need to worry.’

Despite her doubts, Sophie chose to trust Hana. She nodded and smiled, "Okay, let's go in now. The night is still young, and we are going to enjoy it." With that, she took Hana's hand, and together they walked through the gates of the palace.

An ornate livery waiter politely ushered Sophie and Hana into the palace, down a long corridor to the elegantly decorated vestibule. Here the lights are brilliant, the nobles in the melodious music slowly stepped into the reception line, ready to welcome the king and queen. With Sophie in the front and Hana right behind her, they were both nervous and excited.

In front of Sophie was a tall woman with dark skin and black hair, who wore a uniquely designed black dress embellished with exquisite feathers, which looked noble and mysterious. Sophie recognized her at once as Lady Kiara Theron, daughter of the diplomat Duke Theron, who was fluent in many languages.

Kiara was telling Queen Regina something with an active smirk on her face, unaware that someone was approaching behind her. "... Of course, the Prime Minister told me I shouldn't even think about eating chocolate! As if all our trade talks would fall apart if I tasted one truffle."

Queen Regina smiled, resting a hand lightly on her cheek, and her eyes twinkled with joy. "Kiara, you always have the funniest stories. You make me laugh."

"Thank you, Your Majesty.' Then Kiara smiled and saluted the queen modestly. At that point, a waiter stepped forward and politely led her into another line for the banquet hall.

It's Sophie's turn. She took a deep breath, stepped forward, and made the customary curtsy to King Constantine and Queen Regina with a graceful and fluid gesture: "Good evening, Your Majesties."

King Constantine smiled approvingly and nodded, his pale face brightened by Sophia's arrival. "Good evening, Lady Sophia. Every time I see you, I'm delighted."

With a warm glow in her heart, Sophie looked gratefully at the Queen and, gently, shook her hand. "Thank you, Your Majesty." With that, she turned gracefully to the king, who looked at her with a smile and admiration in his eyes.

"I must say, you've been quite a visitor to court and beyond lately, Lady Sophia." The king's voice was warm and strong, and his eyes were full of hope for Sophia. "Each time you have shown your wisdom, courage, and strength. You are not only proud of Liam, but you are also proud of all of Cordonia."

Sophie was genuinely happy, and a broad smile broke out on her face, and a determined light flashed in her eyes: "Myself as well, Sir. I will continue to strive to live up to your and the Queen's expectations." She bowed her head and dropped down in a low curtsy. As she straightened up, she was full of hope and determination for the future.

Sophie stepped away from the dais and joined Hana, who was patiently waiting with the other ladies of the court inside the ballroom. Her heart still fluttered from the king's kind words, and the gentle hum of the ballroom swept her along like a current. Familiar faces glanced her way, a few offering polite nods or brief remarks as she wove between clusters of aristocrats. Her crimson gown caught the golden light, flickering with every step—a beacon, unintentionally bold, amidst a sea of muted pastels and pale elegance.

She soon found herself in the company of Penelope, Olivia, and a small gathering of noblewomen arranged on velvet chairs near one of the grand windows. The scent of gardenias wafted in from the terrace, mingling with laughter and the faintest hint of intrigue. Sophie felt the weight of curious eyes on her, yet also the camaraderie of old acquaintances—subtle, reassuring, grounding her in the swirl of celebration.

Penelope was the first to break the ice, her cheerful voice rising above the din, just as the orchestra's next waltz began to float through the air.

"Lady Sophia, you're wearing red as well!" Penelope's eyes were instantly attracted by Sophie, her eyes lit up, as if found a new continent, "We were just praising Olivia's bold choice of color, now look at you, really each has its own merits."

Madeleine, who was sitting not far away, had a look of amusement on her well-made face when she heard those words. She gently shakes her glass in her hand and a playful smile creases her lips. "Oh, my God, it's embarrassing, isn't it? Did you two plan this?"

Sophie smiled, delighted that others had noticed her fiery red dress. She stroked the hem gently and said confidently but modestly, "Well... Just a coincidence."

"Of course not!" Olivia's face darkened for a moment, and she put down her glass with a sharp voice. "Are you trying to embarrass me, Sophia?"

"No, that's not what I meant." Sophie was a little stunned, but soon regained her composure, raised her head, looked firmly at Olivia, and said, neither humble nor overbearing.

Penelope saw this, hurriedly to mediate, she smiled and walked to the middle of the two people, took Sophie's hand and said: "Red looks good on both of you! Your coordination is so good that you can be bridesmaids together!"

"Lady Penelope!" Olivia interrupted abruptly, blushing in a huff, her voice rising a few decibels. "Whose side are you on?"

Penelope was so frightened that she could not speak that she stammered, "Er... I'm on the side of fashion! You're both beautiful, really!"

Sophie shook her head gently, showing that they should stop arguing, her voice gentle and firm: "In any case, Olivia, no matter what color we wear, there must be differences, it cannot be exactly the same." You're only mad because you think I'm a threat to your aura. But the truth is, each of us is unique, and we don't need to compare ourselves to others to prove our worth."

"Ah...! You really piss me off!" Olivia was shaking with anger, and with a wave of her arm, she nearly knocked over the vase beside her. "I wish Liam hadn't allowed you to be a member of court!"

Then Madeleine rose slowly, her expression calm and graceful, her movements deliberate: "You must know that this is impossible. By law, adult Cordonian nobles were obliged to attend court functions as long as they were not seriously ill or guilty. Both natives and foreigners joining because of the reorganization of the family will be called upon to support the royal family. Sophia, a Beaumont, has already joined the court for two years."

Kiara's mouth fell open in surprise. "Is it true? Foreigners could also be members of our court?"

Madeline nodded and gave Olivia a meaningful look: "Of course it's true. I believe that in this case we can all put aside our small differences and support the stability of Cordonia. Even you should learn that, Olivia."

Olivia's face was even worse, and she was about to argue but was interrupted by the next group of waiters. Waiters carrying exquisite hors d'oerves and drinks began to shuttle among the guests, adding some warmth and excitement to the tense scene. Olivia had to force down the dissatisfaction in her heart and sat back in her seat, but her eyes were still flashing, unwilling, and angry.

Sophie shook her head gently, showing that we should stop arguing, her voice gentle and firm: "In any case, Olivia, no matter what color we wear, there must be differences, it cannot be exactly the same." You're only mad because you think I'm a threat to your aura. But the truth is, each of us is unique and we don't need to compare ourselves to others to prove our worth."

Just then, the sound of an announcer’s trumpet cuts through the air. The herald announces the Crown Prince’s arrival.

Liam steps onto the dais and looks out at the royal court assembled in the ballroom.

King Constantine clears his throat and rises…

‘If I may have everyone’s attention, please…’

The crowd hushes as the King begins to talk.

‘The moment we’ve been waiting for has finally arrived. It has been my great honor to serve Cordonia these last few decades. We’ve had turmoil, but Cordonia has pulled together even during our toughest times. I couldn’t be more proud to have been Cordonia’s King. And I only now pass the Crown to Prince Liam because I know he’ll carry on exactly as I have. I couldn’t ask for a better successor.’

‘Father…’ Liam murmurs.

‘It’s true. I love your brother, but you will be the King that Cordonia needs.

Reliable, steady, wise, just.

Though you weren’t born to be my successor, it feels as though this outcome was inevitable. Liam, you are every bit the King I always hoped you’d be. Today, I pass the royal signet ring to you. Cordonia is yours, my son.’

As the crowd cheers, across the room, Liam caught Sophie’s eye and winked.

‘Thank you all for being here tonight. This is an incredible honor and a responsibility that I don’t take lightly. I only hope that I can serve Cordonia with the distinction that my father did.’

Liam bows to his father and the Queen, who both embrace him.

‘And now the time has come. Your prince will announce his bride. First let us thank you all for spending the social season with us. And particularly for all the young ladies of the royal court, thank you for your time. I could imagine any one of you being a fitting queen for my son.’

And now, Prince Liam must make his choice.

Liam moved forward, his eyes finding hers.

'I choose Lady Sophia Taylor of House Beaumont.'

Sophie stepped forward, ‘I’m deeply honored to accept.’

Liam quickly moved off of the Dais to meet Sophie.

The hall erupted in cheers and applause as Liam and Sophie exchanged a look brimming with unspoken promises. The lords and ladies of Cordonia pressed forward, eager for a glimpse of their future queen, as the royal herald lifted his staff, voice ringing with ceremony, “Let us prepare to welcome Lady Sophia, soon to be Queen of Cordonia, to take her place at King Liam’s side.”

The hush that fell over the guests was charged with expectation. Musicians tune their instruments, bowstrings drawn across strings in an exquisite prelude.

Sophie paused for a moment at the threshold, her heart pounding in time with the distant drum of the orchestra. Behind her, Bethany, Bertrand and Maxwell stood tall, pride and emotion etched onto every face. Ahead, Liam waited—no longer the prince she’d met so many seasons ago, but a king, his gaze warm and unwavering.

A courtier whispered, “It begins,” as the first notes of the waltz rose. Sophie gathered her courage, ready to step into the golden light and into a new life.

With a gentle exhale, Sophie drifted forward, her steps light but sure, as if each marble tile was a promise fulfilled. The music swelled, wrapping her in a shimmering veil of sound. Petals, scattered from above, floated lazily to the floor, perfuming the air with their soft, sweet fragrance. The assembled nobility parted, forming a path that seemed to lead Sophie not just across the ballroom, but into the pages of legend.

Liam extended his hand, his posture regal yet open, inviting her nearer. She took it, her fingers trembling only slightly, and together they moved in time to the waltz, an unspoken understanding blossoming between them. The world receded to a hush—only music and heartbeats remained, the ancient rituals of court reimagined in the shared smile between king and queen-to-be.

Cameras flashed from discreet alcoves, capturing the first turn of their dance: not just a step into tradition, but a leap into their future. Side by side, they crossed the room as equals, their every movement watched, weighed, and—most of all—celebrated. The moment shimmered with the certainty that the kingdom would remember it for generations to come.

However, not even this warmth could dispel the dark cloud in Hana's heart. Just minutes ago, as she and Sophie walked the red carpet into the palace, a court attendant had stopped her and respectfully handed her a letter sealed with her family's crest. The contents of that letter now sat like a heavy block of lead in the pit of her stomach.

"…Tonight's coronation is of great significance, and we shall be in attendance. We will formally introduce you to the son of Mr. Chen, Vince Chen. We expect you to understand your responsibility, to seize this opportunity, and to not disappoint us…"

"Opportunity."

"Responsibility."

"Disappointment."

These words were the tightening circlet of her upbringing. Hana unconsciously tightened her grip on her glass, her knuckles turning white.

Just then, the Court Chamberlain's booming, formal voice echoed from the hall's entrance, striking Hana's heart like a gavel.

"Announcing Mr. Xinghai Lee and Lady Lorelai Lee, accompanied by Mr. Vince Chen!"

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Trystan snorted like he’d just heard the dumbest thing in royal history. “Wait, you didn’t even kiss her?” 

“No, Sherlock.” 

Trystan looked at him like he’d just confessed to a crime. “Are you broken?” 

Leo sighed dramatically, running his fingers through hair. “It just didn’t feel right.” 

“What does that even mean? Did she have spinach in her teeth? Were you under surveillance by your dead relative?” 

Leo groaned. “I mean emotionally, you emotionally stunted goat. I actually want to get to know her first.” 

Trystan blinked. “Since when do you feel things?” 

Leo glanced at Liam and the middle-school brigade (aka Liam, Drake, and Maxwell), who were busy arguing over whether dragons or space pirates would win in a fight. 

“Let’s move this convo. I can’t have my twelve-year-old brother psychoanalyzing me again.” 

They walked quickly to the lake, not forgetting their beers, and flopped onto a bench. 

Trystan: “So, spill. You like her, but you didn’t kiss her because... you have morals now?” 

Leo: “I just want it to mean something. She’s not like the girls who throw themselves at every bloody event.” 

Trystan smirked. “Let me guess. It’s because of Madeleine.” 

Leo punched him—not hard - but with enough force to make a statement. 

“Ow! Dude! I need that arm for fencing and styling my hair!” 

Leo grinned. “Would you prefer a push into the lake? It’s about six degrees Celsius in there.” 

Trystan massaged his arm, still offended. “You Cordonians are violent.” 

Leo wiggled his eyebrows. “Okay, enough about me. Spill it—who’s your secret admirer?” 

Trystan sighed dramatically. “Her name’s Julianna. We’ve been friends for years, but lately… she’s gotten… interesting.” 

Leo looked amused. “Like, ‘I suddenly noticed she’s 'hot’ interesting, or ‘she no longer chews with her mouth open’ interesting?” 

Trystan laughed. “Both. She’s shy, which is weirdly adorable. Like a kitten that punches you in the heart.” 

Leo smirked. “That doesn’t sound like your type. You usually like the loud, terrifying ones.” 

“I know! But I want to take care of her, you know? Like... be the guy who shows her how to have fun.” 

Leo gave a smug grin. “Oh, I bet you want to show her lots of fun.” 

Trystan punched him back. “Don’t make me drown you, Romeo.” 

Leo: “So? Is it happening? Are you two gonna ride off into the hormonal sunset?” 

Trystan: “Maybe. Depends on what she wants. I’ve waited this long. I can wait a little longer.” 

Leo: “Patience. How royal of you.” 

They headed back to the firepit, where Liam, Drake, and Maxwell were still deep in their existential debate. 

Leo: “You guys ready to head to the cottage? It’s past your royal bedtimes.” 

Liam, brushing dirt off his pants and stood up, “Yeah. I gotta prep for tomorrow.” 

As Liam walked off, Maxwell leaned in to Drake. “Hey, Li never answered your question.” 

“Yeah, and now he’s gone, and I still don’t know what happened to the crown!” Drake looked agitated. 

Maxwell grinned wickedly. “Dude. You seriously don’t remember?” 

Drake looked like he was already regretting his life choices. “No. Should I?” 

Maxwell burst into laughter, trying to suppress it and failing spectacularly. He collapsed onto the ground in a heap of giggles. 

Drake groaned. “Why do you always do this? Can’t you just tell me what happened?” 

Maxwell tried to look innocent. “What? You mean now?” 

“Yes, now!” 

Maxwell shrugged. “Nah. It’s more fun this way.” 

Drake stomped off. “I hate you.” 

“Love you too, buddy!” Maxwell called after him, still giggling.

Inside the Cottage – Later That Night

The royal mountain cottage was rustic-chic mixed with royal finery —stone fireplace crackling, oversized velvet couches, and expensive portraits and accessories.

Leo flopped dramatically onto a couch, nearly knocking over a tray of imported herbal teas. Trystan settled into the armchair with a grunt and a handful of shortbread cookies, which he had clearly stolen from a diplomatic gift basket. 

“I’m serious,” Leo said suddenly, turning to him with a look that was one part scheming and two parts big-brother mischief. “Next time we’re in Paris… I’m going to make a man out of Liam.” 

Trystan choked on his cookie. “What?!” he coughed. “What does that even mean? You’re not sending him to the Foreign Legion!” 

Leo grinned. “No! I mean, like… take him out. Show him the world. Teach him the arts of charm, confidence, maybe get him a nice haircut that doesn’t look like it was done with a medieval sword.” 

Trystan raised an eyebrow. “So… your plan is to drag a twelve-year-old around Paris and sprinkle him with cologne until women swoon?” 

Leo shrugged. “Exactly.” 

“Leo, you do realize Paris is full of croissants and chaos. Liam’s idea of a good time is still building Lego castles and quoting Star Wars.” 

“Which is exactly why he needs me. Paris will change him.” 

“Into what? A pretentious art critic with a beret and a heartbreak playlist?” 

Leo leaned back smugly. “Into a gentleman. A Casanova. A future king who knows how to hold a wine glass and a conversation.” 

Trystan shook his head, laughing. “You’re unbelievable.” 

Leo wagged a finger. “Unbelievably effective.” 

"Wait ... wait ... a future king? Trystan looks at Leo.

Just then, a loud thud echoed from upstairs, followed by Maxwell’s voice yelling, “Drake! I swear if you farted in my room again, I will smother you with a decorative pillow!” 

Trystan looked toward the ceiling. “Yeah. Definitely ready for Paris.” 

Leo grinned. “Not those two, just my Prince Mini-Me.” 

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Drake (10 years old): That's one memory I'd be happy to forget...

Maxwell (9 years old): Hey! It wasn't all bad. We made some pretty great memories.

Liam (9 years old): Indeed. Though, I must say, the most memorable part was seeing your faces when you saw who I'd brought.

Leo (17 year old): Wait... don't tell me you were on a date?

Drake: We weren't--! I mean, that is--

Liam: You'd have to ask them. I'll say no more.

Maxwell: It wasn't a date. It was a double date!

Drake: Ugh...

Maxwell: Come on, Drake. It wasn't that bad.

Drake: Tell that to my aching stomach.

Olivia (8 year old): Hey, Drake. You look a little queasy. Do you need some anti-nausea pills?

Drake: Ha! No, thank you, Olivia.

Olivia: Your loss. Anyway, did I hear someone mention a Valentin's date?

Maxwell: Yep, we were just reminiscing about our first one.

Olivia: Hm. Well, if you ask me, that was the best Valentine's date I'd ever been on. Olivia moved over to sit beside Liam.

Trystan 17 year old): That's high praise coming from you, Liv.

Olivia: Hey, it's the truth. I had a lot of fun that night. She looked at Liam and smiled demurely. Liam, trying to remain stoic, said nothing and looked over at Drake.

Liam: Well, I'm glad we were able to provide such entertainment for you.

Drake: I wouldn't go that far.

Leo: Ah, come on, Drake. We were just telling stories. Lighten up a little.

Maxwell: That's the spirit! Hey, remember when Drake pretended to be sick so he could sneak off with Olivia?

Drake: Uh-huh.

Olivia: Yes, I do. She laughed

Liam: Haha, yes, I remember that. It was a valiant effort, Drake.

Olivia: Oh, it was a little more than that.

Drake: ...

Olivia: At the end of the day, it was nice to spend time with you... even if you did have to fake food poisoning.

Drake: Right.

Leo: That was the night, Liam and I both realized you had a thing for Olivia.

Trystan: Is that right?

Olivia: Hah! Don't act so surprised.

Drake: Yeah. That was the real reason I agreed to be your wingman that night, Li

Maxwell: Aw, you were looking out for Liam!

Liam: Yes, I'm touched.

Olivia: What about me, hm? Wasn't anyone looking out for me?

Maxwell: We figured you could handle yourself.

Olivia: Hah. Well, that's true.

Leo: Besides, if Drake had gone after you, and then you two started dating... I wouldn't have stood a chance.

Olivia: Well, then you have nothing to worry about. Because it was never going to happen.

Drake: Well, I guess some things are just meant to be. But hey, Olivia, you were always the one who had it all figured out. And Li, you know I've always got your back, even if it means faking a little food poisoning.

Liam: And that's why you're the best, Drake. Cheers to old stories and even better friends.

Maxwell: Hear, hear! Now, who's up for another round of drinks?

As Maxwell, Liam, Drake and Olivia went inside the palace, Trystan sidled up to Leo with a grin.

Trystan: You didn't mention your first date Leo. That hot blond in Greece?!

Leo: Heh, nothing to tell. I took her to a fancy restaurant, we had a few glasses of wine. It was boring.

Trystan: And...?

Leo: And what?

Trystan: Where did you go after dinner?

Leo: I dropped her off, and I went home.

Trystan: (laughing) Oh, my God, Leo. You can't be serious.

Leo: why is this funny?

Trystan: (chuckles), That wasn't a date.

Leo: Of course it was. We went to dinner. She was s nice girl. She wasn't Madeleine.

Chapter summary: Amalas delivers the news that Riley has been abducted by Lena. Alex Cossoy, the Interpol liaison officer and Olivia, head of the Royal guard, begin the lockdown of the palace and begin the search and recovery of Queen Riley. Gabriella continues her attempts to distract Liam while Riley is surprisedly reunited with a past acquaintance at the Striking Ceremony being held by the Via Imperii.

A/N: My submission for the Choices Monthly Challenge - Pop Prompt Palooza – Dialogue Prompt, “I don’t know how to tell you this, but...”, Setting Prompt, A crowded room. May MAYhem 2025 Prompts, Secrets/Lies @choicesmonthlychallenge @lovealexhunt

Lena Eleanor Rys ... Liam’s little sister. Although Liam is interested in developing a relationship with her and ‘saving’ her from the Via Imperii. Lena doesn't appear to reciprocate his feelings. She explains that Liam doesn't deserve Cordonia's throne and only became king due to birthright -- because he was born second, and their older brother abdicated. She argues that she has worked to be worthy of that power for her entire life, and a kingdom should choose its ruler based on who is the most worthy.

Or...

Lena Sigrid Runarsdottir ... ‘the mercenary princess of Vallenheim’, a member of the Via Imperii, ‘The Fist’.

Lena moves like smoke—elegant, elusive, and impossible to contain. Tall and poised, she carries herself with the cool precision of a predator who knows she’s already won. Her sharp cheekbones and striking blue eyes make her beautiful in a way that feels dangerous—like glass under moonlight or a dagger dipped in perfume.

Her voice is low, measured, and hypnotic—more threat than promise. She rarely raises because she never needs to. People listen. They obey. Or they disappear.

Lena is not impulsive. She watches. Waits. Calculates. Her brilliance is clinical, her cruelty efficient. She has the mind of a tactician and the heart of a winter storm. Every move she makes is part of a larger game directed by ‘the Circle of the Via Imperii.’

To her, loyalty is a currency. Love is a liability. And weakness? A death sentence.

Cordonian Palace Grand Ballroom

Olivia watched in apprehension as Queen Amalas appeared at the entrance of the ballroom and with laser focus, searched the crowded ballroom. Her heart raced as Amalas, her former lover, made eye contact with her and approached with an air of urgency, her regal demeanor shadowed by palpable concern and urgency.

Amalas swiftly and walked directly in front of Olivia, bypassing others trying to get her attention. As Olivia’s breath caught in her throat, Alex rose to greet the Queen formally, hiding his surprise. Olivia's mind was racing with questions about this unexpected visit; and she had little time to process before Amalas bluntly informed them of Lena's escape from her incerceration..

Amalas’ lips pressed into a thin line as she turned to Olivia and Alex. Her voice was calm, but the steel beneath it rang clear. Ever stoic.

“Alex, you must have your team prepare for a worst-case scenario.”

Alex blinked. “Worst case? Your Majesty, what exactly are you referring to—?”

Before the words had left his mouth, Olivia felt it — that creeping dread. The grand ballroom, so meticulously arranged for the evening’s diplomatic gathering, suddenly felt like a cage. The chandeliers shimmered too brightly, the marble floor gleamed too much, like a dream teetering on the edge of nightmare.

Across the room, nobles murmured, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath the surface.

Olivia watched Amalas’ hand tremble ever so slightly. That alone set her on edge. Amalas was unshakable — always. For her to crack, even a little, meant something had gone very, very wrong.

Alex’s phone buzzed. He stepped away, voice sharp and professional as he issued rapid-fire instructions to his team. Olivia turned to Amalas, eyes narrowed.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “Don’t you dare dance around it.”

Amalas met her gaze, regal and grim. “Lena has escaped.”

Olivia froze. “Lena? That’s not possible. She was in maximum security—”

“She had help,” Amalas said. “And not just from the outside. We suspect someone on the inside assisted. Someone with access to court logistics. Someone who wants Riley removed.”

Olivia’s blood ran cold. “Riley’s still in the palace.”

“And that makes her a target,” Amalas said flatly. “We can’t afford to gamble.”

Alex returned, his expression grave. “We have a confirmed breach. The cell Lena was transferred to in France was compromised. Interpol suspects coordination from inside France. Maybe even Cordonia.”

“I’ll alert Liam,” Olivia said at once, turning to move, but Alex stepped in front of her.

“I’ll handle it. You need to stay here with Amalas.”

Olivia narrowed her eyes. “Alex. Did you know about Lena's escape before tonight?”

Alex hesitated — just long enough.

“You did,” she said quietly, eyes flashing. “You knew Lena was a risk again, and you didn’t tell me.”

“I was trying to protect you,” he said, voice low.

She let out a short, humorless laugh. “Don’t give me that. You don’t get to make that decision for me.”

The weight of betrayal settled between them, heavy and raw. But before anything more could be said, Amalas broke in.

“There’s no time for this. Liv, I need your head clear. If Lena has infiltrated the palace, we’re looking at more than just a chance at an assassination attempt. This could be a coup.”

Olivia swallowed hard, emotions clashing violently beneath her carefully curated exterior. But then she straightened her spine, the Duchess of Lythikos returning to the surface.

“Understood. Tell me what you need.”

Alex met her gaze. The hurt was still there, but so was something else — respect. “I’ll coordinate with the royal guard and notify his majesty. You and Amalas secure the ballroom. Riley’s in the south wing. I have already notified Mara to personally escort the queen to a safe house...but she has not responded yet.”

"That's odd ... why not?" Olivia exchanged a look with Amalas and immediately called for back up ss the women ran toward the grand staircase.

The hallways of the southern wing echoed with the sound of Olivia’s heels striking the marble floor. Beside her, Queen Amalas moved with swift, purposeful steps, her efficient outfit allowing her to climb the staircase two steps at a time. Guards rushed past them in tight formation, the palace now humming with coordinated efficiency.

As they approached Riley’s suite, Olivia’s gut twisted. Something felt wrong — the royal suite was too quiet. The usual stationed guards weren’t at the double doors. The tension prickled at her skin.

She raised a hand, signaling Amalas to stop. Olivia drew a dagger from her thigh holster, her instincts screaming.

The door to Riley’s suite was slightly ajar. Olivia pushed it open with the flat of her hand.

The room was a wreck with furniture overturned. A shattered vase, spilled water and flowers across the floor. The scent of jasmine clung to the air, deceptively sweet amidst the chaos. And near the center of the room—

“Oh gods…” Amalas breathed.

Riley’s personal guard — Mara — lay on the ground, her uniform torn and blood seeping from a recent wound on her shoulder. Olivia rushed to her side, kneeling swiftly.

“Mara! Hey—stay with me!” Olivia tapped her cheek, searching for signs of consciousness.

The guard groaned, her eyes fluttering. “I… I... tried to stop them…”

“Where’s Riley?” Olivia demanded, her voice sharp with fear.

Mara’s hand trembled as she pointed toward the shattered window. “Taken. Two of them. One had her under gunpoint… the other... called her by name.”

Amalas pressed a hand to her mouth. "Riley knew them!”

“They didn’t kill me,” Mara choked. “They said… they needed her alive.”

Olivia’s jaw clenched as she turned to Amalas. “Lena.”

“And someone working with her,” Amalas said grimly.

A guard entered behind them, pale and shaken. “Duchess Nevrakis — the palace gates were breached. One of the decoy vehicles was just spotted leaving the outer perimeter... and we can’t raise Queen Riley’s tracker signal.”

“Of course ... they jammed it,” Olivia muttered, standing. Her eyes were fire.

Amalas scanned the room. “This was planned. Precise. They neutralized the guard without killing her. They wanted her to deliver a message.”

Olivia’s hands curled into fists. “And the message is that we’re too late.”

She turned to the guards. “Seal the palace. No one leaves or enters without my clearance. Get the royal medic here for Mara. And someone tell Liam—Riley’s been taken.”

As they moved into action, Olivia faced Amalas, her voice low and cold.

“They took my friend. My queen. And they think we’ll hesitate.”

Amalas met her gaze, her voice a quiet vow. “Then we’ll show them what a mistake that was.”

---

"Eirik, how much do you know about the Via Imperii?" Leo asked casually as he poured two fingers of Macallen into a crystal tumblr. Liam stood near the edge of the bar, flanked by Drake and Maxwell.. They had been speaking casually about the King Eirik's delegation, but Liam’s focus had drifted.

He scanned the crowd, eyes subconsciously searching for one face — Riley’s.

She was supposed to join him by now.

“Still not used to these things,” Drake muttered, tugging at his collar. “Too many forks, too much smiling.” Maxwell chuckled. “It’s called diplomacy, brother. You survive by nodding, drinking the right wine, and knowing when to escape.”

Drake rolled his eyes. “I’m two out of three.”

Before Liam could comment, Gabriella returned and sauntered up beside him in her midnight blue gown gown that shimmered benath the chandeliers.

“Your Majesty,” she purred, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “You’re impossible to reach tonight. I was starting to think I needed a royal appointment just to steal a dance.”

Liam didn’t even look at her. His gaze remained locked across the dancefloor.

“I’m waiting for someone,” he said simply, his voice distant.

Gabriella’s smile faltered slightly, but she leaned in regardless, lowering her voice suggestively. “You know, you work too hard. If Riley is too busy playing the queen, perhaps you could use a little... distraction.”

Drake’s brow furrowed. Leo’s expression darkened. But Liam’s face remained still, Unreadable.

“She’s not playing anything,” Liam said coolly. “She is the queen.”

Before Gabriella could respond, the ballroom doors opened fast—too fast. Alex strode in, his face pale, his movement clipped and urgent. The moment Liam saw him, he straightened and moved forward.

Alex didn’t hesitate. He cut straight across the dancefloor with purpose. When he reached Liam, he lowered his voice, but it nonetheless carried the weight of a hammer.

“Your Majesty... I don’t know how to tell you this, but—Riley is missing.”

Time stopped.

Liam’s blood turned to ice.

“What?” he said, barely a breath.

“She was taken,” Alex continued grimly. “Her guard was found injured in her suite. Olivia and Queen Amalas were seconds too late. We believe Lena’s involved. There was a breach.”

Drake took a sharp breath beside him. Leo’s fists clenched.

Gabriella stepped back, suddenly realizing the gravity of the moment.

Liam stared at Alex, the words registering slowly. “Are you certain?”

Alex nodded. “We have confirmation. She’s gone. And we’ve lost her security signal.”

A pause.

Then Liam moved.

No hesitation.

o ceremony.

“Clear the room,” he commanded. “Now.”

“But—” Gabriella started.

“Get out,” Liam snapped, his voice laced with venum and fire.

As guards began ushering confused remaining guests toward the exit, Liam turned to Alex.

“Mobilize every unit. No one leaves Cordonia without being checked. No one enters without vetting.

Get Director Ryerson here, now.

Find that car. I want every satellite, every drone. You have full clearance.”

“I’m already on it,” Alex said. “Olivia’s coordinating the internal systems lockdown of the palace."

Amalas appeared, turning to Eirik. "Tell me everything you know about the Via Imperii."

"...and keep in mind, Eirik, that we already have the answers," Olivia snarled.

Eirik's eyes locked onto Amalas', and he smiled. "The Via Imperii is headquartered in Vallenheim."

Olivia stared at him -- "Vallenheim... Isn't that some snowy kingdom up north ... near France?"

"Oh, how convenient. Leo added with disdain.

"One that's been happily in Via Imperii hands for decades now. They're a dangerous bunch, and they're not afraid to use their influence and money to get their way."

"Eirik, I don't know what to think. Are you one of them?" Liam watched his body language for tells.

"That's not all," Eirik continued. "They have spies everywhere. They're not just a secret society, they're an army, and they've infiltrated every level of society."

"How?"

"By becoming part of the government, or by simply buying politicians. They're not afraid to use bribery and blackmail to get what they want. They don't care who gets hurt."

Amalas' expression hardened, and she clenched her jaw.

"So, you're saying they could have people working inside the palace?" Olivia asked, glancing around nervously.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but...

"Lena escaped from Interpol"

Liam repeated the words, his tone full of disbelief.

"And you know this how?"

"We have sources," Amalas explained.

"What sources?"

"I cannot say," Amalas replied.

"You have sources, and yet, you can't tell me?" Liam questioned.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because if I did, they would be compromised."

"I'm not a fucking idiot, Amalas," Liam growled, his patience waning.

"I never said you were," Amalas responded calmly.

"Then stop treating me like one," Liam snapped, glaring at her.

"I'm not trying to," Amalas defended.

"Then why won't you tell me who your sources are?"

"Because the less people who know, the better," Amalas explained, her expression growing stern.

"I don't give a shit!" Liam roared, his temper flaring.

Amalas took a step forward, closing the gap between them. She glared at him, her eyes narrowed “I don’t know how to tell you this, but...

Liam's eyes widened in shock, his mouth hanging open slightly. He stared at her in disbelief, unable to speak.

"Lena has kidnapped her," Amalas continued, her tone flat and emotionless.

"Kidnapped her?" Liam repeated, his voice barely audible.

"Yes," Amalas answered. "It's been verified."

"How do you know that?"

"My source was able to confirm it," Amalas explained.

"When?" Liam responded, clearly frustrated.

"Less than an hour ago."

Liam's expression darkened, his anger boiling over. "Why the fuck am I just hearing about this now?"

"Because I didn't want to risk the chance of Lena hearing about it," Amalas replied, her voice calm and collected.

"Why the fuck would you care if Lena heard about it?"

"Because we're dealing with someone who's not only dangerous, but smart. And if she finds out we're onto her, she'll disappear into the wind, and we'll never find her," Amalas explained, her gaze never leaving Liam's. "We'll never find Riley."

Liam's nostrils flared, his jaw clenched tightly.

"I understand your anger, Liam," Amalas said. "But we need to keep our heads. Getting worked up will not help us find her."

Liam's fists clenched, his knuckles white.

"We have a lead on where she's headed," Amalas continued, her tone still calm.

"Where?"

"Blackspine."

"Blackspine mountains?" Liam repeated.

"Yes."

"How can, you be sure?"

"Because that's where the Via Imperii is headquartered."

"And how do you know this?"

"I can't say," Amalas said.

"Bullshit!" Liam shouted.

"It's the truth," Amalas argued.

"How the fuck am I supposed to trust you when you won't tell me everything?"

"I'm sorry, Liam," Amalas apologized, "but I cannot tell you more."

Liam glared at her, his eyes burning with fury.

"Please, trust me, Liam," Amalas pleaded.

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" Liam muttered bitterly.

"No," Amalas agreed. "You don't."

Liam turned away from her, his body trembling with anger.

"I'll get a search party together," Olivia said, pulling out her cellphone.

"Do you know the area well?"

"Not really," Amalas answered, "but I'm familiar enough to guide us."

"What are we waiting for then?" Olivia said, already tapping her phone.

"Let's go."

---

Liam's POV...

The breeze brushing over me from moving outside the palace walls barely touches me. Beads of sweat gather at my brow, one slipping down into the corner of my eye, burning as if to remind me of everything I’m trying not to feel. My body is overheating, not just from the suffocating fabric of my suit, but from the pressure mounting inside my chest.

I try to breathe—just one deep breath—but fear has wedged itself like stone in my throat. I can’t swallow. I can’t speak. If I breathe through my nose, I know I’ll lose control. I’ll fall apart. My hands tremble despite being clenched into fists, and all around me, the sounds and voices of my brother, my friends, my royal guard melt together into a distant hum. The only sound that remains is the relentless hammering of my heart.

Riley is gone.

Lena took her.

And I—King of Cordonia—stood powerless.

The weight of my crown has never felt heavier.

Blackspine Mountains

Riley looked out the window at the falling snow. She was in a bedroom now, the flickering light of a fire danced across the room's rustic wooden walls. The lodge was cozy, with a single bed adorned with a thick, patchwork quilt in hues of deep burgundy and forest green. A large window offered a breathtaking view of the snow-covered landscape outside, while a stone fireplace crackled warmly, casting shadows that flickered like the memories of the journey Riley had just endured. The room was a sanctuary, a tranquil haven amidst the chaos that had led her there, yet the tranquility felt like the calm before a storm, as Riley's thoughts drifted back to the tram ride up the mountain.

After being dragged into the late evening outside the palace doors, Riley was pushed into a black SUV at gunpoint. The driver and passenger sitting in the front seat were both cloaked in black masks and everything went dark after someone forced a white cloth over her mouth and nose.... drugging her, till she passed out.

Riley awoke inside a gondola - a mountain sky tram with large glass panels that allowed the breathtaking panoramic views of the snow-capped peaks and dense pine forests below to flood into the spacious, airy interior.

The gondola itself was nothing short of luxurious. As the tram started to ascend, Riley was at once struck by the tasteful decor. The interior was lined with polished wood panels, the rich grain adding warmth and elegance. Large, comfortable seats upholstered in soft, dark brown leather.

The windows of the gondola were expansive, ensuring that the magnificent views were not obstructed. As the gondola gently glided away from the station, Riley felt as though she were floating through a winter wonderland, the world below unfolding in all its serene beauty.

If only ... Lena was not pointing a gun at her head.

The cable car swayed slightly, its rhythmic motion a stark contrast to the tension coiled in Riley’s chest. The biting cold outside was a world apart from the oppressive heat of her memories, yet the chill seemed to seep deeper into her, entwining with her dread. She glanced at Lena, whose grip on the gun remained steady, her expression unreadable yet charged with a silent authority. Questions swirled in Riley’s mind, but she dared not ask again; the answers, if ever revealed, seemed bound to a fate darker than the snowy peaks surrounding them. Below, the world grew smaller, and with it, any lingering sense of safety evaporated, leaving Riley suspended in a precarious limbo as the gondola inched closer to the summit, where the unknown awaited like a shadowy specter.

Riley: “So, are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

Lena: “Wasn’t planning on it.”

As the tram moved higher, Riley started to shake with fear, not knowing what she will face when they reached their destination, at the top of the mountain.

What was there?

Who was there?

The Striking Ceremony:

--Power is nothing without a purpose. Purpose must be shaped by Might.--

Around the circle, there were five chairs. Four of which had masked figures dressed in cloaks sitting eerily and ominously.

Riley felt an unrelenting tension as the ceremony unfolded, each moment steeped in foreboding. The masked figures exuded an air of authority that pressed down on the room like a suffocating weight, their silence speaking volumes. The black ledger rested ominously in the center, a relic of secrets and power that seemed capable of unraveling destinies. The room itself seemed to hold its breath, as though aware that whatever was about to happen within the confines of the circle would irrevocably alter the lives tethered to its shadows. The air grew heavy with anticipation, drawing every eye to the ledger that seemed to pulse with a dark resonance, awaiting the moment it would bear witness to judgment.

Riley stood at the edge of the circle and watched in disbelief as Lorelai Lee, Hana Lee’s mother and the wife of Xinghai Lee, was brought forward in for trial for treason.

[Lorelai confessed that she thought the Via Imperii were just the elite of the elite. She joined as a way to gain social status for her family. She did not know what they really were, not asking questions until she had her daughter, Hana. They wanted to take her away to a school and raise her according to their standards ... to turn her into a pawn for political gain. Lorelai left at once to keep Hana safe. Then returned home to Shanghai. ]

Riley gasped.

Hana was then brought into the circle and stood beside the black ledger in handcuffs. Her gaze locked onto the floor.

Hana’s restrained stance, her shackled hands trembling slightly, painted a picture of helplessness, yet Riley sensed a quiet, defiant strength beneath her bowed head.

"Let us begin ..."

The 4 masked figures chanted:

"To the head that wears the crown...

And the hand that wields the blade."

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Summary: Leo’s plans are underway for his brother's bachelor party – Operation ‘Farewell to single life’ for Liam in a speakeasy in Monterisso. Joining the evening, Trystan Thorne, King of Drakovia, brings a surprise gift for the groom and his Cordonian friends. 

A/N: My submission for, #Choicesmonthlychallenge MAY mayhem2025 event. Prompts: guilty pleasure, two characters wake up handcuffed together, with no memory of the night before. 

Monterisso

Leo slid into the seat next to Liam, the lively hum of the speakeasy already filling the air. "So, I hate to be the responsible one here, but I think we need to establish some ground rules for tonight," he began, his voice deliberately casual. 

Drake rolled his eyes with a scoff. "Rules? Really? We're grown adults, Leo, not teenagers running amok at prom." 

Bertrand, ever the pragmatist, gave a solemn nod. "Actually, Leo might have a point. The last thing we need is to see tomorrow's headlines plastered with scandalous photos of the groom's party." 

Maxwell raised a brow, his expression both amused and incredulous. "Gentlemen, the night has barely begun, and already we've got the buzzkill brigade prepping us for disaster. I shudder to think where the fun will come from at this rate." 

Leo grinned, leaning back in his chair with an air of conspiratorial confidence. "Relax, Max. I’ve got that covered. The bartenders are on standby, ready to keep the drinks flowing—and maybe stir up some mischief. Trust me, the party is just warming up." 

Liam shook his head, unable to suppress a laugh at his brother’s antics. "Just promise me one thing, Leo—no wild escapades that might result in handcuffs or public embarrassment. I’d rather my wedding proceed without any unnecessary drama." 

“Noted,” Leo smirked, clinking his glass against Liam’s. “Though I make no promises if you start singing again, little brother." 

“That was one time,” Liam muttered. 

Drake chuckled. “Yeah, and it was a legendary rendition of ‘Livin’ on a Prayer.’” 

Before Liam could fire back, the speakeasy doors opened with a dramatic creak, and all heads turned. Trystan Thorne, ever the showman, stood tall in his dark velvet coat, a devilish grin on his face. Behind him, two attendants wheeled in a large, cloth-draped crate on a trolley. 

“Oh, hell,” Maxwell whispered, eyes wide. “Is that a tiger?” 

“Better,” Trystan declared, walking toward them with theatrical flair. “A wedding gift... fit for kings.” 

The group collectively leaned in as Trystan whipped the cloth off with a flourish. Inside the glass case, encased in velvet and gold filigree, were six custom bottles of aged Drakovian Firewine—rare, potent, and strictly prohibited for export. Even Leo blinked in surprise. 

“You’re smuggling contraband to a royal bachelor party?” Bertrand asked, somewhere between horrified and impressed. 

“I’m a king,” Trystan replied smoothly. “I do not smuggle. I gift.” 

Liam laughed, genuine and deep. “This is incredible. Thank you, Trystan.” 

“Just don’t drink it all tonight,” Trystan warned. “Firewine has... consequences.” 

Maxwell leaned toward Drake. “What kind of consequences?” 

“Trystan consequences,” Drake said, grabbing one of the bottles with a shrug. “Best not to ask.” 

As the night wore on, laughter echoed against the stone walls. The firewine flowed, the jazz turned to swing, and the speakeasy transformed into a whirlwind of toasts, roasts, and dancing. A magician wandered through the crowd doing card tricks; a sultry chanteuse took the stage; and Leo, despite his own rules, successfully coaxed Liam onto a tabletop for a spirited duet. 

This was more than just a farewell to single life. It was a celebration of brotherhood, mischief, and memory. And in the heart of Monterisso, where secrets were kept like good liquor, the night was only just beginning. 

The lights had dimmed further, casting a moody, golden hue across the speakeasy as the chanteuse took her place at the microphone. She wore a sapphire silk gown that shimmered with every movement, and her voice—low, sultry, and smooth as velvet—melted into the warm chords of the upright piano behind her. 

Liam, comfortably two glasses of firewine deep and halfway through a third, was swaying lightly in his seat. The warmth of the drink pulsed pleasantly through his chest. His tie was loosened, his cheeks flushed, and his usual kingly composure had softened into something carefree and alive. 

As the woman began a jazzy rendition of “At Last,” Liam tapped his glass in time with the beat. When she made eye contact with him during the second verse, she gave a sly smile—and motioned for him to join her on stage. 

The table erupted with cheers. 

“Oh no,” Liam said, already halfway to standing. 

“Oh yes,” Leo grinned, clapping. “Give the people what they want, Your Majesty.” 

“You’re not married yet!” Drake added with a laugh, raising his glass. 

Trystan smirked, swirling his firewine. “Careful, Liam. She might steal your heart before Riley can make you an honest man.” 

But Liam wasn’t listening anymore. Emboldened by the firewine—and perhaps the unspoken magic of the night—he stepped up onto the small stage, offering the chanteuse a charming bow. 

The pianist, catching on instantly, shifted into the opening bars of “Come Fly with Me.” 

Liam took the mic, his voice slightly husky from the drink but still rich and melodic. The crowd whooped in encouragement as he sang the first verse, his arm extended toward the singer with playful showmanship. 

She responded at once, circling him slowly, her voice weaving around his in perfect harmony.  

“Don’t encourage him!” Bertrand snapped, though his phone was still suspiciously pointed at the stage. 

At the final chorus, Liam extended his hand, and she took it. With a spin and a dip, he closed the number with a wink to the crowd. 

Thunderous applause followed. 

Back at the table, Bertrand raised his eyebrows. “He’s clearly had too much.” 

“I’m actually impressed,” Maxwell said, eyes wide. “He hit that falsetto. He hit that falsetto.” 

Leo laughed, slapping the table. “Riley is going to love this story.” 

As Liam made his way back to the table, the woman blew him a kiss, which he caught with a grin before nearly tripping over a step. Drake reached out to steady him. 

“You good, Sinatra?” he grinned. 

“Never better,” Liam said, breathless and flushed. “That was… oddly exhilarating.” 

Leo handed him another glass. “To the groom,” he said. “May your marriage have as much harmony as that duet.” 

Liam lifted his glass, his heart full. “To Riley. And to all of you. For making this night unforgettable.” 

The night rolled on—but for Liam, that stage moment lingered. Not because of the song or the spotlight, but because of the rare, fleeting sense of freedom it gave him. 

And deep down, he could not wait to tell Riley every detail. 

Liam collapsed back into his seat, cheeks still warm from the applause and the firewine, heart thudding from the impromptu duet. He reached for his drink—only to pause, brow furrowing. 

“Where the hell are Leo and Trystan?” 

The others glanced around. 

“They were just here…” Bertrand began, turning in his chair. 

Maxwell leaned sideways to peer past the bar. “Wait, didn’t Trystan leave right after Liam got on stage?” 

“And Leo?” Drake asked, his voice tinged with suspicion. “He was sitting right there ten minutes ago.” 

Liam narrowed his eyes at the now-empty glasses and the untouched bottle of firewine that Trystan had been guarding. “They ditched us.” 

“Correction,” Drake said, picking up Leo’s phone from the seat he left behind. “They snuck out.” 

Maxwell’s eyes lit up. “Bet they got into something wild.” 

Bertrand sighed. “Please don’t let this be another ‘riding a Vespa through a convent courtyard’ situation.” 

Liam chuckled but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was…off. 

The Next Morning – Somewhere in Monterisso 

Leo groaned. 

His head pounded like a drum corps had set up camp behind his eyes. He shifted slightly—and immediately froze. 

Clink. 

Metal. 

His wrist… was stuck? 

“What the—Trystan?!” 

From beside him, a similarly groggy groan: “Why are my arms numb… why do I taste glitter?” 

Leo turned his head—and blinked. Trystan was lying beside him on the cold marble floor of what looked like a wine cellar. Both men were shirtless, surrounded by scattered poker chips, empty wine bottles, a feather boa, and—most notably—handcuffed together at the wrist. 

They stared at each other. 

“What the hell happened last night?” Leo asked, voice hoarse. 

Trystan squinted at the dim ceiling. “I remember… the firewine. The redhead with the snake tattoo. And then… was there a goat? Or was that the jazz singer?” 

Leo looked down. “These aren’t even my pants.” 

Trystan lifted his free hand and picked a single rhinestone out of his hair. “Is that... a lipstick stain on your ear?” 

A door creaked open above them. Footsteps descended the narrow staircase. They both turned to look—blinking against the light. 

It was a Drakovian royal guard. He took one look at them and sighed deeply, holding up a phone. 

“Your Majesty,” he said in a tired voice, “we’ve been trying to reach you. You missed your security detail. The owner of this villa would very much like you to leave.” 

Leo sat up, wincing. “Villa?” 

Trystan gestured vaguely around. “This isn’t the speakeasy?” 

“No, sir. You broke into Count Girianno’s private wine estate and challenged two wedding planners to a ‘duel of decadence.’” 

Leo gave a long, slow blink. “...Did we win?” 

The guard hesitated. “Technically, yes.” 

Trystan leaned back against the wall, smirking despite the hangover. “Well, at least we’re consistent.” 

Leo groaned again, yanking lightly at the handcuffs. “Get the key. And get us coffee. And maybe a priest.” 

As the guard trudged away, Trystan glanced at Leo. 

“So… want to do it again next week?” 

Leo didn’t even look at him. “Not if we live through today.” 

Cordonia – Royal Palace, Morning After the Bachelor Party 

The sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the king’s breakfast room, casting a golden glow over the elegant spread of croissants, fresh fruit, and steaming coffee. Liam sat at the long table, still in his robe, with one arm draped around his bride-to-be, Riley, and the other waiting to help his son, William, cut up his pancakes. 

William beamed. “Daddy, I put syrup on the strawberries!” 

“You did?” Liam grinned, ruffling his son’s already-messy hair. “You’re a chef.” 

William nodded seriously, holding up a forkful of syrup-coated strawberries. “They taste yummy. You should try it, Daddy.” 

Riley leaned forward, her laughter carrying a melodic warmth. “Looks like you have some competition in the kitchen, Liam. We might have a budding Michelin-starred chef on our hands.” 

“Daddy, I can teach you!” William offered generously before turning back to his pancakes with the laser focus of a young artist at work. 

Liam’s wink sparkled with amusement. “Should I be nervous? William might steal my culinary crown before his fifth birthday.” 

Riley rested her cheek against her hand, her eyes filled with adoration. “He’s just like you, Liam—chaotic charm and all.” 

Before Liam could craft a response, Bastien’s composed nod and discreet voice interrupted. 

“My apologies for the interruption, Your Majesty, Lady Riley, but there’s… been a situation.” 

“A situation?” Riley asked, her voice tinged with curiosity. 

Bastien’s jaw tightened as he hesitated, clearly picking his words with care. “It involves Prince Leo… and King Trystan.” 

Liam exhaled slowly, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Let me guess. They didn’t take a vow of monk-like behavior after I left the bachelor party?” 

Riley raised an amused brow. “Please tell me you’re joking.” 

Bastien didn’t flinch, his tone as dry as ever. “I would prefer that. Unfortunately, the matter is slightly more… complicated.” 

“Complicated how?” Liam asked, leaning back in his chair with a practiced calm that did little to hide the flicker of irritation in his eyes. 

“They’re currently detained.” 

Riley blinked. “Detained? As in… arrested?” 

William paused mid-bite, wide-eyed. “Daddy, did Uncle Leo fight bad guys?” 

Bastien cleared his throat again. “Not precisely, young sir.” 

Liam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, Bastien. Start from the beginning. And please tell me this isn’t as ridiculous as I think it’s going to be.” 

“They apparently… challenged two local wedding planners to something called a ‘duel of decadence.’ There were empty firewine bottles, a feather boa, several packets of glitter, and—reportedly—a rented goat involved at one point.” 

Riley gasped, wide-eyed. “A goat?!” 

“Yes, my lady,” the captain said, with a nod to the toddler. “A small one.” 

Riley bit her lip to keep from laughing, covering her mouth with her napkin. 

“They’re on their way back to the palace.  

Liam closed his eyes, trying to summon patience. “And are they… okay?” 

Riley leaned in, whispering through her laughter. “So… that’s the ‘responsible’ brother who wanted to lay down rules last night?” 

Liam gave her a look. “Don’t start.” 

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Chapter summary: It’s the night of the Harvest Ball at the Applewood estate. Cordonian nobility, along with the elite from neighboring kingdoms, attend to celebrate the season's bounty. Hidden in plain sight, are enemies of the state. In attendance are members of the Via Imperii - a secret society of powerful people based in Europe.

A/N: My submission for the Choices April Challenge 2025, prompt, “I’m not who I used to be.” @choicesapril2025 @liaromancewriter

🍎The lavish grandeur of the Applewood Estate ballroom shimmered beneath a cascade of glittering chandeliers, their crystal facets scattering golden light like stardust across the polished marble floor. Noblemen and women, adorned in opulent gowns and distinguished tailoring, glided through the ballroom with effortless grace. Laughter mingled with the soft strains of the orchestra as the Harvest Ball began—a cherished annual tradition meant to honor the year’s abundance and reaffirm delicate political alliances.

King Liam Rys of Cordonia positioned casually on a velvet-cushioned barstool, flanked by his older brother, Prince Leo, and his ever-loyal confidant, Sir Drake Walker. The three men shared a casual moment of levity along with their personal lubation of choice amidst the stately atmosphere. Around them, the room swelled with nobles in glittering attire, each one more dazzling than the next while other guests began to relax at the bar.

Riley stood near the edge of the crowd, her heart fluttering with unease. The sparkle of the celebration couldn't mask the anxious knot twisting in her stomach. She didn’t understand why, but she felt an urgent pull toward Liam—her anchor in a whirlwind of royal obligations and public scrutiny. His mere presence had always calmed the storm inside her.

Across the ballroom, the towering double doors sprang open, drawing every eye toward the entrance. Gabriella Midsommar, King Eirik's younger sister and Princess of Moldova, made her entrance like a beauty queen on the arm of her brother. She was radiant—tall, curvaceous, with cascading waves of mohagony brown hair and piercing blue eyes. Her midnight-blue gown clung to her hourglass frame, the thigh-high slit revealing long, toned legs with every stride. The fabric shimmered like liquid sapphire under the ballroom lights.

With a feline elegance, Gabriella approached the bar, her gaze locked on Liam. She leaned in, her sultry laugh carrying just far enough to draw Riley’s attention. Normally, Riley was level-headed—pragmatic about Liam’s responsibilities as king. But something about Gabriella’s forwardness, her eyes lingering too long on Liam’s lips, ignited a flare of jealousy Riley couldn not suppress.

What she didn’t yet know was that the tension burning in her chest wasn’t just from envy—it was the first sign of a secret growing within her. A new life, fragile and unexpected, had already begun to stir inside her.

Liam, ever the diplomat, offered Gabriella a courteous smile. Still, when his gaze found Riley across the room, his expression softened instantly. Their eyes met, and the invisible tether between them pulled taut. He murmured a quick excuse to the nobles around him and strode toward her.

Leaning in close, his voice brushed her ear like silk. “Hey, you,” he whispered, his breath warm on her skin. Riley’s cheeks flushed with heat as a small, involuntary smile spread across her lips.

Liam marveled at his wife's hourglass figure unabashedly, taking her hand gently. He looked into her eyes, “Dance with me?”

She nodded, and together they stepped onto the dance floor. As the orchestra swelled, Liam drew her close, his hand splayed firmly against the small of her back. They moved in perfect sync, their bodies pressed together, spinning in rhythm beneath the chandeliers.

“You are breathtaking,” he murmured again, his lips brushing her temple.

“Thank you,” she replied, her voice barely audible, as she stretched up to place a lingering kiss on his lips.

As the music faded, he kissed her cheek and pulled away with a bittersweet smile. “Duty calls. I’ll come find you soon.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Riley said softly, watching him melt back into the crowd.

She turned, trying to shake the heaviness building in her chest, only to spot Olivia standing alone by the champagne tower, her expression unreadable.

“Olivia,” Riley greeted, approaching with cautious warmth.

“Riley,” Olivia replied coolly, her tone clipped.

“You okay? You seem… tense.”

“Oh, just living the dream,” Olivia replied dryly, her gaze fixed across the ballroom.

Riley followed it—and there she was again. Gabriella, laughing delicately, surrounded by fawning nobles, her hand fluttering to Liam’s shoulder with deliberate intimacy.

“Who is she?” Riley asked.

“Gabriella. Eirik's little sister,” Olivia replied, her tone brittle. “She’s been batting her lashes at Alex since the moment we arrived.”

Riley turned just in time to see Gabriella offering Liam an exaggerated curtsy, her bodice dipping dangerously low. Liam bowed politely, but his eyes flicked up to Riley with a fleeting, apologetic grin.

It wasn’t enough.

A surge of hot jealousy tore through Riley’s chest, irrational yet unstoppable. She knew she was being unfair—knew Liam’s heart belonged to her—but still, the image of Gabriella’s hand on his arm branded itself into her mind.

“You okay?” Olivia asked gently.

“I’m fine,” Riley replied, her voice too tight, her smile too practiced.

“You don’t look fine.”

“I just… feel a little off. Maybe I’ll lie down.”

Riley excused herself and made her way up the grand staircase, her heels clicking softly on the marble steps. In the east wing’s royal chambers, she collapsed onto the edge of her bed, trying to still her racing thoughts. The moon cast a silvery glow over the palace gardens below, painting a tranquil scene that stood in stark contrast to the chaos inside her.

Then—a voice outside her chamber doors. Strange. Ellie, William, and Stefan were with their grandmother for the weekend, and Mara rarely spoke aloud while standing guard. These thoughts ran through her mind as she realized that the royal guards were not at their posts.

“Your Majesty, may I have a moment of your time?”

The door creaked open.

That wasn’t Mara’s voice.

Riley turned slowly, her pulse quickening.

“Riley, I need you to come with me.”

Lena.

Time seemed to slow.

Riley stumbled backward, her heart hammering in her chest. “Lena… how are you here?”

Lena, who was supposed to be imprisoned in a high-security facility in France, stood in the doorway—unharmed, unbothered, and holding a gun.

Riley glanced quickly at the door, praying that Liam would be there.

"It's for your own good," she sneered.

A sinister smirk curled across Lena’s lips. “That’s not important. I am not who I used to be.”

“What do you want?”

“Revenge,” she hissed, stepping closer. “For the life you stole from me.”

“I never stole anything,” Riley whispered, tears threatening to spill. “I love him.”

“SHUT UP!” Lena screamed, her fury unhinged. “You should never have been queen. That crown was mine!”

She raised the gun and fired.

The bullet shattered into the wall behind Riley. Dust and splinters rained down. Her ears rang. She couldn’t breathe.

A second shot exploded, this time striking the wall just inches above her head.

“Please,” Riley begged, trembling. “Let me go.”

“No,” Lena spat. “We’re going on a trip, you and I.”

She seized Riley’s arm, her grip iron-tight, dragging her down the staircase with terrifying force.

The gala music drifted from the ballroom—delicate piano chords, the clink of glasses, oblivious laughter.

No one knew.

No one saw.

Riley struggled, kicking against the marble steps, but Lena only tightened her grip. “Move!”

In the foyer, Riley’s breath hitched as they neared the main doors.

“Where are we going?” she asked, voice cracking.

“Far away. Where no one will ever find you. And when we get there, you’ll regret ever being born.”

... And for a miracle.

As the ornate doors opened into the moonlit night, Riley turned her eyes skyward and whispered a prayer. For Liam.

For her children.

For her unborn child.

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Chapter Summary – Arriving home, after celebrating her engagement with Liam, Sophie discovers the duplicity and treachery of her Uncle Barthelemy when visiting her home in Ramsford.

Music Inspiration: I Don’t Wanna Wait, David Guetta, OneRepublic  

Words: 4.5k 

A/N1: Bethany Beaumont, Maxwell’s mother, is originally from the U.S. and is Barthelemy Beaumont’s second wife. Annabelle Beaumont (deceased) is Bertrand’s mother.  

A/N2: ‘Social Season’ in this AU series refers to a traditional period in the spring/summer for royalty and members of the court to take part in Balls, dinner parties and charity events.  

A/N3: Heartfelt thanks to @Selina012 for joining me in writing ideas and with dialogue/content for this chapter and series. 

A/N4: Thank you @selina012 for pre-reading 

A/N5: My submission for: March Prompt Challenge, Prompt 8: Health condition @nosebleedclub 

A/N6: My submissions for: Monthly Writing Challenge, Prompt 4: Love or Duty; Prompt 13: A Pact made in secret 

The Royal Yacht 

It felt likely sometime after 6 A.M. The sweet, warm, Mediterranean air ...the sunlight streaming through the front windows, and the sensation of the weight on her body gradually brought Sophie out of her restful state.  

The gentle sway of the yacht rocked Sophie as she lay there, her eyes fluttering open to the soft hues of dawn. She instinctively tightened her grip on the blanket, allowing herself a few more precious moments in the cocoon of warmth she shared with Liam. She could hear the faint lapping of waves against the hull, a steady rhythm that seemed to mirror her own heartbeat. 

As her senses sharpened, she felt the strands of Liam’s hair tickling her neck and the tender pressure of his arm around her waist. The scent of the sea mingled with the faint remnants of his cologne, created an intoxicating blend that made her heart swell with longing. 

Turning her head slightly, she caught a glimpse of his serene face, still lost in the tranquility of sleep. There was a vulnerability to him; such a contrast to the regal and poised demeanor he showcased to the world. In this moment, Sophie felt an overwhelming bond with him—a shared intimacy that transcended titles and duties. 

She let her eyes roam the luxurious cabin, its opulence softened by the early morning light, and she thought of the journey ahead. Each intricate detail of the room reminded her of the life she was stepping into, a life filled with both privilege and responsibility. Sophie’s resolve strengthened as she imagined the future, a future where she would stand beside Liam, not just as his queen, but as his equal and partner. 

With a deep breath, she steeled herself for the day ahead, her heart brimming with the promise of love and the weight of impending duty. Groggily, she felt his arm draped across her side and the brush of fingertips on her breast. She gave an exhausted laugh, both because they had likely been entwined like that for hours, but because the words, 'good morning,' ran through her thoughts.  But reality beckoned, and the responsibilities that came with becoming a Duchess loomed over her thoughts. She knew that soon, the quiet mornings would be filled with duties and obligations. Sophie was determined to make Liam proud of her; to prove her abilities and leadership.  

Love and duty will intertwine. 

A secret pact will always be forever cherished between them, a promise that their love would remain untainted by the burdens of their titles.  

The gentle rocking of the yacht lulled her back into a drowsy state, cradled by the luxurious comfort of their shared bed. Her mind wandered to the events of the previous night, where the stars had witnessed Liam's heartfelt proposal, and their passionate embrace had sealed their commitment. Even now, with the first light of dawn filtering through the blinds, the memory of his earnest words and loving gaze made her heart flutter. The anticipation of their future together, filled with love and shared endeavors, made her feel indescribably happy. Despite the impending duties and the grandeur of their new roles, Sophie felt a deep sense of reassurance in Liam's presence, knowing that they would face everything together. As she lay there, soaking in the remnants of their intimacy, she found herself smiling at the thought of the life awaiting them in Cordonia. 

 After another half hour or so, she felt Liam gently pull his arm away, and then the press of his lips on her shoulder, silently told her that he had to get out of bed. She could feel the faint traces of regret in her at the lack of his skin, his scent, and the warmth he seemed to generate like the sun itself as her tired eyes roamed to her fiancé as he made for the bathroom. 

She curled in on the spot he had occupied a moment before, hearing the water switch on. She savored the lingering scent of his cologne mixed with the salty air of the sea, her fingers tracing the path his body had warmed on the bed. The gentle hum of the yacht’s engines served as a backdrop to her thoughts, each vibration reminding her of the adventure that lay ahead. Sophie felt a sense of yearning as she recalled the intensity of their connection, the unspoken promises that had passed between them in whispers and caresses. Her heart swelled with love and anticipation, knowing that every challenge and triumph would be met together. As the water in the bathroom continued to run, she felt a growing desire to be close to him once more, to feel his skin against hers, and to steal just a bit more time before the world demanded his attention. He would be wet and slippery, so irresistible, and warm enough to almost burn. 

Biting down on the edge of her lower lip, the spark that was waking her from her sleepy state told her she had no intentions of staying put. She didn't waste time in waiting, sitting on the edge of the bed as her eyes set themselves on the door, unblinking, a mischievous smile on her lips. Sophie shifted to stand, at once feeling the soreness between her legs; a reminder of their intimacy after his proposal the night before when Sophie willingly gave her virginity to the man she truly loved.  

Sophie slipped her arms into her silk robe as Liam came walking back out, his torso wrapped in a white towel.  

Liam's presence was magnetic, drawing Sophie’s attention across the room with an eagerness that belied her earlier tranquility. The air between them crackled with unspoken desire, each step bringing her closer to the man who had effortlessly claimed her heart and body. She moved with a grace that was almost feline. The sight of his lean and muscular physique, sculpted as a Greek God, captivated her senses. As their eyes met, the playful tease in Liam's words lit a fire within her. 

"You seem to like what you see," he murmured, his European accent adding a tantalizing edge to his voice. Her gaze roved over his newly shaven face, the strong lines of his neck and shoulders, the perfection of his torso. She undid her robe with deliberate slowness, revealing the soft curve of her thigh first, luring his attention.  

"My queen, come, and shower with me?" he invited, his voice a low growl of need ... using his deep, baritone voice she craved.  

"My king," Sophie replied coyly, tugging at the front of her silk robe before it gave and fell, her breasts bouncing lightly as the material slid down. Her smirk returned and her heart skipped a beat as Liam did nothing to resist her allure.  

 Liam let his fingers tangle themselves in her silken dark chocolate strands, coaxing her head up to then taste her lips. Feeling the jolt run through him with the sensation of her fingertips travelling down the ridges of his back; to caress his tight, rounded glutes. Liam groaned as Sophie wrapped her legs around his waist, as he hoisted her up, and walked them to the bathroom, closing the door behind them with his foot. 

Dukedom of Ramsford/House Beaumont 

The warm breeze whipped through the open window as the SUV drove down the paved drive, the late spring foliage whipping by in a flurry of greens and blues. Sophie gazed out at the verdant countryside, her thoughts wandering back to the night before. 

All too soon, the capital was fading in the distance, and as Sophie, along with her personal guard, Mara and driver drove down the empty roads, memories of the past several months started to drift into her mind. Everything that had led up to this point.  

There was still so much more ahead. A lifetime of happiness, adventures, challenges... Sophie reached her left hand up and watched the gleaming diamond’s facets. Everything was in place, yet there was one more piece of the puzzle left. One last place that beckoned her, promised its unconditional love and welcome. 

After Liam had announced their engagement to the nobles of Cordonia, the gossip and speculation had run rampant. To Sophie's surprise, she had quickly become an unofficial member of the royal family, her life splashed across tabloids and websites throughout the day. The nobility had shown support, and the public outpouring of support had astounded her. For many citizens, Liam and Sophie's engagement symbolized the promise of a new beginning. A promise of a peaceful, prosperous future. 

Even though their engagement aboard the Royal yacht was an instantaneous thing, every move they made after that was well thought-through, organized and presented in a way that is best for them and for Cordonia. No spontaneity was allowed, no surprise appearance and announcement as of now, while the wedding had to be official and handled with proper respect. They hadn't been able to truly enjoy the first weeks of their engagement; everything has been put aside to keep their family happy and Liam to step up the throne. They needed to be available to all corners of the nation to shake hands and answer questions. There was always an interview, an engagement, an inauguration or a press conference to attend and Liam had been rather busy with all that. 

Sophie had asked herself repeatedly, what does becoming a Duchess entail? Or, in her case, the Queen of Cordonia. At first, the thought of becoming royal was overwhelming and Liam’s advisors quickly began an array of crash courses on international affairs, while Queen Regina advised on royal traditions. Most days, it felt as if her brain might explode, she had so much crammed into her memory. She was grateful to have people to talk to and practice with, to ensure that everything was right. She wanted Liam to feel confident that he had chosen well. Having a personal staff was something she never thought she would have or need ... and now, quickly became the norm; an essential part of being Royal. 

And despite all this, she could not bring herself to feel anxious about anything. Today she had one errand left. She reached a familiar brick road that curved off from the main thoroughfare, heading straight toward a cluster of vineyards just visible in the distance. A smile grew across Sophie's face as the SUV drew near, bouncing along the uneven path. She turned down a grassy trail and watched the trees flash by, feeling that familiar sense of anticipation well inside her. 

Not much longer. 

Up ahead, the road curved toward an overgrown house, a mass of bricks and foliage intertwining before her.  

House Beaumont 

As the SUV parked at the base of the front steps, Sophie hopped out. For a moment, she took her time, drinking in the familiar sight of her home, the scent of freshly mown grass   and the sound of wind chimes in the distance. 

It was funny to think, when she first set foot in her family home in Cordonia, that she never would have imagined things would transform like this.  

Back when she lived in New York with her mom, she had never envisioned such an important life change was coming. If it weren't for the letter her mother wrote to her sister, Bethany shortly before she passed. The letter that told of the heartbreaking story of her mother’s battle with cancer and devastating prognosis.  

Would she be here today? 

Would Liam be in her arms with his ring around her finger? 

Looking out at the sprawl of the estate and up to the large bay windows of her bedroom, she couldn't help but think about how lucky she was. Cordonia may not have turned out quite the way that anyone would have predicted, but the seeds planted here have flourished and brought her to exactly the place she needed to be. Exactly to the man she was meant to meet. 

Inside the car, the buzzing of her phone alerted her to the time, and Sophie reached over the console to grab her cell. Glancing at the caller ID, she chuckled. 

"Is this about Liam's meeting starting?" she spoke, pulling herself away from her reminiscing. "Did it already start without him? What's up?" 

"Er," Maxwell panted on the other side of the line, the noises of rushing crowds in the background, the whine of his microphone carrying on the wind. "I can explain all this!" 

"Explain what? Where are you?" 

"At the palace," he shouted. There was a dull roaring sound, a squeal and then the loud pop of confetti canons. "The reporters are being seated and everyone is... settling down for the press conference." 

"Oh," she said with some satisfaction, looking around her estate and staring back at the winding road leading towards the city. "I'm just wrapping up the last bit here so I can come back and celebrate Liam’s coronation with you." 

"Can you wrap... faster?" Maxwell gasped, like he was running from an invisible foe, a horn honk blaring in the background as Maxwell let out a muffled yell. "Actually, forget that—take your time and I'll see you back at the palace?" 

Sophie couldn't suppress her laughter. "You'll be fine. Maxwell? I think Hana said your jacket was already at the stage, go change—" 

"Right. I'm on my way. But," he said hesitantly, before lowering his voice, "Liam says to hurry up." 

"I'll be done soon, I promise." 

Hanging up the phone, Sophie moved away from the SUV and walked to the front steps, jogging up the stairs and opening the door. She hadn't visited home since before summer started. So much had happened since, and she wondered if Bethany was busy and out tending to the grounds or if she was sitting inside the living room reading a book like she usually was. It was strange to think the last time she was here she was before the graduation. 

Taking the winding halls and stairs with Mara behind her, she walked toward the back of the estate. Suddenly, a muffled but distinct noise filled the silence; the voice of her aunt and Uncle Barthelemy shouting incoherently to one another. Not wanting to witness or interrupt a possible quarrel, Sophie quietly slipped off to the kitchen where she hoped the sound of her luggage rolling over a bump in the floor wouldn't interrupt.

After hearing a door slam the sound of both voices halted, silenced. Footsteps approached as her uncle strode out of his office door. 

"Excuse my rudeness," he said, not sounding the least apologetic, but still stopping, realizing that she was there. "Bethany," he called over his shoulder as he glanced back, not acknowledging her aunt who had followed out after him and cleared his throat. "Sophia," he greeted with a terse, somewhat formal nod. "Your sudden visit isn't... unappreciated." 

His gaze narrowed, looking past her shoulder at Mara. "If the last several weeks have taught you anything," he drawled, "it should be to think very carefully before doing or saying... certain things to the Royal family." 

His rigid posture spoke volumes to his level of impatience. 

Sophie sighed and turned toward her aunt. Bethany stayed silent and fixed on a spot of the wall beside her, chewing anxiously on a hangnail, a habit Sophie only saw her adopt during her nervousness.  

Bethany finally gave in and met her eyes, the grey streaks at the top of her hair and her reddish-purple attire complimenting her. "Oh, Sophie. You're... just in time. There's plenty of time before you're due at the coronation. Do you... want some tea? I just made a pot..." 

"Beth," her uncle tried to reason, running his hands over his wrinkles as Bethany moved forward. "Don't humor her." 

She looked pointedly at him, pursing her lips. 

"There's a matter we still haven't settled. What will we do?" 

Bethany blew out an exasperated sigh, whipping around to face Barthelemy, jabbing a finger towards him as she enunciated each syllable. 

"Why are you like this! Can't I enjoy this one good thing in this house while it lasts and make a cup of tea?!" She balled her hand in a fist and looked up. "Tea, please." 

With the boiling kettle as a sign to move, he pushed open the doors to his office and closed himself within its privacy, ending any hopes that Sophie had of picking up some extra details. Bethany filled up the cups, her motions mechanical. She handed one to Sophie, and they sat down to wait for the liquid inside to cool. 

At that moment, Sophie realized that there was no waitstaff in House Beaumont. Is that part of the mystery too? Did Uncle Barthelemy want to save on paychecks or something, she wondered idly, remembering a story from a book about someone hiding wealth by living simply... that was a bizarre thought. 

Barthelemy strode out of his office, adjusting his cufflinks and muttering under his breath as his icy gaze fell on Bethany, his countenance far less severe than when his discussion with her began. Bethany set the silver strainer on a clean cup and held it up in offering; her uncle shook his head, declining as he spoke. "We shouldn't keep Sophie waiting. We will finish this later." 

Bethany raised the kettle, her expression stubborn. "Your health." 

Barthelemy drank dutifully before walking over to where Sophie had set her tea down and cleared his throat, his hard countenance looking over the rim of his spectacles. He set his cup and saucer down carefully before motioning for her to begin her news. Sophie fiddled with her ring and grinned up at him, her thoughts returning to their past interactions. 

"Uncle Barthelemy ...Auntie Bethany.” 

Barthelemy's stern demeanor softened as he awaited Sophie's news. The room was charged with tension as Sophie met his gaze, hesitating before sharing her significant announcement. Her uncle's expression mixed curiosity and concern, while Aunt Bethany's excitement was clear. With a deep breath and a pounding heart, Sophie whispered, "I am a duchess." 

They both looked shocked and slowly it was dawning on Bethany what this meant. Her eyes brimmed with tears and a hand came to cover her mouth in utter surprise, not believing her ears. 

"Sophie," her aunt breathed out slowly as if she came back from a trance. 

Sophie swallowed, waiting for her uncle to interject. They were still waiting on him for confirmation or congratulations, but Barthelemy kept staring at Sophie silently with a firm expression. 

"Oh, that's lovely, dear! 

Barthelemy remained motionless, his gaze unwavering as it rested upon Sophie, the weight of his scrutiny felt by all in the room. Bethany's breath hitched, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. The air was thick with anticipation, a collective holding of breath as emotions surged and mingled. Finally, Barthelemy's stern expression softened slightly, and he nodded, an unspoken acknowledgment that left no room for doubt. 

"Not the queen yet," Sophie offered, waiting for the inevitable questions. 

Aunt Bethany covered her cheeks with her palms and grinned in absolute bewilderment. "It feels as though just yesterday I was welcoming you in Cordonia and now," she pressed a hand to Sophie's heart, "your heart is marrying the King." 

"So," her uncle began sardonically. There was a strained pause. "Are we expected to curtsey when we meet you, Your Highness?" 

"I hope you will treat me in the same manner you always have, I am your niece," Sophie answered easily, rising her cup, ignoring the ice in his voice. 

"Now isn't that rich," he remarked, raising his eyebrows at her, crossing his arms. "A few months of pampering and a fancy ball or two, and all of a sudden you forget who took you in." 

Sophie took a breath in preparation to fight back before Barthelemy clipped in again, cutting her off. 

"No," he held up his hand and paused, "Your marriage to the king will be beneficial to this house. With that I am pleased, and I also want to give my congratulations. I should give you fair warning though. Cordonia has not been without her share of infighting. Ever since the monarchial system was first conceived the royals of Cordonia have played a balancing act between competing interests in order to hold the power to rule." 

"So, what you are saying?" 

"Power comes with responsibility," her uncle reminded her with an insincere smirk and a single nod, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "I wish you well, your highness." 

The corners of his mouth lifted to a slight grimace. It was something. 

"That will be all." 

"Well," Aunt Bethany stepped forward, smiling fondly and extended an arm to her in greeting. 

Sophie looked down at her left hand, fingering the warm gold on her finger. 

"I love him so much," she looked up at her aunt's flushed cheeks and radiant eyes.

'She'd been drinking, Sophie could tell, the strong wine smell was mixed with something sharp on her breath.'

"Congratulations," Bethany threw her arms wide, but her embrace seemed hollow as it lacked enthusiasm. Sophie stood with her arms glued to her sides. 

Sophie caught Barthelemy roll his eyes and run his fingers through the little remaining hair he had before the door closed in her face, leaving them alone in the room. Sophie took a deep breath as Bethany sank back into the bench and buried her face into her hands. 

"Are you alright, Aunt Bethany?" Sophie questioned her as she slumped over and laid her cheek flat on the counter. She shrugged indifferently as a beeping sound interrupted the tranquility. "Just like that... it's been so quick." 

Sophie returned to her room at Beaumont Estate when the lunch was over. Feeling a little tired, she decided to take a break before packing up the remaining personal items into her luggage. She sank down gently and laid down on the soft bed and closed her eyes, trying to calm her thoughts. However, just as she was about to fall asleep, a faint sound of conversation crept through the wall and unexpectedly into her ears. 

The voice was low and vague, and seemed to come from the next room. Sophie perked her ears curiously, trying to make out what was being said. By and by she realized that they were Aunt Bethany's and Uncle Barthelemy's voices, and they seemed to be speaking not in a calm tone, but with a hint of suppressed anger. 

Sophie's heart was racing, and she leaned her ear against the wall, trying to hear better. Sure enough, the sound of the conversation soon became clear, but the content shocked her. 

"How can you play favorites like that!" Bethany's voice was full of anger and disappointment, "Bertrand is your elder son and the heir of Ramsford, and you openly support him ...I have nothing to say about that. But what about Maxwell? He's our child too! You're like a stranger to him, and you've always been a terrible father and husband for years!" 

Barthelemy's voice was cold and dismissive: "Maxwell? He's just a spare son, eating his head off and doing nothing. It's a disgrace that the Beaumont family has a son like that! ' 

"You... How can you say that about him!" Bethany's voice trembled with grief. "Maxwell is your son! Are you worthy of me by being so cold to him? Is it worthy of all these years of our marriage?!" 

Barthelemy's voice was even grimmer: "Marriage? Well, it was just a trade. How much good do you think your family can do me? Now Bertrand is old enough to need you out of the family business. As for Maxwell, he's nothing!" 

"Shame on you!" Bethany roared, "I will no longer tolerate your duplicity with me and my family! I'm gonna tell everyone the real reason you've been in a nursing home so long! I'll show them your true face!" 

This sentence is like a bomb, that instantly brought the temperature in the room to a boiling point. 

"Don't you dare!" Barthelemy's voice went up an octave and threatened viciously, "Don't forget who you are, Bethany. If you dare to tell anyone, I will make your and Maxwell's life a living hell!" 

Then there was a violent quarrel, mingled with slamming doors and heavy footsteps. Soon a muffled cry faded away. Clearly, it was that Aunt Bethany had left the room. 

Sophie's heart sank, deeply shocked and disturbed by the actions of her uncle, Barthelemy, and even more saddened for her aunt. Her heart felt like a big stone, and she couldn't breathe. But she also knew that it wasn't a good idea to ask Bethany directly, since she was on the verge of an emotional breakdown after such a furious fight. 

Sophie sat up, took a deep breath, and tried to calm herself. She picked up her phone, hesitated, and then sent Maxwell a message:

"Max, do you have a minute? I have something to tell you. See you in the garden?" 

Soon after, the phone vibrated and Maxwell replied,

"Sure, I'll be there. Let me know when you are back at the palace." 

Sophie put down her phone, stood up, arranged her clothes, and slowly walked out of the room to the SUV downstairs. She was full of doubts and worries, not knowing what was in store for her, but she knew she had to face it. 

☆☆☆

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Chapter Summary – Arriving in Cordonia, Riley Brooks, Melanie’s high school friend from New York City, U.S., joins the horse ranch as a veterinarian-in-training. Sparks fly when she is introduced to Melanie’s boyfriend, Drake Walker. Neville Vancoeur meets his fate. Liam and Sophie embark on a journey to the Mediterranean. 

Music Inspiration: I Don’t Wanna Wait, David Guetta, OneRepublic  

Words: 5.5k 

A/N1: Bethany Beaumont, Maxwell’s mother, is originally from the U.S. and is Barthelemy Beaumont’s second wife. Annabelle Beaumont (deceased) is Bertrand’s mother.  

A/N2: ‘Social Season’ in this AU series refers to a traditional period in the spring/summer for royalty and members of the court to take part in Balls, dinner parties and charity events.  

A/N3: Heartfelt thanks to @Selina012 for joining me in writing ideas and with dialogue/content for this chapter and series. 

A/N4: Thank you @ladylamrien for this picture prompt!  

A/N5: My submission for: @choicesjanuary2025, new beginnings, prompt 13 - New relationship; one word prompt; New year, prompt 10 – breath, 11 – connection 

Officially Yours 

Cordonian Royal Palace, Throne Room 

The expansive polished marble floors of the antechamber were illuminated by the warm glow of intricately crafted chandeliers suspended from a high false ceiling. The Kings guards stood at attention near the grand doors leading into the throne room. 

Liam, followed closely by Bastien, walked briskly down a private corridor leading into that antechamber. A man on a mission, he walked with an air of unwavering confidence. 

Memories of the many times he had followed his father and watched in stealth from the alcoves as nobles received an audience from their king, flashed in his mind. 

His father always used the antechamber to his advantage.  

When the nobles petitioned the king, father was in the position to personally witness each and every behavior and attitude. He gained an insight into what they were like – a window to view their hidden motives. 

Liam had seen the subtle power dynamics unfurl in this very room, the balance of persuasion and the art of diplomacy that his father had mastered. It was in this antechamber that young Liam learned the essence of rulership—not just in grand declarations, but in the quiet observations of human nature. The marble floors and the chandeliers provided a backdrop to the lessons that would shape his future. As he approached the throne room, he felt the responsibility of his father's legacy. 

 The prince was now the crown prince and soon to be king.  

These thoughts swirled in Liam's mind as he made his way through the antechamber, each step weighed down by the expectations placed upon him. He could not help but reflect on the quiet strength and discernment his father had displayed in this very room, a silent mentor in the art of governance. The moment was heavy with the anticipation of his own legacy forming, a delicate balance of continuing his father's teachings while forging his own path. The gleaming expanse of marble beneath his feet felt like a mirror of his own resolve, solid yet untested, as he approached the threshold of the throne room where his destiny awaited.  

"Just a little to your left, son, so you can better see the main entrance," his father would say when he saw me watching from my hiding spot.  

Whether the noble was belligerent or friendly, or how quickly they would push his cause or cower for the sake of their ego. I was never supposed to inherit the throne, but my father made sure to train both my brother and myself for when we had the opportunity to ascend, nonetheless. And it seems now I finally will get to step into his shoes.  

His father sat on the king's throne as Liam approached the dais.  

“Hello, Father." Liam bowed slightly in respect. 

“Liam," his father acknowledged, as he looked at his heir intently. 

 "You wished to have a private word with me?" Liam looked into his father's eyes, sensing the gravity of the conversation that was to unfold. He admired the way his father always carried the weight of the realm with such resilience and wisdom. 

  Constantine took a deep breath, his gaze softening momentarily as he regarded his youngest son, acknowledging the significance of this private counsel.  

"Liam, what we decide here will shape the future of our kingdom. It is not merely about the actions of one man, but about the message we send to all who look to us for guidance and justice." 

"Yes, Father," Liam replied, his voice steady.  

 "This has weighed heavily upon me, especially since my advisors and I did not foresee this, and I blame myself for what has befallen this fine young woman" Constantine nodded in reflection. 

Liam drew a breath, not certain where this line of reasoning would go. 

"I take responsibility," Constantine said.  

"Lord Neville Vancoeur is from an old and respected house who has never showed signs of unrest with other members of the court. While he should be punished severely, if we banish the Vancoeurs from Cordonia we may ignite further discord which we cannot afford at this moment." 

Constantine let out a heavy sigh and continued. 

"Lord Neville Vancoeur has caused much sorrow and shame upon himself, but not his father and family. For their service and loyalty to the crown, they shall remain in their land and hold on to their titles," King Constantine announced. 

Constantine stood and began to pace back and forth. 

"It would behoove me to discuss how best to treat the future Earl of Cormery Isle. " Constantine continued. 

"To deprive their House of its land, wealth and title would send a grave message to the nobles not aligned with you," he began. 

Liam met his father's gaze, feeling the weight of the decision they were about to make. 

 "Father, I understand the complexity of this situation and the balance we must maintain. We need to show both justice and mercy, but also ensure the stability of our kingdom," Liam asserted.  

Constantine nodded, a mixture of pride and solemnity in his eyes. "A wise perspective, my son," he said, pausing in his pacing. "We shall address Lord Neville's actions with the gravity they deserve, but we will also protect the integrity of the Vancoeur family and our realm."  

Liam felt a resolve solidify within him. "Then let us proceed with a measured approach, one that serves both justice and the greater good of Cordonia," Liam concluded, feeling the mantle of leadership settling more firmly on his shoulders. 

"Furthermore, if Lord Neville's crimes are treated with leniency, we would not look well to the people and your popularity will take a further tumble. After you assume the throne, the key will be to restore the people's faith in our leadership. 

"With your advisement I see the path forward." Liam nodded, still looking to his father. 

Constantine smiled as he regarded his son with pride, "You're ready." 

"I am." Liam nodded and approached the dais, turning the chair around with the ease of familiarity. He placed a hand upon it, the chair's surface cool and sturdy. 

He looked back at his father as Constantine nodded with approval. 

"Now, send him in," the King commanded to the guards. Liam's pulse quickened with the prospect of facing Neville for the first time since the charity polo match. 

Constantine turned to go but suddenly stopped. 

"Oh. And Liam?" Constantine paused, considering his words. 

"Yes, father?" 

Constantine teased, “don’t mess up your proposal tonight because quality queen material is precious and rare.” 

Liam chuckled lightly, feeling a rare moment of light-heartedness from his father's jest. "I'll keep that in mind, father," he replied, his gaze returning to the throne room's grand doors. 

As the guards moved to obey the King's command, Liam centered himself, readying for the confrontation ahead. The grandeur of the throne room seemed to fade into the background as he focused on the task at hand. This was more than a mere trial; it was a test of his leadership and resolve. 

The heavy doors creaked open, and Neville, with an air of arrogance, entered the room. Liam's thoughts briefly flashed to Sophie, her gentle smile and unwavering support a source of strength for him. He could not afford to lose his composure now—not when so much was at stake. 

Taking another deep breath, he felt a calm determination settle over him. ‘Face him with the dignity of a king,’ he reminded himself, his pulse steadying as Neville approached with a smug expression, clearly oblivious to the gravity of the situation. 

"Your Highness," Neville greeted with a bow that dripped with false humility, his eyes betraying his arrogance. 

Liam did not waste any time. "Your behavior is an absolute disgrace," he declared, his voice firm and resolute. "A Cordonian gentleman would never treat a woman the way you treated Lady Taylor, a noblewoman, a daughter of the House of Ramsford." 

Neville's smirk widened, crossing his arms defiantly. "No, not a true gentleman," he retorted, his tone mocking. 

Liam's fists clenched, but he kept his composure. "What were you thinking, Lord Neville? That you could do anything you wished and escape consequences because of your noble title?" he demanded, his gaze unwavering. 

"And to say and do such derogatory things about a member of court? Words spoken against my chosen consort, whether or not I am king, are considered treasonous and punishable by banishment or death." Liam paused, his anger veiled and controlled, but palpable. "Tell me. Was it worth it?" 

Liam stared down at Neville, the weight of his authority heavy in the air. This was his moment to prove his mettle as a leader, and he would not falter. 

Liam glanced down, clenching his fists in his lap. 

Neville's face reddened and the facade crumbled, "Worth it? If it means ridding us of that common tart?” 

Liam leapt to his feet and strode to grab Neville by the collar and slammed him against a nearby pillar. One arm reined Neville's throat steadily, the other firmly in place on his shoulder, immobilizing him. 

"How dare you say that!" Liam's voice was deep and dangerous, full of fury that could not be ignored.  

Neville's face suddenly went white, as he felt the intense anger and irresistible force emanating from Liam. He struggled but found that he could not move at all. 

"I... I..." Neville's tongue began to knot. He had never seen Liam so angry. For the first time, he realized that he was in front of a man who was not just a gentle, friendly prince, but the future king, with absolute power and strength.  

In Liam’s mind, he challenged his thoughts ...

If I weren't being held in check by a lifetime of restraint, I could... 

No. Sophie has dealt with this, and she has asked me to follow through in a way that does justice to the ideals she stands for. It would not be doing her honor if I killed Neville with my own two hands. 

Liam pushed Neville up on the pillar again and released the strangling hold of the forearm pressed against his neck. Neville stumbled to his feet, his knees buckling and his hand pressed tightly against his throat as he caught his breath. 

"Your arrogance, selfishness, and contemptible behavior have no place in Cordonia," Liam snarled, his voice steely and cold. 

Neville, cowed by Liam's demeanor and restraining his anger at the same time, wisely stayed silent, a look of despair slowly appearing on his face. 

*** 

After being removed from court,

Neville was banished to his estate, stripped of his title, and confined to his lands indefinitely. The Vancoeur family, in their desperation to still be in royal favor, offered their total allegiance and cooperation. Constantine ordered them to comply, but there would always be suspicion and distrust that would follow them for years to come. 

And, although Liam knew it would not completely heal the scars left on Sophie, at least she was avenged and her name honored, her integrity and strength being still unblemished. 

As Liam walked down the long, opulent hallways of the palace, the tension in his body loosening with each step. A faint sense of satisfaction crept into his heart, knowing he had done what Sophie would have wanted, and more. 

***

Sophie descended the grand staircase of the palace, her sleeveless, A-line summer dress flowed behind her as she headed toward the royal dining room.  

The aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted vegetables filled the air, making her stomach rumble in anticipation. As she stepped into the dining room, her face lit up with a genuine smile. Seated at the grand mahogany table were Daniel and Max, chatting animatedly. Daniel noticed her first and stood up, his ever-charming grin widening.  

“Squirrell! Finally, someone to balance out Max’s questionable humor,” Daniel teased, earning a playful scoff from Max. Max leaned back in his chair, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Ignore him, Sophie. He’s just jealous that I’m the life of the palace.” Sophie chuckled as she took her seat between them. “It’s good to see you both here. I was beginning to think I’d be dining alone.” Daniel poured her a glass of sparkling water. “Not today. We figured you could use some good company after everything that’s happened lately.” The three of them shared laughter and lighthearted conversation as lunch was served—a feast of grilled salmon, roasted vegetables, and a choice of desserts that Sophie eyed with delight. For a while, the weight of royal responsibilities and recent events faded, replaced by the warmth of friendship and camaraderie.  

Hana stepped into the elegant dining room, her soft, flowing dress swishing gently with her movements. She glanced around the room, a warm smile spreading across her face as she spotted Sophie chatting animatedly with a tall man dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark trousers. Beside him stood another man with an easygoing charm, his broad smile lighting up the room. Sophie turned as Hana approached, her eyes brightening.  

“Hana! I’m so glad you made it!” she exclaimed, pulling her into a warm embrace. “Of course,” Hana replied softly, her melodic voice carrying a note of excitement. “You know I wouldn’t miss a chance to spend time with you.” Sophie beamed and turned to the two men. “Hana, I’d like you to meet my friends. This is Daniel,” she gestured to the first man, “and this is Maxwell.” 

Daniel stepped forward first, offering a polite nod and an easy smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hana. Sophie speaks highly of you.” 

Hana felt a slight blush creep up her cheeks as she shook his hand. “The pleasure is mine, Daniel. Sophie has mentioned you as well—thank you for always looking out for her.” 

Daniel chuckled, his eyes glinting with warmth. “She makes it interesting. She’s a force to be reckoned with.” 

Before Hana could respond, Maxwell bounded over, his energy almost tangible. “Hana! It’s so great to finally meet you!” he said, his enthusiasm infectious. He extended his hand but quickly decided on a cheerful hug instead. 

Hana let out a soft laugh, surprised but not uncomfortable. “Maxwell, it’s nice to meet you too. Sophie told me you’re the life of the party.” 

“She flatters me,” Maxwell said with a wink, “but it’s true.” 

The group laughed, and the atmosphere became lively as they fell into easy conversation. Maxwell’s humorous anecdotes and Daniel’s quieter but equally engaging remarks quickly put Hana at ease. 

As the afternoon went on, Hana found herself charmed by Daniel’s thoughtful insights and Maxwell’s contagious energy. Sophie watched her friends with a smile, happy to see Hana seamlessly integrating into her close circle. 

The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting a golden glow over the royal stables as Sophie, Hana, Maxwell, and Daniel stepped outside. The scent of fresh hay and the soft nickering of horses filled the air, creating a serene atmosphere. 

Marabelle stood next to a wooden fence, in her glossy black coat shining in the sunlight. Sophie reached out to gently stroke her muzzle, her affection clear. “She’s as beautiful as ever,” Sophie said, her voice filled with warmth. 

“She’s magnificent,” Hana agreed, admiring the horse’s elegance. 

Before Sophie could respond, the sound of approaching voices drew their attention. From the far end of the stables, Drake appeared, his usual rugged demeanor softened by the sight of the group. Walking beside him, Melanie was a confident young woman with a warm smile, her auburn hair catching the sunlight. Walking alongside them them was a dark-haired woman, a woman, Sophie noted a sharp style hinting at a New York, big city style. 

Standing beside Sophie, Mara suddenly appeared beside Sophie.  

“Where did you come from? I thought you were still inside the palace!” 

“I do my best to stay out of my charges’ ways. But seeing as this is your first excursion outside of the palace, I wanted to confirm that your security is intact.” 

Sophie smiled softly, “thank you, Mara. Prince Liam was adament that I needed protection at all times.” 

“I know it can be hard to let your guard down after what the court has been through...but just remember, I’ve got your back from here on out.” 

Sophie felt a sense of reassurance at Mara's words, knowing her security detail was always in place. “Thank you!” 

“Just doing my job, my lady.” 

With a grateful nod, she turned back to the group. 

Drake raised a hand in greeting. “Well, well, looks like we’re not the only ones enjoying the stables today.” 

Sophie turned and smiled. “Drake, Melanie, it’s good to see you.” Her gaze shifted to the third member of their party. “And you must be Riley?” Sophie extended a hand, which Riley took with a firm shake. 

“Nice to meet you, Sophie,” Riley said with a bright smile. “Melanie’s been telling me all about life here, and I have to admit, I’m intrigued.” 

Melanie laughed softly. “Riley’s been trying to convince me to visit New York again, but I thought it was only fair to show her Cordonia first.” 

Turning to her friends, Sophie encouraged them to join her. 

Hana stepped forward gracefully. “Welcome to Cordonia, Riley. I am Hana Lee.” 

Maxwell, ever the entertainer, flashed his signature grin. “And I’m Maxwell Beaumont, the life of any party you’ll ever attend.” 

Riley laughed, clearly charmed. “Good to know. I’m going to hold you to that.” 

Daniel gave a polite nod. “Daniel Barrett. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

As the group exchanged introductions, Marabelle nudged Sophie, drawing Riley’s attention. 

“Is that your horse?” Riley asked, stepping closer. 

“Yes, this is Marabelle,” Sophie said with pride. “Would you like to meet her?” 

Riley’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to.” 

As Sophie guided Riley to meet Marabelle, the others fell into easy conversation. Drake leaned against the stable door, seeing the scene with his typical reserved demeanor, while Melanie and Hana discussed the beauty of the Cordonian countryside. Maxwell, as usual, kept the mood lively, regaling the group with tales of his adventures, earning smiles and laughter from everyone. 

*** 

The royal gym was a quiet sanctuary, tucked away in the palace’s lower levels. Liam strode in, still wearing the weight of his meeting with Neville. He had hoped an intense workout would help him clear his head. After changing into gym shorts, he noticed the faint hum of machines and the rhythmic clinking of weights that echoed through the spacious room. 

To his surprise, Leo was already there, effortlessly lifting weights. His older brother looked as casual as ever in a loose t-shirt and gym shorts, his carefree demeanor a stark contrast to Liam’s tension. 

“Well, well, look who decided to grace the gym with his royal presence,” Leo teased, setting down the dumbbells. 

Liam smirked but didn’t respond at once, heading toward the treadmill. As he started jogging, Leo joined him, leaning casually on the machine next to him. 

“So,” Leo began, “how’d your meeting with Neville go? He seemed like a real piece of work at the polo match.” 

Liam exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. “He hasn’t changed. Still as arrogant and entitled as ever. He thinks he can dictate terms just because he’s part of an old noble family.” 

Leo chuckled. “Classic Neville. Always a legend in his own mind.” He paused, his tone softening. “But seriously, don’t let him get under your skin. You’ve got enough on your plate without dealing with his nonsense.” 

Liam nodded, his pace quickening on the treadmill. “I know, but it’s not just about him. It’s about what he stands for—everything I’m trying to modernize in Cordonia.” 

Leo gave a wry smile. “Well, at least you’re fighting the good fight. Meanwhile, I’m over here trying to figure out how to be… not a Neville.” 

Liam slowed his treadmill, glancing at his brother with a raised brow. “You mean because of your decision to abdicate?” 

“Yeah,” Leo admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Katie’s helped me see things differently. She’s… grounded me in a way I didn’t think was possible. For the first time, I feel like I’m not just running from something, but toward something.” 

Liam stepped off the treadmill, grabbing a towel. “She sounds like the perfect partner for you.” 

“She is,” Leo said, a rare seriousness in his tone. “Which is why I want you to officiate the wedding.” 

Liam froze mid-swipe, surprised. “Me? Officiate your wedding?” 

Leo grinned. “Who better? You’re the future king, and you’re my brother. It would mean a lot to me—and to Katie.” 

Since Leo and Katie were married by a Justice of the peace and on a cruise ship, Regina had insisted a more formal venue in Cordonia.

Liam studied his brother for a moment before a smile crept onto his face. “I’d be honored, Leo.” 

Leo clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, bro. Now, let’s get back to the workout before you get all emotional on me.” 

The two brothers shared a rare laugh, the weight of their royal responsibilities momentarily forgotten as they fell into an easy rhythm, pushing each other through their sets. The gym had become more than a place to work out—it was a space for understanding and camaraderie between two brothers navigating the complexities of royalty and life. 

*** 

Sophie waved her farewells to the group, as Mara led Sophie back to the palace. 

Sophie took in the scenery around her, the rich tapestries and intricate architecture of the palace a stark contrast to the casual farewell she had just shared. Walking alongside Mara, she couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness. Every step brought her closer to the core of royal life, the heartbeat of the palace where decisions were made and legacies were forged. As they passed through the opulent hallways, Mara's steady presence was a comforting guide. They rounded a corner and entered a quieter wing, the air filled with a sense of history and gravitas. 

Mara led Sophie down a corridor adorned with portraits of past monarchs, their stern gazes seeming to follow her every move. The soft glow of candlelight created an ambiance of solemnity and anticipation. They paused before a large, ornately carved door. Mara gave her an encouraging nod before opening it, revealing Liam's study. 

“I thought it was time you saw this,” he announce in greeting, opening the door and gesturing for her to enter. 

“My love, come on in,” Liam said with a grin, opening the door wide for Sophie to step through. The room is a cozy blend of modern and vintage, with chic wooden panels, stylish furniture, and walls adorned with contemporary art. Shelves packed with books line one wall, while a sleek desk with a laptop takes center stage. Sunlight poured in through large windows, adding a warm glow to the room's comfortable and inviting atmosphere. 

Sophie’s breath catches as she steps inside. “It’s beautiful,” she murmurs, running her fingers along the edge of the desk. 

Liam watched her intently, his eyes warm. “This room has seen countless decisions that shaped Cordonia. Today, it’s where I want to share something important with you.” 

They sit on a small leather couch near the fireplace. Liam reaches for her hands, his touch steady and reassuring. 

“I met with Neville earlier today,” he begins, his voice calm but firm. “After the incident at the polo match, I demanded accountability. Neville is no longer a member of court and has been banished to the Cormery Isle. He will no longer stand for Cordonia in any official role.” 

Relief flooded Sophie’s face, but her brow furrowed. “What about…his behavior? Will he face further consequences?” 

“He’s been banned from participating in any future events, and an official apology will be issued to you,” Liam assured her. “His actions were unacceptable, and I won’t tolerate anyone harming you.” 

Sophie squeezed his hand, her heart swelling at his protectiveness. “Thank you, Liam. It means so much to me that you stood up for me.” 

His gaze softened, as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Always, Sophie.” 

***

As they exited the palace, Sophie noticed a fleet of royal cars waiting. Liam helped her into one, and they’re soon enroute to the airport. 

“I thought we were going to Italy,” Sophie remarked, a hint of disappointment in her tone. 

Liam chuckled, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Patience, my love. Italy can wait a little while longer. I promise, tonight will be worth it.” 

At the airport, the royal jet was ready to whisk them to Portavira. Once there, they were to be escorted to the royal yacht, a stunning vessel gleaming in the Mediterranean sun was in wait. 

Once inside, Sophie marveled at the yacht’s grandeur as it sets sail. The warm sea breeze ruffled her hair, and she leaned against the railing, gazing at the horizon. 

Liam joined her, slipping an arm around her waist. “I thought this would be the perfect setting for a little surprise,” he said cryptically. 

As night falls, the yacht’s deck transformed into a magical haven. String lights twinkled above, and a candlelit dinner is set up with an unobstructed view of the stars over the sea. 

Sophie turned to Liam, her eyes wide. “You did all this?” 

“For you,” he replied, his voice full of emotion. 

After dinner, Liam stood and took her hand and led her to the bow of the yacht. The Italian coastline glimmered faintly in the distance. 

“Sophie,” he began, dropping to one knee as he held a small velvet box.   

Her hands flewo to her mouth, tears pooling in her eyes.  

"Sophie, the day I met you, I knew there was something special about you. Something different from anyone I've ever met. I'm drawn to you, the sound of your laughter, the mischievous twinkle in your eye when you are plotting something. Sophie giggled when Liam raised an eyebrow in jest.

You are so selfless, willing to do things to help others even when it goes against what you want to do. You fight for what you want and have determination beyond measure. Your strength and beauty astound me, and my heart races every time you touch my arm. I feel every movement you make as if it is a current flowing through my veins. 

There are nights when my thoughts run wild with all the things I would like to share with you, a world to be conquered, side by side. But tonight, in the peaceful serenity and light of the moon and sea, there is only one question on my mind. 

Sophie Taylor, will you be my wife and queen? Please marry me, I am and will always be completely and forever yours." Liam swallows hard, his jaw tight, fear showing in his eyes. 

"I will! Yes. A thousand times yes!" Sophie cries out. She watches with tears running down her cheeks as Liam slides the ring onto her left finger and he stands, drawing her to his chest. She hugs his neck and draws his mouth to her. She can barely breathe. His hands explore the curve of her back and slide up the length of her spine. Liam's kiss is insistent, demanding and unrelenting. 

She runs her fingers into the waves of his hair, kissing him softly with her entire being. Her skin tingles in anticipation of his caress. His breath mingles with hers, the sound of his breathing in her ear. He breathes her name, moving his mouth along her cheek to her lips. He tastes her and it's enough. 

He pulls away and brings her down to earth with the whisper of his lips close to her ear. "Do you realize the gift you just gave me, Lady Sophia?" 

"The best one I'll ever receive," he continues as his kisses fall like raindrops on the nape of her neck, his breath sending tremors through her body. 

"Well, now that I've got a hold of you, Liam, I have no intentions of letting you go any time soon." 

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Before I Called You Mine Chapter 16

Chapter Summary: Liam and Riley celebrate their engagement in Paris, France. Leo confronts Madeleine as she arrives unannounced at the palace. Drake and Maxwell, along with Bastien, take William and Bartie to the Eiffel Tower.

Title and Music Inspiration:

I Get to Love You, Ruelle

A/N1: In this alternate universe, after King Constantine orchestrates two individual scandals to humiliate and entrap Riley Brooks and Olivia Nevrakis in shame, Madeleine Amaranth secures her position as the Queen of Cordonia. Riley, as the King’s mistress and Olivia, in self-imposed exile. Tariq is never found.

A/N2: Damien Nazario has been assigned as William’s personal bodyguard. (Series cross-over with ‘Perfect Match’)

‘One look at you, my whole life falls in line...

I prayed for you, before I called you mine...

Oh I, can’t believe it’s true, sometimes...

Oh I, can’t believe it’s true.’

The Suite Impériale at the Ritz, Paris, France

Riley’s P.O.V.

As soon as the door closed behind us, the lock clicked into place leaving the King's guardsmen outside in the hall to stand on guard for their King. Not wasting any time, Liam wrapped his powerful arms around my waist, snugly pulling me flush to his hard body. Tilting my head up, his lips crash with mine as he kissed me, softly at first, then more urgently. My hands moved to his hair, to his broad shoulders, to his hips, pulling him even closer. His fingers danced across my skin, and I shivered.

His kisses leave my lips and travel down the column of my neck, and across my collarbone. My eyes flutter closed as his lips and tongue and teeth explore my skin. I'm lost in the sensation, his touch.

His masculine scent envelopes me ... and possesses me.

I run my hands up under his shirt, feeling his taut, chiseled physique.

He pulled away and gazed down at me. I look up and meet his gaze. He smiles.

"What?" I coyly simpered.

"You're just so beautiful," he says, his voice low and husky.

I can't help but blush.

"I want you," he says. "More than anything."

"Then take me," I reply, lasciviously.

I feel his fingers reaching for the zipper on the back of my dress. He slowly slides it down, then slips the straps off of my shoulders, my dress pooled around my feet. He looks down at my breasts, his eyes dark with desire. Watching me intently.

"What?” I respond with a soft purr.

"I have waited so long ... fantasized about ... making love to you as my fiancé. And now, you are finally mine.”

My breath hitched at his intensity.

"You're so gorgeous," he continued. "Every inch of you."

He took my hand leading me towards the bed.

He laid me on the bed gently and kissed me deeply, his hands roaming my body. He moved his lips down to my breasts, taking a nipple in his mouth. I gasp as his tongue swirls around the sensitive bud. He moved to the other breast, and continues to suck and lick, making me moan.

He moved lower, kissing and licking my stomach, then lower, until his teeth tugged my lace thong down between my legs and off. Teasing me more, he made his way back up the inside of my thighs, licking and marking my skin, until I'm writhing beneath him. His large hands spread my thighs, my core exposed to his attention. He brings me to the edge, as his lips and tongue circle and suck my core as it spasms in ecstasy. Moving back up, he trails a featherlight touch with his hand back up my body to my neck, gently palming my throat. Kissing me deeply, he pulled back and rolled onto his back, pulling me on top of him.

"I need to watch you, love."

Taking his cue, I straddled him and slowly sank down onto him. He groaned deeply as he filled me, his hands gripped my hips tightly and I can't help but moan, my back arching backward in pleasure.

Thrusting into me, he filled me over and over again.

"Fuck, Riley," he groaned.

He reached up and cupped my breasts in his hands, teasing and squeezing my nipples. The sensations making me gasp.

"Liam..." I cry out.

"Come for me," he says, his voice strained but commanding.

"I... I'm going to come," I gasp.

"Yes, Riley, come for me," he repeats.

His words send me over the edge. My body trembled as the sensation crashed over me. He continud to thrust, and then his body tensed as he fell over the edge with a deep groan.

We lie there, our bodies entwined, after I lift up to lay down beside him. Liam wrapped his arms around me and held me close.

"I love you," he whispered, kissing my temple.

"I love you, too."

He kissed the top of my head. "Marry me," he pleads.

I laugh. "I already said yes, silly."

"I know, but I want to hear you say it again," he grinned.

I sit up and look at him. "Liam, I will marry you. I can't wait to be your wife."

He grins. "Good."

He pulls me down back into his arms, enveloping me as we both fall asleep, content and happy.

I am the luckiest girl in the world.

Cordonian Royal Palace

"Hello, Madeleine. What a surprise," Leo said, his voice laced with sarcasm. He watched her quickly step toward him.

"Leo," she said curtly, her tone cold and distant. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Obviously," he said, matching her icy tone.

"I was looking for Liam," she declared. "Do you know where he is?"

"Why are you looking for my brother?"

"It's none of your business, Leo."

"Actually, it is," he retorted, his eyes narrowing. "Anything that affects my brother's reign is my business."

"This has nothing to do with his reign," she countered, her frustration mounting.

"Then why are you looking for him?"

"I told you, it's none of your business," she snarled, her fists clenching at her sides.

"Maybe not," he said calmly, crossing his arms, blocking her path with his muscled and toned tall frame. "But if it has something to do with the Cordonian monarchy, then I have a right to know."

"I am part of the Cordonian monarchy," she spat. "So, unless you want to get on my bad side, I suggest you stop asking questions and just tell me where Liam is."

"Liam is in Italy, with his fiancé."

Madeleine's eyes widened.

"Fiancé?"

"Yes," he replied, a smirk tugging at his lips at her shocked expression. "Liam is engaged."

"To whom?" she demanded, her heart pounding in her chest.

"The same woman who was the front-runner for the crown during his social season," he replied, enjoying watching the shock and anger flash across her face.

"That bitch!" Madeleine hissed, her jaw clenched.

"Now, now, Madeleine," he taunted, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "That's no way to speak about the future Queen of Cordonia."

"She will never be the Queen of Cordonia," she growled, her body trembling with rage.

"Well, I suppose that's up to Liam," he said, the smirk still playing on his lips.

"I'm the Queen of Cordonia," she snapped. "And I will not allow some commoner to steal the throne from me."

"That's not really up to you," he said, his gaze challenging her. "If I remember correctly... he tossed your ass out of his life and Cordonia."

"Don't test me, Leo," she sparred, her voice dangerously low. "You will not like the results."

"Is that a threat, Madeleine?"

"No, it's a promise," she said, her eyes burning with anger.

"Whatever," he replied curtly, waving his hand dismissively. "You're wasting your time here. Liam is gone, and you're not going to find him. He's out of your reach."

"I will not give up," she said, her chin lifting defiantly.

"Then you're a fool," he said, his tone bored. "You can't compete with Riley. She has everything you don't."

"And what is that exactly?"

"She has his heart, for starters," he said, his gaze cold and unwavering.

"Love is for fools," she sneered.

"May..be," he said, his expression darkening. "But that's the one thing you'll never have. And you'll never be able to take it from Riley."

"I'll take everything else," she snorted, her voice filled with venom.

The Suite Impériale at the Ritz, Paris, France

Liam's naked form was a sight to behold. His broad shoulders, muscular back, and toned arms and thighs were a testament to his strength and power.

Riley couldn't help but stare as he walked towards the bathroom, his ass tight and toned. Her eyes followed him as he disappeared behind the bathroom door, the sound of the shower starting moments later.

She sat up in bed, her body tingling with desire. She couldn't believe how lucky she was to have him as her husband to be, and she was thankful for the many blessings she had been given so far.

As she heard the shower turn on, she slipped out of bed and crept into the bathroom, her body naked and ready. She pushed open the shower door and stepped inside, her eyes fixed on Liam's backside.

He turned, a surprised, but delighted look on his face.

"Riley..."

She moved towards him and into the shower, wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing his wet and soapy chest.

"I couldn't wait," she whispered.

He chuckled, his hands running over her wet skin.

"I'm glad you didn't," he replied, his voice husky.

He pulled her close, his lips finding hers. The water ran down their bodies, the steam rising around them. They kissed passionately, their bodies pressed together.

Riley moaned as Liam's hands moved over her breasts, her nipples hardening beneath his touch.

Through the water that was streaming down her face Riley kissed her way down his neck. She felt him growing hard against her stomach, and she reached down to wrap her fingers around his length.

"Fuck, Riley..." he groaned, his fingers digging into her ass.

She stroked him, his length thick and hard in her hand. She knew she could make him come with her hand, but she wanted more.

"Liam," she said, looking up at him coquettishly.

Riley slowly slid down to her knees, shamelessly, down the rippling planes of his stomach as her hands felt his muscled thighs. She licked a stripe along his length, eliciting a low growl from Liam.

"Fuck, Riley... that feels so good," he said, his voice low and husky as he slid past her lips.

* Le Café Petit Gourmand

Bartie and William looked through the window of the café, their mouths watering at the sight of the pastries and sweets on display.

"Are you guys hungry?" Maxwell asked.

"Yes!" they both exclaimed.

Maxwell laughed and led them inside. The three of them walked up to the counter, and the boys each picked out a treat.

"Mmm," William hummed, taking a bite of his pastry.

"This is so good," Bartie said, licking icing off his fingers.

Drake, Maxwell and Bastien all smiled at the boys' enjoyment.

"So, where are we headed next?" Drake asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

"We should visit the Eiffel tower," Maxwell replied. "It's the best view of the city."

"Okay," Drake said. "But, we need to get back to the hotel in a few hours." Drake looked at Bastien for confirmation.

"His Majesty, wanted the Royal jet ready for 5 p.m. to return to Cordonia," Bastien responded.

"See, we have time," Maxwell replied.

After finishing their pastries and coffee, the group headed towards the Eiffel tower.

The Eiffel Tower was a majestic sight, towering over the city and dominating the skyline. It was a popular tourist attraction, and the lines were long, but Bastien arranged a few shortcuts, and the boys made it to the top without waiting in line for too long.

The view was breathtaking, and the boys stood at the railing, looking out over the city.

"Wow," Bartie breathed.

"It's beautiful," William agreed.

"I wish my mother and Bertrand were here," Bartie said, a little wistful.

"I'm sure they're having a good time," Maxwell replied. "But, we'll tell them about it when we get back."

"Speaking of time, we should head back to the hotel," Drake said.

They rode the elevator back down and made their way back to the hotel.

Bastien's phone beeped as he received a text.

"His Majesty has instructed me to return William to his suite," Bastien announced.

"Alright, see you soon, kid," Drake said.

"Bye, Uncle Drake," William replied, giving him a hug.

"See you on the jet," Maxwell said, ruffling his hair.

Bartie waved as they headed for the elevator.

William and Bastien rode the elevator to the presidential suite. Bastien escorted him to his door, knocking once.

Damien smiled as he held the door open for the young prince.

"Hi, Damien," William said.

"Prince William," Damien bowed slightly. "I'm glad to see you returned safely."

"I had fun," William replied, smiling.

"But I am ready to go home now."

Damen smiled watching William run crashing into Liam, as he held his son in his arms.

'I get to love you

It's the best thing that I'll ever do

I get to love you

It's a promise I'm making to you'

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