#liam rys

He’d heard about their arrangement from Leo, who had found out from Bertrand, who had learned about it directly from Maxwell himself. Riley and Max were experimenting with other people.  Liam was other people.

He saw a chance, and he was taking it. The small matter of being married wasn’t going to stop him. He was in possession of his own Cordonian Agreement. It had been a non-negotiable for him during the marriage contract discussions.

He hadn’t married for love, he’d married for duty and he had done his duty admirably if you asked him.

His father wanted heirs? He’d given him plenty. His wife was carrying his fifth legitimate heir, and the official royal mistress had three.

But Madeleine was cold and calculated where Riley was warm and spontaneous. Penelope was beautiful but shallow and a little dim where Riley was deep and sharp as a tack. She was the total package and he was determined to unwrap that package, to peel back the layers and find out what made her tick.

She leaned in toward him, hand on his arm as she laughed. “Liam, you’re so funny!”

She was definitely flirting with him and there was no way in hell he was letting this opportunity go to waste despite the daggers Madeleine was shooting him from across the room.

He covered her hand with his own as he leaned in even closer. “Could I interest you in a dance?”

Her smile lit up the ballroom. “Why yes, I’d love that!”

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As the dance ended, she turned from Neville with a sharp, rigid movement that felt like a physical tearing of her own muscles. Her feet moved across the marble, but she felt as though she were wading through deep, suffocating water. The air in the ballroom—previously a mixture of expensive perfume and floral elegance—now tasted metallic, like blood in her throat. Every beat of the orchestra, every trill of the violins, sounded like a mockery, a soundtrack to her own undoing.

She didn't dare look back at the dance floor. If she looked at Neville, or anyone else for that matter, they would see her broken heart written all over her face. She knew the mask would fracture. She knew the tears that were stinging behind her eyes, hot and insistent, would spill over, and she would stand exposed in the middle of this vault of hollow splendour for the entire court to witness. Instead, she focused on a point in the distance—a heavy set of glass paned double doors leading to the terrace—and forced one foot in front of the other, each step a battle to keep her knees from buckling.

Behind her, Neville Vancouer stood unmoved, a jagged silhouette in the swirling crowd. He didn't follow her; not yet. Instead, he took a slow, calculated sip from a champagne flute he had plucked from a passing server, the crystal rim clinking softly against his teeth. A smirk, thin and bloodless, touched his lips as he watched the rigid line of her shoulders, the way she held her head with a defiance that was rapidly losing its foundation.

He felt a hum of triumph in his chest—a cold, oily satisfaction. He had seen the exact moment his words had punctured her, the split second where her eyes had gone vacant and then dark with a misery so profound it almost made his skin prickle with excitement.

He didn't care about the truth. The fact that Drake Walker spent his days working himself to exhaustion at the Château, his nights in a farmhouse likely pining away for her in silence, didn't matter. His words about the chambermaids were a blunt instrument, and he had wielded it perfectly. He took pleasure in the dissonance of it—that he could conjure such devastation in a royal princess within a few sentences, woven like poison into a dance.

Stable filth, he thought, his eyes tracking her retreat. He despised the very idea that she had ever looked at a servant with longing, let alone loved one. It was an insult to the station he coveted, to the royal bloodline he was determined to entwine with his own. But if she was truly in love with Drake Walker, if the man was a distraction to the princess, then Neville would simply have to be a greater one.

He adjusted his cuffs, his movements precise and feline, as he watched her reach the edge of the dance floor. She disappeared into the press of moving bodies, and he felt his heartbeat steady, rhythmic and predatory. She was wounded now. And Neville knew a wounded animal was always easier to track, easier to corner, and infinitely easier to catch. He wouldn't rush. He had the entire evening, the entire season. He had the leverage of her own heart.

He allowed himself a slow, lingering look at the space where she had been, savouring the scent of her perfume that still hung in the air—a ghost of her presence. Then, he turned back to the crowd, his face settling into a mask of polite, aristocratic boredom, biding his time until he would follow her.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Neville didn't flinch; he simply shifted his gaze, his expression smoothing into a practiced, easy charm.

"What was all that about?" The voice asked, dripping with the same bored, callous curiosity that Neville himself cultivated. Neville turned, his smile broadening into something genuine for the first time that evening.

"Lord Tariq," Neville said, his voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial register. "It’s been a long time, my friend."

The two men shook hands, a firm, calculated grip. Neville leaned in, his eyes gleaming with the anticipation of sharing his new, delicious secret.

"You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” he whispered, his smirk deepening. “I have so much to tell you."

*****

The gilded double doors of the ballroom loomed ahead like a mirage, but the distance between them felt infinite. Emilia’s chest heaved, her breathing shallow and frantic as she tried to navigate the sea of spinning silk and hollow laughter. Neville’s words echoed in her mind, a relentless, oily loop: making quite an impression on some of the chamber maids... the help should stick with the help.

It explained everything. The empty mail tray. The months of agonizing silence. While she had been rotting in her gilded cage, crying herself to sleep, Drake had simply moved on. He was smiling at other women. Touching them.

The heat of the room was suddenly volcanic, choking her. Tears blurred her vision, turning the massive crystal chandeliers into dizzying streaks of blinding light. Blinded by the moisture sting in her eyes, she stumbled forward, her heavy skirts twisting around her ankles.

She braced for a fall, but instead, she collided with a solid chest and arms which instantly caught her by the shoulders, steadying her.

"Em?"

Emilia gasped, looking up through a watery veil into the warm, familiar eyes of Bertrand. He looked immaculate in his House Beaumont dress suit, but his expression was creased with instant, genuine worry.

"Em, what's wrong? Has something happened?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, protective murmur.

"I... I can't..." Emilia’s voice cracked. A hot tear finally spilled over, tracking down her carefully painted cheek. She cast a panicked, desperate look around the crowded foyer, terrified that some gossiping noble or her father’s watchful eyes would see her mask crumble.

Bertrand didn't hesitate. His grip on her arm tightened gently. "Come on," he whispered.

He guided her swiftly through the heavy gilded doors and out onto the sprawling stone terrace. The moment the heavy doors shut behind them, muffling the discordant swell of the orchestra, the biting autumn air hit Emilia’s skin. She shivered, but it was an immense relief against the suffocating, perfume-choked heat of the ballroom.

Bertrand led her to a shadowed alcove near the limestone balustrade, away from the glass doors. He turned to her, his face soft with concern. "Tell me what’s happened, Em."

The dam broke. Emilia buried her face in Bertrand’s shoulder, her frame shaking with silent, ragged sobs as he wrapped his arms around her, gently rubbing her back in a slow, soothing rhythm.

"It’s Drake," she choked out, her words muffled against his suit. "I still haven't heard from him, Bert. Not a single word. And Neville... Neville just told me that Drake has been popular with the chambermaids at Château Lumière. He's been seeing other women. I... I love him so much, Bertrand, and it’s killing me."

Bertrand let out a long, heavy sigh. He didn't pull away; he just kept his hand steady on her back, absorbing her grief. "Em... look at me."

Emilia pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, utterly uncaring of what it did to her taupe eyeshadow. She looked up at him, her chest still hitching.

"Drake loves you," Bertrand said, his voice quiet but incredibly firm. "I’m sure of it. Neville Vancouer is cruel, and he is highly calculating. I do not believe for a single second that what he told you is the truth."

"Then why would he say it?" she whispered, her voice raw. "How could he even know to make up such a specific lie?"

"Because he wants you, Em," Bertrand explained, a shadow of disgust crossing his features. "You know he’s been trying to win your hand, to secure the Vancouer line’s claim to the Crown, for years. And I am certain this is just his sick way of getting under your skin, of making you feel weak and isolated."

"But he doesn't know about Drake and me," Emilia protested, shaking her head. 

Bertrand offered a small, sad smile. "I wouldn't be so sure, Em. He was at the Derby, wasn't he? I’m sure he saw you and Drake together there. He would have seen the way you looked at each other. A blind man could have seen how you felt." He paused, his eyes softening with memory. "I saw it myself that very night, the night I met him. When I took him into the stable office at Applewood to speak with him... do you know what he told me?"

Emilia blinked back fresh tears. "What?"

"He told me that he would give his life for you to be happy," Bertrand said softly. "He was willing to have his own life utterly destroyed if it meant you could thrive. He didn't care about the consequences to himself, only to you."

"I would be happy if he were just with me," she sobbed, her fingers gripping Bertrand’s sleeve.

"I know, Em. I know." Bertrand squeezed her shoulder. "He loves you. But... you must understand something. While Drake loves you with everything he has, he might be keeping his distance for you. He might be realizing that your relationship... that it could destroy the Crown, and destroy you in the process. Maybe he is trying to do what he thinks is the honourable thing. Letting you go, no matter how much he destroys his own heart to do it. But that does not mean he doesn't love you."

"No, no..." Emilia shook her head, a desperate, stubborn fire flaring in her chest. "I don't want him to let go. I don't care about the Crown. I want him!"

"Shh, I know, Em," Bertrand whispered, pulling her back into a brief, comforting embrace. He looked out over the dark gardens, his own eyes suddenly turning vacant and heavy. "God, I wish things were different. I wish we could both be with whoever we want. That we could love whoever we want without consequence."

Emilia pulled back, her breath catching as she caught the profound, aching sadness reflected in her cousin's eyes. It was a mirror of her own grief, but with a different, quieter shape.

"Have... have you met someone, Bert?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Bertrand looked away, running a hand down his face as a deep, tired sigh escaped him. "I have," he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly under the moonlight. "He works for Ramsford, as part of our public relations team. He’s wonderful, Emilia. He’s handsome, and funny, and... well, he likes me."

Bertrand let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob. "We’ve been working closely together for the last few weeks, pulling together the communications that will come out of House Beaumont during the course of the social season. He stayed late one night, about a week ago... just to help me with some last-minute minor details for my speech tonight. And... he kissed me."

A genuine, beautiful smile broke through Emilia’s tear-stained face. "Oh, Bert," she murmured, reaching out to squeeze his hands. "I'm so happy for you."

"I didn't want to tell you right away," Bertrand said, looking down at their joined hands. "Not after everything you’ve been through. It felt selfish."

"No, Bert. I’m so glad you did," she insisted, hugging him tightly. "You deserve happiness more than anyone."

"Thanks, Em," he whispered into her hair. "But... I know nothing can ever come of it. I am the heir to House Beaumont. I must marry a woman of equal standing, produce heirs... the scandal if anyone found out about us, about two men together..."

"So, you’re stopping it?” Emilia asked, her brows furrowing with worry. “Before it goes any further?"

"No," Bertrand said, his jaw tightening with a rare, quiet defiance. "I like him, Emilia. I’ve never felt like this before. I don't want to lose him. But the path ahead is..."

"Bert, we will work this out together, okay?" Emilia cut in, her voice gaining a sudden, fierce strength. "You and your...?”

“Daniel,” Bertrand replied, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Dan.”

“Dan,” Emilia nodded. “If it is meant to be, we will find a way. You cannot lose hope."

Bertrand looked at her, his eyes shining with gratitude. "Then promise me, Em. Promise me you will do the same. I know it hurts now, but you’ll be alright. Okay?"

Emilia offered a small, watery smile. "Thank you, Bert. I can always rely on you."

"Always, Em. Shall we head back inside?"

"Give me a few minutes," Emilia said, gesturing to her face. "I need to compose myself, and I want to be alone for just a little while."

Bertrand nodded understandingly, giving her hands one last supportive squeeze before slipping back through the heavy doors, leaving her in the quiet sanctuary of the night.

Emilia leaned her weight against the cold limestone balustrade, gulping in the crisp autumn air. The freezing wind peppered her bare shoulders with goosebumps, but the physical chill was a welcome shock to her system, dulling the frantic, suffocating heat of the ballroom.

She looked up at the pale crescent moon, Bertrand’s words swirling in her mind. A small, fragile spark of hope began to rebuild itself in her chest, fighting against the black poison of Neville's lies.

"I love you, Drake," she whispered into the empty night, fresh, silent tears spilling over her lashes. "I'm so sorry. Please don't destroy what we had for the Crown. It was worth so much more than that..."

A sob broke from her throat, and her hand instinctively flew to her neck, her fingers reaching for the familiar, comforting weight of Drake's ring.

But her fingers grasped empty air.

Her breath hitched in sudden, violent panic. Her hand scrambled frantically against her bare skin, searching, clawing at her collarbone.

Nothing.

The realization hit her like an icy plunge into frozen water. The ring is gone.

In her blind, hysterical fury in the bedroom, she had ripped the silver chain from her neck. She had stood on her balcony and flung it—the only physical piece of Drake she had left, the token of the greatest, most honest summer of her life—into the pitch-black darkness of the gardens below.

A wave of sheer terror washed over her. What have I done?

She had to find it. She couldn't lose it forever. If Drake never came back to her, if she had to live the rest of her life as a puppet princess in a silent cage, she still needed that ring. It was her anchor. It was proof that she had once been loved by the most incredible man she had ever met.

She spun around, her mind racing. She would have to rush back through the crowded ballroom, slip past her father’s guards, run out the front doors, and search the dark, frosty garden beds beneath her balcony with her bare hands. She didn't care how undignified it was. She didn't care if the whole court saw her on her knees in the dirt.

She took a frantic step toward the terrace doors.

But before she could reach them, the heavy glass door creaked open and a tall silhouette stepped out into the moonlight, cutting off her only path of escape.

"Good evening, Your Highness," a smooth, oily voice drawled, dripping with mock-reverence. "You look as lovely as ever."

"Lord Tariq." The name left Emilia’s throat as a frozen puff of air, her voice cracking under the sudden weight of her shock.

She stood frozen as his silhouette stepped fully into the silver pool of moonlight. The handsome, symmetrical features that the Cordonian court so highly praised were twisted into a look of mocking amusement. It was a face she had hoped to never look upon again. The memory of Applewood—of his heavy weight pressing her against the door of her suite, the stinging slap she had delivered to his cheek, and the white-hot rage with which she had threatened to ruin him as she defended Drake—flashed behind her eyes.

But here he stood, his posture dripping with an intolerable, preening arrogance that proved his pride had completely swallowed whatever shame her threats had once caused him.

Tariq took a slow, deliberate step toward her, his polished leather shoes crunching softly against the frost-dusted stone of the terrace. "I saw you leave the ballroom, Princess," he said, his voice dropping to that smooth, oily register that made her skin crawl. "You seemed... distressed."

Emilia instinctively tilted her chin upward, her spine snapping straight as she forced her shoulders back. She could feel the dampness of her tears cooling on her cheeks, and she was acutely aware that her carefully applied makeup was likely ruined, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of showing weakness. She would not let this vulture see her bleed.

"I am perfectly fine, thank you, Lord Tariq," she replied, her voice cold and sharp as a shard of glass. "I merely required some fresh air."

"Oh?" Tariq let out a soft, mocking chuckle, stepping closer until the cloying scent of his heavy clove cologne and expensive brandy invaded her senses, choking out the clean autumn breeze. "Silly me. Here I was, thinking that your sudden flight was because your beloved stable hand had left you all alone."

Emilia’s heart did not just leap; it hammered violently against her ribs, the sudden shock of his words stealing the breath from her lungs. "Excuse me?"

"I had a most illuminating conversation with Neville Vancouer this evening," Tariq sneered, his eyes gleaming with a malicious, vindictive pleasure. "He and I go way back, you know. We first met at one of these very balls, in fact. He was quite forthcoming about how your precious gutter rat is currently shovelling manure at his family’s Château in France."

He stepped closer still, crowding her personal space, his gaze dropping to the bare skin of her neckline with a predatory familiarity. "I warned you at Applewood, Princess. That degenerate Walker is not good enough for the likes of you and me. Tell me, did Daddy finally find out about your dirty little secret? Did the King not like that stable filth daring to touch what isn't his?"

A white-hot spark of rage flared through the ice of Emilia's grief, temporarily drowning out her sorrow. "How dare you speak to me like that," she hissed, her eyes flashing with a fierce, dangerous light. "Drake Walker is a far better man than you will ever be, Tariq. He has more honour in his little finger than your entire family line possesses."

Tariq’s face darkened, his jaw tightening as the insult hit home, his bruised ego from their Applewood encounter rearing its ugly head. He let out a harsh, bitter laugh. "I very much doubt that, Your Highness. A peasant who smells of sweat and dung? You threw away your dignity for a servant and look where it got you. Alone, crying in the dark."

Disgusted and suffocated by his presence, Emilia took a sharp step forward, intending to shoulder past him. "Get out of my way."

But before she could bypass him, the heavy glass door of the terrace creaked open once more.

A second silhouette stepped out, cutting off her angle of escape. Neville Vancouer stood in the doorway, a champagne flute held loosely in his fingers, his eyes gleaming with a quiet, feline satisfaction.

"Everything alright, Princess?" Neville asked, his tone dripping with a mock concern that was entirely hollow.

"No," Emilia said, her voice rising as a cold dread began to settle in her stomach. She was trapped between the two of them, the freezing stone balustrade of the terrace pressing against her lower back. "I’m not feeling well. I need to return to my suite immediately. Let me past, please, Monsieur Vancouer."

Neville didn't move. He took a slow sip of his champagne, his smirk widening as he exchanged a dark, knowing look with Tariq. "Oh? You do look dreadfully pale, Emilia. Perhaps you need an escort? The palace halls can be so terribly dark and lonely at night."

"I do not need your escort," Emilia said, her breathing growing shallow and frantic as she tried to find a gap between them. "I wish to be alone."

Instead of stepping aside, the two men began to close the distance. They moved in unison, their bodies blocking the golden light pouring from the ballroom doors, casting long, suffocating shadows over her. Tariq’s smirk was venomous, fuelled by the memory of her rejection, while Neville’s expression was one of predatory hunger.

"There's no need to be so hostile, Your Highness," Tariq murmured, his voice low and threatening as he stepped closer, forcing her to lean back against the freezing limestone. "We only want to help you. We can be your shoulder to cry on. Your... comfort."

"Indeed," Neville chimed in, his tone smooth and predatory. "You don't need that servant, Emilia. He was a distraction. A temporary amusement. But now that he's gone, you must think of your future. We can show you what a real gentleman can provide."

The physical proximity of the two men was overwhelming. The smell of their cologne, the heat of their breath in the cold air, and the realization that they were actively, physically trapping her made Emilia’s head spin. Her hand instinctively twitched toward her collarbone, a desperate, phantom search for the ring that was no longer there.

Trapped, her back pressing hard against the freezing limestone of the balustrade, Emilia slowly slid her free hand behind her along the rough, frosty stone. Her fingers frantically clawed at the masonry, searching in vain for a loose decorative piece, a heavy stone planter, or anything she could use to defend herself in the dark.

But there was nothing. Only the cold, unforgiving edge of the parapet.

Faced with her own helplessness, a fierce, primal instinct flared to life beneath her terror. She pulled her hands back, tucking them close to her chest and tight into hard, trembling fists. If they tried to touch her, she would fight. She would claw at their faces, scream until her lungs burst, and strike out with every ounce of strength left in her body. She would not go down quietly.

They were practically toe-to-toe with her now, the heat of their bodies suffocatingly close. Tariq reached a hand out toward her shoulder, his eyes gleaming, and Emilia tightened her posture, bracing herself to swing.

"What is going on here?"

A voice cut through the damp terrace air like a razor. It was deep, calm, and carrying a quiet, unmistakable authority that made both men freeze instantly.

Tariq and Neville snapped their heads around, clearly startled that their private, predatory corner had been breached. Standing in the soft golden wash of the ballroom doors was a young man. He was tall and broad-shouldered, clad in an impeccably tailored dark dress coat that seemed to absorb the moonlight.

Tariq responded first, his lips curling into a sneer of aristocratic annoyance as he stepped back slightly from Emilia, though he still blocked her escape. "Nothing you need concern yourself with, my Lord," Tariq drawled, dripping with condescension. "We were simply having a private, friendly conversation with the Princess."

The young lord didn't look at Tariq. His piercing blue eyes bypassed both men entirely, landing squarely on Emilia.

He took in the ruined trails of her makeup, the frantic rise and fall of her chest, and the way she stood trembling in her midnight silk—trembling from far more than just the biting autumn wind. Her eyes were wide, dilated, and glittering with a mixture of raw panic and defiance, like a deer caught in the blinding headlights of an oncoming car.

The stranger’s jaw tightened, a hard, dangerous line settling over his features. He stepped fully into the dim terrace light, his boots crunching softly on the frost.

"From where I am standing," the Lord said, his voice dropping to a low, icy register that sent a shiver down Emilia’s spine, "I am not at all convinced Her Highness is interested in your company. I suggest you leave. Immediately."

Neville let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, stepping forward to flank Tariq. "And who are you to suggest anything? Do you think you can just wander out here and claim her for yourself? I think not. Who are you anyway?"

The young lord didn't offer a name. His expression remained a mask of cool, unyielding stone. "That is of no concern to you. Leave. Now."

"Or you'll do what?" Tariq spat.

Ego and brandy fuelling his aggression, Tariq took a stride forward until he was practically nose-to-nose with the stranger. With a snarl of disgust, Tariq brought his hand up and pushed the lord’s shoulder angrily, trying to shove him back.

The young lord didn't even sway. He simply looked down at the hand on his coat, then up into Tariq's eyes. "Do that again," he murmured, his voice deadly quiet, "and you will find out."

Neville and Tariq exchanged a brief, mocking sneer, entirely misjudging the man before them. They turned fully away from Emilia, setting their sights on this lone interloper. Before Emilia could even scream a warning, the space between the three men vanished.

"How dare you?" Neville sneered, stepping up beside his friend. "Do you have any idea who I—"

Tariq didn't wait. He drew back his arm and threw a wild, heavy punch straight at the stranger's face.

The young lord moved with a fluid, terrifying speed.

With a practiced ease, he brought his forearm up, effortlessly deflecting Tariq’s strike outward. Before Tariq could recover his balance, the Lord pivoted, swinging his leg out in a swift, sweeping kick that caught Tariq cleanly behind the knees.

With a breathless grunt, Tariq’s legs gave out. He crashed heavily onto the stone terrace, his elegant suit scraping against the frost-bitten stone as he groaned in sudden pain.

Neville’s eyes went wide. Panicking, he lunged forward, raising his hands to strike. But the young lord was already moving. He grabbed Neville by the neck of his tailored jacket, utilizing Neville's own momentum to spin him around and slam him hard against the limestone wall of the alcove.

The thud of Neville's chest hitting the stone echoed in the quiet night. Before he could draw a breath, the Lord pinned him there, catching his right arm and wrenching it firmly up behind his back.

"It is entirely clear to me," the Lord hissed, his face inches from Neville’s ear, "that the men in this court lack the basic decency they were bred to possess."

He applied a sharp pressure to the arm lock, forcing Neville to gasp in pain, his aristocratic posture completely breaking.

"Princess Emilia clearly does not want your company," the Lord continued, his voice vibrating with a quiet, lethal fury. "You will leave this terrace now. And if you ever crowd her, speak to her, or so much as look in her direction again... I will make you deeply regret it."

Neville’s face went white, his breath hitching as the pain in his shoulder flared. "Okay! Okay, let go!" he whimpered, his arrogance vanishing in an instant. "You've made your point! Let me go!"

The young lord released his grip with a contemptuous shove. Neville stumbled, clutching his arm, his eyes darting frantically toward the terrace doors.

On the floor, Tariq was already scrambling back to his feet, nursing his bruised ego and looking at the stranger with a mixture of shock and sheer terror. Realizing they were utterly outmatched, both noblemen offered one last, hollow glare before turning on their heels. They scrambled past the stranger, practically running as they threw open the heavy doors and disappeared back into the protective, crowded warmth of the ballroom.

The doors creaked shut behind them, leaving the terrace in a sudden, ringing silence.

Emilia stood frozen against the balustrade, her hands still balled into fists, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps as she stared at her rescuer.

The young lord turned back to her. In the biting night air, his breath was a quick, pale mist rising from his lips, catching the soft gold light spilling from the ballroom. His posture had completely relaxed, his broad shoulders dropping as the violent energy of the fight drained away.

Emilia’s eyes remained wide. She didn't move a muscle, her heart still hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She didn't recognize this man. She had spent her entire life navigating the Cordonian court, and she had thought she knew every face, every title, and every lineage. Yet, he was completely foreign to her.

"Are you alright, Your Highness?" he asked, his voice a deep, steady baritone that carried none of the mocking cadence of Neville or Tariq.

"Y... yes," Emilia managed to whisper, her throat tight.

The lord offered a small, reassuring smile. He took a single step toward her, but as he did, Emilia instinctively flinched, her shoulders tensing as she braced for another threat.

He stopped instantly. Sensing her lingering panic, he raised his hands in a gentle, placating gesture, showing her his open palms to prove he meant no harm. "It’s alright, Princess Emilia. I’m not going to hurt you."

To prove his words, he deliberately walked away from her, crossing the stone terrace to lean his weight comfortably against the frosty balustrade several feet away. He gave her space—physical, unpressured space that let her breathe.

Emilia let out a long, shuddering breath, the tension slowly draining from her limbs. Her fingers uncurled, her trembling hands dropping back to her sides. "Thank you. Lord...?"

"Rhys. Liam Rhys," he said, his smile widening slightly in the moonlight.

"Thank you, Lord Rhys."

"Please, just Liam is fine," he said softly, looking over at her.

Emilia looked at him, her gaze lingering on his features. He was undeniably handsome—tall, broad-shouldered, with neat blonde hair that gleamed like spun gold under the crescent moon, and eyes of a striking, icy blue. But what struck her most wasn't his appearance; it was his demeanour. He wasn't polished to the extreme, hollow perfection of the other noblemen. He stood with a casual, easy grace, and his eyes held a genuine, clear warmth.

"Just Liam?" Emilia let out a small, breathless laugh, her lips curving for the first time in hours. "Forgive me, but it is rather unusual for anyone from the nobility to forgo their title. Most lords here carry theirs like a shield."

Liam chuckled, a warm, rich sound that seemed to banish the lingering chill of the terrace. "I know. But personally, I’ve always felt that a title is something that should be earned, not just inherited. And besides... Liam suits me much better."

Emilia felt the last of her defences crumble. "Well, thank you, Liam."

"You are very welcome, Your Highness," he replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Please, call me Emilia," she corrected gently, warming to his easy manner.

"You're welcome, Emilia," he amended, his voice soft. "I'm just glad I came out for some fresh air when I did. Are you absolutely sure you’re okay? Those two..."

"I am fine. Thanks to you," she said, taking a cautious step closer to him, though she still kept a respectful distance. "Really. If you hadn't stepped out when you did..."

"It was nothing," Liam dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Decency demands that much, at least. Though I have to say, your fists were looking rather formidable. I think you might have given them a run for their money even without me."

Emilia laughed, a genuine, light sound that made the heavy weight in her chest feel a fraction lighter. "Me too. I was fully prepared to swing." She paused, her curiosity getting the better of her. "I’m sorry, but I don't believe we’ve ever met. And I am fairly certain I know everyone in the Cordonian court, and most of the foreign ones, too."

Liam let out a self-deprecating laugh, shifting his weight against the stone. "Yeah. I’ve been... away."

"Away?"

"I’ve been in Italy for the past few years," he explained, looking out over the dark, frosty gardens. "Studying, mostly. Working a bit, too."

"Oh?"

"I wanted to do something for myself," Liam said, his voice turning reflective. "To learn about the world outside of this sheltered, gilded life we’re expected to live. Sorry, I don't mean to sound ungrateful for our privilege..."

"Not at all," Emilia cut in, her voice hushed and sincere. "I find myself wishing I could do the exact same thing. Every single day."

Liam’s blue eyes locked onto hers, filled with a deep, silent understanding. "I returned only recently. My mother requested—or rather, strongly insisted—that I come back for the social season, now that my studies are officially over, and I’ve learned a bit more about politics and business outside of Cordonia."

"And how are you finding being back?" Emilia asked, leaning her own lower back against the balustrade, mirroring his relaxed posture.

Liam huffed a dry laugh, shaking his head. "It is exactly as I expected."

"In what way?"

"Pretentious," he said flatly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Exhausting. That’s why I needed to slip out here for a breather. I just needed a little bit of freedom for a moment, you know?"

"Oh, I know. Believe me, I know," Emilia sighed, her gaze drifting down to her satin shoes. "That is exactly why I was out here when Tariq and Neville..."

"Yeah. They shouldn’t bother you again," Liam said, his tone turning momentarily firm, a shadow of the fierce protector crossing his features. "But if they do, you let me know. Immediately."

"I will," Emilia promised, touched by the protective instinct. "So... where did you learn to fight like that? That leg sweep was rather impressive."

"I took some self-defence classes while I was in Rome," Liam explained, a boyish grin gracing his lips. "The statesman I worked with, Signor Francesco, was a firm believer that one should always be able to protect oneself, regardless of status. So, I took some classes. To be honest, that is the very first time I’ve actually had to use any of it. I’m just glad my muscle memory kicked in."

"Me too," Emilia laughed softly.

Liam looked at her in the pale moonlight, his gaze softening. Despite the faint, ruined trails of makeup on her cheeks and the wind-blown strands of her perfect curls, she was beautiful. More beautiful than his mother had described, and far more captivating than the pristine, empty-headed debutantes currently spinning on the dance floor inside.

"So," Liam said gently, his voice dropping to a quieter register. "What was it you were trying to escape tonight, Emilia? Forgive me for asking, but you look like you’ve been through a lot more than just those two idiots." He gestured vaguely behind him toward the ballroom doors.

Emilia’s smile faltered, the cold reality of her heartache rushing back to fill the silence. "Oh. Well... it’s..."

Seeing her face fall, Liam immediately held up a hand. "I apologize. It is entirely none of my business. Please, don't feel pressured to explain."

"No, it's fine," Emilia said, swallowing the lump in her throat. She looked out over the dark gardens, her voice barely louder than the autumn wind. "I... I’ve been going through some very difficult things recently. It’s been hard for me the last few months, and I just... I needed to get out of that ballroom. I felt like I couldn't breathe in there."

"I understand," Liam said simply. There was no pity in his voice, no cloying sympathy, just a quiet, validating acceptance of her pain.

"I was actually just about to go back inside when Tariq and Neville showed up," Emilia continued, her fingers tightening around the cold stone of the balustrade. "I lost something earlier. A… a necklace of sorts... a very important necklace. I dropped it from my balcony before the ball started, and I was going to go down into the gardens to try and find it."

Liam looked out over the pitch-black lawns, the frosty hedges illuminated only by the faint silver of the crescent moon. "I'm not sure you'll have much luck in this light, Emilia. It’s freezing, and the shadows are incredibly long."

"No, perhaps not," she admitted, a heavy sadness settling over her features as she thought of Drake's ring lying lost in the cold dirt.

"Well," Liam said, turning his body fully toward her. "If you'd like, I could help you search for it tomorrow. There is a much better chance of finding something small in the daylight, and two sets of eyes are always better than one."

Emilia blinked in surprise. "Oh, I couldn't possibly ask you to do that. You hardly know me."

"You didn't ask. I offered," Liam pointed out, his blue eyes sparkling. "I would be happy to help you. Truly."

Emilia looked at his kind, open face, and felt a tiny, fragile blossom of comfort. Lord Liam Rhys was kind, and she desperately needed a friend right now. She loved Bertrand, but he was returning to Ramsford tomorrow. Olivia, Hana, and Rose loved her, but lately, they had a painful tendency to look at her with fragile pity, as if she were made of glass and might shatter at any moment.

Liam knew nothing of her broken heart. He didn't know about Drake, or his banishment, or her grief. He was just a kind stranger who offered help without expectation. It would be incredibly nice to have a friend who didn't look at her like she was broken.

"Okay," Emilia smiled, a genuine, soft expression that reached her eyes. "I would really appreciate the help. As long as you're sure you don't mind."

"Not at all," Liam smiled back, stepping closer and offering his elbow. "Now, shall we head back inside? It is getting rather freezing out here, and they will be starting those incredibly long, boring homecoming speeches soon. Personally, I would be deeply grateful to stand next to someone who hates them just as much as I do."

Emilia let out a bright laugh, the sound clear and lovely against the quiet night. She wiped her eyes quickly, trying to rescue what remained of her makeup, then reached out, her fingers resting lightly on the fine, dark wool of his sleeve. The warmth of his arm was a comforting, grounding contrast to the freezing limestone.

"That sounds wonderful," she said.

Together, they turned toward the heavy glass doors, ready to face the court side-by-side.

Chapter 34 - Kiara

“Just shut up, both of you.” He shook his head as he made his way over to the body where the medical examiner was already crouched over the victim. “Hey, Hana. How’s it going?”

“I can’t complain,” she smiled up at him, “But this poor girl…”

“Yeah. What do we know so far?”

“Blunt force trauma to the head.”

The apartment was swarming with officers. One of them approached him, “You must be the homicide detective from the seventh precinct.”

“That’s right, Liam Rys.” He shook the squat balding guy's hand.”

“Steve Carlson. The twelfth precinct is happy to collaborate with you, but this is our case.”

“Of course, but the vic was a suspect in my case.”

As the two detectives hammered out jurisdictional concerns, Drake made his way over to Riley. “You sure know how to get a guy sideways with people he’s supposed to be getting along with.”

“How was I supposed to know our witness was going to be dead when we got here?”

He just smiled as he shook his head. “I told you that you were going to be trouble.”

“Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.” She teased.

“I’m not so sure about that,” he mused.

“Have you learned anything new?”

“You’ve been with me the entire time we’ve been here.”

“Not true. You were with the police when they searched the place while I was exiled to this couch, waiting to be questioned.”

“Well, I didn’t learn much except…”

Riley perked up. “Except what?”

Drake paused to consider what he should tell her. His client had only hired him to investigate Trent’s murder. Sarah’s murder was likely related, but he couldn’t fathom a motive for either Katie or William Sloan to have killed her. So what he had learned didn’t fall under client privilege. He didn’t see how the information could hurt his client, and that’s all he cared about.

“Except that the murder weapon was her own rolling pin.”

“She was killed with a rolling pin?”

“It was one of those heavy, marble ones.”

“Huh.”

“Huh, what?”

“Weapon of opportunity.”

“Looks like it.”

“Just like Trent’s gun.”

“That’s a pattern.”

“Yeah… but…. “

“What?”

“Ok, so the motive was jealousy. Sabrina kills Trent, then gets in her car and goes to kill Sarah, right?”

“That’s the working theory, yeah.”

“Why didn’t she just bring the gun with her? I mean, she didn’t know there would be a handy murder weapon lying around this place. She could have just brought the gun.”

“Maybe she wasn’t thinking clearly. She shot Trent and panicked.”

“Panicked.” Riley raised her eyebrows skeptically. “Then drove across town to kill the mistress?”

“Am I supposed to understand how murderers think?”

“Yes. I would think so. It’s your job.”

“I mostly track down cheating spouses and runaway kids, Riley.”

“This is your first murder?”

“Well, no, but still—”

“Come on. What else have you got? You must know something.”

“I know that the police found two airline tickets in Trent’s possession, and Sarah’s bedroom looks like she was packing for a trip.”

“So, Trent and Sarah were about to skip town together?”

“Looks that way. And there was an engagement ring with the tickets.”

Riley’s eyes widened. “So, Sabrina found out he was about to wife up her competition?”

Drake nodded. “Motive enough for you?”

“Maybe,” Riley’s gaze swept around the room distractedly.

“What are you looking for?”

“I don’t know. Something doesn’t add up.”

“Seems pretty cut and dried to me.”

They were distracted by a disturbance at the door. A plainclothesman was yelling, “Sir! Sir! You can’t be in here!”

They turned to find Max in the doorway. “I was just—”

The man yelling at Max whirled on the uniformed officer who seemed to be escorting him and continued, “What the fuck are you doing letting a reporter up here?”

“Reporter?” The cop recoiled. “I thought he was the crime scene photographer!”

Returning his attention to the man with the camera, the plainclothesman shook his head. “You do realize it’s a crime to impersonate—”

“I wasn’t impersonating anyone! I was called to the scene!”

“By who?”

“That would be me.” Riley stood up and waved to Max.

“You have no authority to—”

She blinked innocently at the officer. “I just needed a ride home. I’m too shook up to drive.”

The man grunted in consternation. “Fine. But he can wait for you downstairs.” Turning back to Max, he made a shooing motion, “Go!”

“I’ll be waiting outside,” Max called to Riley as he was roughly escorted from the apartment.

Drake turned to her in astonishment. Lowering his voice so the police wouldn’t overhear, he hissed, “You drove yourself here. And if you’re really too upset to drive…which I sincerely doubt, I could have given you a ride home. I’m right here.”

She shrugged and gave him a devious grin. “Can’t blame a girl for trying.” Her fingers flew over her keyboard as she texted Max to get photos of the outside of the building and the police going in and out.

He reached out, grabbed her arm, and dragged her closer. “Yes, they can actually! Do not give them a reason to charge you for impeding an investigation!”

“I’m happy to know you care, but they can’t arrest me for calling a friend for a ride.”

“Don’t play stupid, Riley. It doesn’t suit you. You’re a reporter, he’s your photographer, and he totally just tried to bullshit his way into a crime scene.”

“Max just gets enthusiastic—”

“Max does whatever you tell him to do. I’ve known you for a day, and I already know that. He’s young and naïve, and if you’re not careful, you’re going to get him in trouble.”

“And you’re underestimating him. Max can take care of himself.”

“Yeah? And how would you feel if he got arrested because of your antics?”

“Antics?” She arched an amused eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, antics. It’s a valid word!”

“Ok, grandpa.”

“Grandpa? Really?”

Riley shrugged. “If the shoe fits…”

Drake grunted in consternation. “Whatever. Just answer the question. How would you feel if you got him arrested?”

“Well, if he managed to get himself arrested, which is highly unlikely, mind you, then I’m sure his family would send a cadre of lawyers to get him out and probably sue the police for arresting him in the first place.”

Drake blinked. “Who’s his family?”

Riley’s mouth fell open. “Seriously? He’s a Beaumont! Didn’t you notice his last name when you were writing those checks to him?”

It took Drake’s brain several seconds before the pieces fell into place. “Wait. You mean those Beaumonts?”

“Yeah. Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Riley! Maybe because it never occurred to me that a member of a notorious crime family would be moonlighting as a photographer for what amounts to peanuts!”

“First of all, all the crime was committed by his great-grandfather, and allegedly his grandfather, not him. The Beaumonts are legitimate now! Second of all—”

Drake snorted loudly. “Yeah, okay.” Everyone knew that Beaumont Enterprises was a front for organized crime. Or at least suspected it. No one had ever been able to prove any accusation. Probably because of all the lawyers.

“They are! And even if they weren’t…. that’s hardly Max’s fault.”

“Hey, I get it.” He put his hands up in the universal sign of surrender. “No one likes to be judged by their family.”

Something in his tone drew a sharp gaze from her. “Judging from my research, your family seems pretty exemplary. Something I missed?”

He shook his head emphatically. “I’m just saying, some people may be trying to live down their family’s infamy, while others are busy trying to live up to an impossible standard.”

Her demeanor softened. “I get that.”

“Really?” He sounded skeptical. “Judging from my research, you’re the most successful person in your family.”

“Really.” She nudged him gently. “All that success is a stunning disappointment to parents who saved all their lives to pay for their daughter’s wedding and want nothing more than grandchildren.”

“Ouch. I’m sorry.”

“Nah. It’s fine. I’ve learned to live with it.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re amazing.”

“Thanks. You’re not too bad yourself.”

They both looked up at the sound of a throat clearing. Liam fidgeted uncomfortably. “Am I interrupting something?”

Drake was the one who answered. “Nothing we can’t continue later. Did you need something?”

“I just wanted to let Miss Brooks know that she’s free to go and to remind you not to keep spilling secrets to the press.”

“I didn't spill anything she wouldn't have found out on her own.” A note of admiration crept into his voice as he continued, “Have you read any of her articles? Do you know how many awards she’s won?”

Liam frowned. “What’s your point?”

“My point is, she's really good at what she does. She doesn’t have to steal information from me. She’s the one who pointed me to Sarah in the first place.”

“Did she now?” Liam turned a thoughtful gaze to the reporter. “How did you find out about Sarah?”

“I’m an investigative journalist, Detective. I investigated.”

“If you had information pertinent to the case, why didn’t you share it with law enforcement?”

“I did.” Riley gestured to Drake.

“Right.” Liam scoffed. “In the future, please refer any and all relevant information about my active murder investigation to me. The officer in charge. Got it?”

“Got it.” She gave him a mock salute.

“Riley,” he pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “I know you’re mocking me, but I’m serious. There are protocols and procedures for a reason! I’m simply trying to do my job, catch the bad guys and keep the general public, including you, safe!”

“I know, Liam. I just—”

“Do you? Because I have a code of conduct that I live by, and I take my oath to the badge seriously!”

“I do know that. You are an honorable man, Detective Rys. Which is something I really admire and respect about you.”

Surprise flashed across his face. “Do you really feel that way?”

“Yes, Liam, I do.”

Drake cleared his throat. “Ok, I don’t mean to interrupt a moment here, but—"

“There’s no moment.” Liam snapped.

“Are you sure? Because to me, it looked like—”

“I’m sure. I just wanted to impress upon Miss Brooks the importance of staying out the way of an active investigation.”

“So just to be clear, you're not interested in dating her?”

“No!”

“Great!” Drake crowed before turning his attention back to Riley. “Now, about that dinner…”

Liam paled. “Wait—"

Drake slapped him on the back with a grin. “Too late, no take backs!”

Riley shook her head. “Guys, I’m standing right here!”

“Detective!” A plainclothesman approached Liam with a cell phone in his hand. “The chief has a question for you.”

“Alright, I’ll be right there.” He gave one last look over his shoulder before walking away. “I mean it, stay out the way, Riley.”

“Yeah. I will.”

After Liam, Leo, and Regina decided at the Portavira hospital, Constantine was quickly airlifted back to the Capitol to join his home team of medical staff. His doctors worked tirelessly to get him stable, but his condition remained fluctuant since he arrived at the Cordonian Medical University. They hadn’t received a recent update, but Liam was determined that the moment he was able, he and Constantine would pick up their conversation right where it left off. 

The anxiety he felt was like no other. He hadn’t slept in days and didn’t remember the last time he consumed something other than coffee. Time molded together, and he wasn’t sure what day of the week it was. The search for Riley drove him right to the gates of insanity, but Liam was determined, with everything in him, he was going to find her, no matter what it took. 

The tension in the waiting room was a palpable force. Liam paced the area tirelessly, biting his nails until each finger bled. Leo stared into space and bounced his leg rapidly, filling the air with the sound of his pants as they rubbed against the upholstery of his chair. Regina watched the pair with pinched brows, and the longer she stared, the higher her curiosity rose. She noticed well before today that their demeanors had been different lately, and she heard of Liam’s hospital stay only a few days prior. His body language was off the charts at all moments, but she didn’t have any idea what could have created such trouble for them. She speculated but didn’t know for certain if her hunch was correct. All she knew was that something was indeed being kept from her. 

Regina observed until she could no longer stand the tension and her curiosity got the better of her. “Liam… Are you alright?” She faintly asked, but her voice nearly echoed in the stillness.

“No, I’m not. He has to make it.” Liam answered, all the while continuing his pacing. 

Regina's features softened. “I understand this is difficult to process, but everything is going to be alright—” 

“No, it’s not!” Liam suddenly yelled, startling Regina and causing her to jump. “I need to know who did it. I have to know.”

Regina’s brows furrowed, her confusion reaching its peak. “What do you mean?”

Liam spoke again, but Regina quickly realized he spoke to himself instead of her. He walked in a short line then back again, his eyes glued to the floor and when he answered, his words were fast and muddled. “I just don’t understand. Who could’ve talked him into this mess? Was it Madeleine?” He pinched his brows and stopped before he shook his head. “No, no — he wouldn’t do what just anyone says… And that’s way too obvious, right? Right.” 

Regina interjected, “Liam, what—” 

“The council? Was this a collaborative effort? Is everyone guilty?” He continued, as his face quickly shifted from a bright shade of red to nearly white. “Can I trust anyone? Is this a sign to abdicate and call it a win?” He paused, the wheels visibly cranking inside his head before he spat out, “That solves nothing and doesn’t keep her safe! What the fuck am I supposed to do?!”

“Liam!” Regina yelled, stopping him in his tracks. Her eyes widened, she cleared her throat, and she smoothed down her skirt when his fiery gaze centered on her. “I apologize for the outburst, but what in the world are you talking about?” 

“What?” 

“You said something about Madeleine? And the council?” 

Liam could only stare at Regina. He swore all that was happening inside his head, but it seemed lately there was no difference between the two. “I — uh…” He swallowed thickly as he silently weighed his options.  

He didn’t know if he should tell Regina. It wasn’t because he believed she could be involved, but he didn’t want to risk putting her in danger. But now that the thought arose, it played repetitively, causing his heart rate to increase because maybe she could know something. 

At this point, it wouldn’t surprise him if even Leo had a hand in it. 

He shook the thought quickly, willing his paranoia to stay at bay. However, he also realized if Constantine had told anyone about his indiscretions, it would’ve been Regina, and his conscience wouldn't allow him to dismiss her as a person of interest. 

Liam let out a sigh, placed a hand on Regina’s shoulder, and led her to a chair. He sat down beside her and addressed her in a low, stern tone. “What’s spoken of here does not get repeated. Are we understood?” He momentarily cursed himself because he wasn’t trying to come off this way to Regina, but he was so far over the ledge, that he could practically see underneath. 

Regina agreed, and Liam swiftly caught her up to speed on what they knew, and her tears freely fell by the time he finished. She had no idea these things had happened and felt like a fool because she was a reigning monarch at the time the initial incident transpired. This was just as much her fault as it was Constantine’s, and she felt guilty for assuming what the media presented was correct. 

“Liam, I didn’t know… I’m so sorry this has happened…” Regina started as she wiped her cheeks. “I heard you were running some kind of investigation, but—”

“You know about the investigation?” Liam hastily inquired, his red eyes not even blinking as he awaited her answer.

“It was hard to miss, unfortunately.” She sadly smiled. “I’m afraid most people know you were looking into Lady Riley’s whereabouts, but they don’t know how deep it runs.” 

“Who’s been talking about it?”

“The truth?” Liam nodded, so Regina finished. “... Everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“Yes, Liam… Word traveled around the court fast after you hired some kind of investigator—”

“They know about Ray, too?” Liam repeated in complete disbelief. 

“Yes, but everyone assumed you were simply looking for Lady Riley to demand an explanation. No one has mentioned anything about her still being in the country, or anything else, for that matter.”

“Do you know anything about it? Did father ever mention it?” 

“No, he didn’t,” Regina answered through clenched teeth. “And if he pulls through this, he had better pray to the heavens above for protection, because I have a lot to say to him regarding the matter.” 

“What about the murders?” Leo interjected. “Has anyone said anything about those?” 

“No. Most don’t even know who the maid was, and Penelope’s death hasn’t circulated the rumor mill yet.”

Liam ran a hand down his face as he let this conversation seep in. Nothing they’d done was secret. Sure, some aspects were, but they had been so careful to keep this under wraps, yet this information seemed to spread like wildfire.

This raised the question — was there yet another mole? His vision briefly connected with Leo’s and his expression echoed Liam’s, confirming that his suspicion wasn’t just paranoia.

“Regina, you can’t tell anyone —” 

“You have my word, Liam.” Regina softly interrupted. “If I can do anything to help you in any way —” 

“No.” Liam sternly answered. “I don’t want you anywhere near this — forget this conversation ever happened. I trust you, but I don’t want you getting mixed up in this.” He stopped himself, not knowing if he spoke he truthl. He didn’t know if he trusted her, but unless he received a reason, Regina’s name moved to the bottom of his list of suspects.

“But if someone mentions it…” Leo trailed off. 

A doctor appeared in the doorway a moment later and bowed to the trio, interrupting the moment. “Your Majesties, my name is Doctor Gordon —”

Liam shot up from his seat. “How is he? Is he awake?” 

“I’m afraid he’s not, sir, but we’ve stabilized him. We’re waiting on a few more lab results and his vitals are fluctuant, but for the time being, he seems to be on a steady level.”

“What happened?” 

“Unfortunately, this can happen in carcinoma patients. The cancer already dwindles air and the lungs overexert and overpower the heart, triggering a myocardial infarction.” 

“What the hell does that mean?” Liam practically barked as his patience ran thin. 

“He suffered a heart attack. In any other circumstance, his survival rate would be high, but because of the cancer, unfortunately, his heart was already weak.” 

“A heart attack?” Liam mimicked in disbelief. 

“Yes, sir — a pretty nasty one. All we can do is keep him comfortable—” 

“Don’t say it,” Liam gritted out through clenched teeth. “There has to be something you can do.” He pleaded, his desperation quickly skyrocketing. “We have funds — get a fucking specialist or something!”

Dr. Gordon winced at his volume. “Sir, he’s not eligible for any kind of surgery — his lungs will collapse the second we administer anesthesia. We’re giving him medications to keep him relaxed and manage his pain, but I’m afraid there’s not much more to be done...” 

Liam could only stare at the man in front of him as if he spoke another language. This should not have been a surprise; they all knew Constantine was on borrowed time, but the convenience of hitting another roadblock regarding Riley couldn't be denied. That was his father, and he wanted to be sad that his life was essentially ending, but all he felt was anger and regret that he didn’t get the chance to uncover the final hidden piece of the puzzle, leading him to wonder if he would ever be able to find her again. 

“Will he wake back up?” Liam tentatively asked, holding onto any little sliver of hope. 

“I’m not sure, sir. He could, but it all depends on him right now. There’s nothing we can do to bring him out of it — it’s just a waiting game at this point.” The doctor responded with a sad smile. “I’m truly sorry.” 

“Can you take us to him?” Regina tearfully inquired. 

“Of course, ma’am.” Dr. Gordon bowed. 

Leo and Regina went to follow, but Liam couldn’t force himself to go. If his father was not yet awake, he had somewhere else he needed to be. He wanted to feel guilty for not staying, but he meant what he said to Constantine; he was no longer his father. All he could picture was a monster who turned a blind eye while letting someone hurt the woman his heart still cries for. Perhaps his feelings would change with time, but for right now, he felt nothing but hatred for his sperm donor. 

And his conscience screamed at him, demanding he go check out his father’s suggestion — the tunnels. 

As a child, he’d heard fables and stories of the dreaded, abandoned area, hidden deep under estates from some older nobles. However, it never received recognition from a technical standpoint, only hearsay; it wasn’t something you’d learn about during a lesson or schooling of any type.  

Liam honestly didn’t know if his father was being truthful or just trying to provide him with some kind of answer to deflect his anger. He had no reason to trust a word that came out of Constantine’s mouth, but he couldn’t deny the sudden jump he felt as he mentioned it; like a blast of lightning struck him, sending a jolt of electricity down the length of his spine. Rationally thinking, he was wary of believing his father, but his heart’s reaction couldn’t go unnoticed. 

Either way, he felt he needed to check. They had to address anything and everything they found, and this would be no different. He assured himself that if Olivia were there, she would’ve already left to secure the scene. The rest of the duchies would get attention later, but right now, he needed to check his home turf.

Leo noticed Liam didn’t follow and turned around to see the wheels actively working in his brother’s head. “Li…” 

“You go. Stay with him in case he wakes up.” Liam answered, his eyes centered on the palace in the distance as he peered out a window.

“Where are you going?” 

“I have to check,” Liam said, more to himself than Leo. “He mentioned the tunnels — if she could be there, I have to look.” He swallowed down a lump of bile as he thought about what he might find, but either way, he needed to know.

“Liam, I know you want to, but —” 

“I have to, Leo.” He swallowed thickly and quickly blinked, willing the sudden burn behind his eyelids to go away. “I have to.” He whispered. 

“Then I’m coming with you,” Leo responded with utmost determination.

“No. I want you to stay with him.” 

Leo’s mouth fell agape. “That is not happening —” 

“I’m ordering you not to leave his side, Leo, not until I say it’s okay.” Liam rumbled. “Don’t fucking test me. I’m not in the mood. I need you here.” He turned and strode away before Leo received a chance to respond. 

Leo watched Liam go with wide eyes. He didn’t know what to think or do in this situation. He couldn’t fathom that his father had done such a thing — that he stooped so low. Leo had his issues with Constantine, but nothing even close in comparison. However, he realized Liam was a walking ball of rage; there was no telling what he would do, but he wasn’t thinking clearly. Right now, he only saw the anger he felt at the moment. He was oblivious to what his actions could spiral into, and Leo couldn’t help but feel like this game was far from over.    

Leo quickly pulled his phone out and called Drake, who was close by, to tell him to keep an eye out for him. It wasn’t because Leo wanted to stop him; he only wanted to ensure Liam did not go alone. He realized there was no telling what could be waiting — if anything — but on the chance there was something down there, Liam would not walk into it by himself. 

Liam returned to the palace a short time later and instead of heading through the front doors, he veered left. He walked directly beside the building, surveying the concrete siding with his eyes and hands, mindlessly searching for something he wasn’t even sure existed. He didn’t know if anyone was around, and didn’t know if he had a guard trailing behind him. The only thing his brain registered was his footsteps in the grass and the immediate view in front of him. 

To know Riley could have been here this entire time, right under his nose, made him sick to his stomach. Not only did he turn his back on her, but he potentially walked right above her all day every day, wishing she was there; now, there was a chance she was the entire time, and he couldn’t even begin to process it. 

He still couldn’t fathom how this entire operation happened right under his nose. If Olivia hadn’t spoken up, someone would have covered this whole thing up. He not only abandoned her, but he also allowed this madness to happen. The guilt he felt at that moment was hard to ignore, but as he mindlessly trekked around the outside of the palace, searching for the unknown, his hands shook as he realized what could lie before him. 

Riley could be inches away; he swore he could sense her aura near. His footsteps quickened and echoed in the stillness, even in the moistened grass, as he let that thought resonate through his body like lightning in his veins, fueling him forward. He was on a mission and saw nothing except his end goal. 

Riley was close, and he was going to rescue her. 

A hand on his shoulder startled Liam. He spun around with his fist cocked, ready to strike, but he stood down when he saw Drake. “It’s just me, Li…”

Liam raised his palm. “Don’t try to stop me, Drake. I’m going to find it.” 

“I know, man. I’m coming with you.” 

“No, we don’t know what’s down there—”

“Exactly. No way in hell are you going in there alone.” Drake swiftly interrupted. “Come on, let’s go.” Without a second of hesitation, he walked a few feet away from Liam to the back of the palace, directly to a wall covered in thick vines. He brought out his pocketknife and sliced through the shrubbery, revealing a large stone door. 

“How did you know?” Liam rasped as he finished, his steely glare centered on Drake. 

Drake recognized his hostility and raised his arms in surrender. Liam didn't outright accuse him of anything, but the fiery blues staring back at him told him exactly what he was thinking. “I’ve run around this place unattended for most of my life, Liam.”

Liam shook his head to clear the chaos. His features softened, and he released a deep breath before he replied, “Right… Sorry, I didn’t mean to—” 

“S’all good, man.” Drake returned with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Ready?”

Liam mindlessly nodded, and the two started their venture. They swung the stone door open and saw a set of stairs that led into the vastness of the unknown, the chilled temperature seeping out and coating their skin in goosebumps. Liam entered first, Drake hot on his heels, and they cautiously began the descent. 

Every creaky step echoed against the concrete walls, amplifying the tension until they reached a long, dark hallway. The depths of the palace tunnels were cold, damp, and incredibly creepy. A combination of dust and mold littered the air, and spider webs covered most of the walls. It truly mimicked what you’d see in movies, even down to the dull illumination from flickering sconces. The further they traveled, the worse it got and the higher their anticipation rose. 

They followed until they reached a dead end. Both men glanced around, but neither could understand. They found the end of the tunnels and didn’t find a sign of anyone. There were no cells or doors, as Constantine suggested, and no signs of any life around. The only sounds to be heard in the deafening silence were their ragged breaths, mixed in with their pounding hearts as they let this conclusion sink in. 

“Goddamnit! He fucking lied to me, Drake! Again!” Liam suddenly erupted, his voice nearly loud enough to burst an eardrum as it echoed off the stone walls. “He won’t have to worry about his heart giving out — he needs to be more concerned with what I’m going to do once I get back to that hospital.” He went to storm away, but Drake suddenly stopped him. 

“Hold on a sec, Li.” Drake pulled out a small book from his jacket pocket and opened it. “I went to the library and got that book when Leo called to warn me you were coming and where you were going, just in case we needed it. Okay, we’re here…” He pointed at the page before both men carefully assessed the old, dusty map.

“What is that?” Liam asked as he motioned to a dark area. It appeared to be a door of some kind, although they saw no trace of anything as they peered around. 

“That’s gotta be what we’re looking for. These maps don’t have the hidden shit on them, but there’s usually always a clue somewhere or an indicator of some kind.” 

“How do you know all this?” He inquired as he skeptically eyed his best friend. 

Drake smirked. “What do you think I did all those years when you were busy doing prince shit? I know every crevice of this place — if she’s here, we’re going to find her.” 

“How are we going to find the door?”

“I dunno.” Drake shrugged. “We might just have to feel along the walls, or look for anything out of place.”

“Like creepy, floor-to-ceiling paintings in an otherwise empty hallway?” Liam asked as he pointed to a portrait hung not far away, conveniently placed in a darkened shadow. 

“That’d do it,” Drake answered as they made their way over. 

Liam touched the art and tried to move it, but even when he used all his might, it wouldn’t budge. He felt all around the area, searching for a lever or some kind of pulley, but uncovered nothing of relevance.

Drake took a step back and searched his memories as desperation started to creep in. He spent most of his childhood exploring the palace in moments of boredom. Liam joined when he could, but Drake had to entertain himself when he couldn’t fathom being around Maxwell or Olivia and often ended up in areas he knew he wasn’t supposed to be near, including this one.

When he was younger — probably ten or eleven — he found himself in this same tunnel. Somehow, he opened the secret door, but he got scared when he peeked in and quickly left. It was a complete accident; he didn’t even remember how he got the door to open. The only thing he recalled was that he stumbled and hurt his shoulder on the wall, then he flailed for balance as he began to fall. When his hand reached out for leverage, instead of connecting with the stone as intended, he grabbed the sconce and accidentally turned it in his descent. As he stood, he pushed on the painting to regain his leverage, and then... 

Drake suddenly looked up and saw a light beside the portrait. All the other sconces held varying illumination, but produced light in some fashion; this was the only one they’d seen so far that was completely black — not even a faint spark. He approached and, without a second thought, he turned it to the side. Liam watched with furrowed brows and opened his mouth to speak, but a loud click silenced him. Suddenly, the outline of a door appeared and stopped him in his tracks, causing his breath to sputter.  

He pushed on the wall before another click sounded and the door slowly crept open, revealing a darker, tighter hallway, somehow leading deeper and further into the unknown. The area was nearly completely black and smelled incredibly moldy, with hues of cigar smoke and sweat mixing in with a plethora of other rancid scents. Drake pulled his phone out, turned the flashlight on and peeked in, but they couldn’t see anything except a long, seemingly never-ending pit of darkness. 

Liam went first but stepped slowly as his anticipation rose. Although he wanted to rush through, his anxiety multiplied as he took in the eeriness before them. His unease quadrupled, an anvil-sized chill traveling down the length of his spine and back up again. When they approached the end, the vicinity held a little more light from dim, flickering sconces, but not enough for them to see clearly. 

They made their way to the end of the hall by feeling along the cold, moistened walls, except this time, one lone, stone door with corroded metal bars awaited them at the end. Drake and Liam’s hair on the back of their necks stood straight up as they saw a chain and padlock lying on the floor, the structure slightly ajar. Liam cautiously approached and pushed it open with shaky hands, swallowing thickly to contain the vile as it rose to the back of his throat.

As they stepped over the threshold, they saw a line of what appeared to be small holding cells; three, to be exact. The boxes were small with just enough room for the few pieces of furniture. The first two were empty and the cots were perfectly made, showing no signs of anyone. They approached the last and Liam’s heart sank into the pits of his stomach as he realized it was vacant as well. However, his mind started to race as he realized this one clearly housed someone at some point; a tray of untouched food sat on a small table in between the toilet and bed, which was unmade and tousled, causing his hands to shake uncontrollably as he tried to process this scene.  

“Holy shit…” Drake gasped as he took in their surroundings. “How did we never find this?”

“I don’t know… I think the better question is, how did someone else find it?” 

“They didn’t, Li. Someone knew this shit was here and how to access it — nobody just stumbled upon this.” Drake rubbed his chin, his disbelief shining brightly as he tried to make sense of this new revelation. “There’s no fucking way.” 

Liam stepped toward the bed and lifted the pillow to his face. He inhaled a deep breath and a faint floral fragrance invaded his senses and sparked some kind of recognition, but he couldn’t pinpoint if it was Riley or not. “Do — do you think she was here?” 

Drake momentarily remained silent as he weighed his words, figuring out the best way to be honest with his best friend without completely demolishing the fragile remnants of his hope. “Clearly someone was, but it’s hard to say if it was her…” He faintly answered.

Liam nodded and returned the pillow, his heart racing while every worst-case scenario ran through his head. He shook it off and instead touched the tray of food and as he did, sweat immediately poured down his forehead, and a sudden chill swept over his entire body, as if he'd opened the door to Lythikos' keep in the middle of a snowstorm, as he realized — 

The food was still warm. 

“Drake…” His voice trembled, and he spoke quietly as his eyes surveyed the room. “Someone was here recently — like, within a few hours, maybe less… I can’t help but feel like they knew we’d come down here.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“That door was open on purpose, Drake, and this food is still warm. They wanted us to know someone was in here.” 

Drake momentarily considered it before he responded, “You’re right, but how do we know who it was?” 

“I don’t know… I need to contact Olivia and Ray to let them know about this. If my father was correct, these could be in all the duchies...” Liam trailed off with a hopeless expression. He shook his head with his hands on his hips, desperation setting in. “What am I supposed to do, Drake? I — I’m at a complete loss. No matter what we do, we still can’t seem to get ahead and now they’re taunting me, too.”

“It does seem like they’re taunting you a bit,” Drake agreed as he looked around the deserted box with barely enough for both of them to stand in. 

“Do I send out teams everywhere? How can I do that without someone knowing? They already knew we were coming here, and I didn’t even tell anyone! The investigation may as well be on the evening fucking news!” Liam shouted as his composure turned to ash and he let the tidal wave of his emotions wash over him.

“I — I wish I could answer that, Li, but I’m not the one to ask… You need to get Olivia and Ray in on this as soon as possible.” 

“I just need to see her, Drake…” Liam admitted, his lip involuntarily quivering. He stopped his steps but refused to make eye contact. His tears threatened to spill over, but he couldn’t decide if they stemmed from sadness, frustration, defeat, or all of the above.

Drake noticed Liam’s shift and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I know… Everything is gonna work itself out.” 

“How can you say that? You’ve seen what’s been happening!” Liam exclaimed as he shook Drake’s palm away, his agitation returning full force. “I can’t keep doing this cat-and-mouse game. I’m canceling the tour — right now.” 

Drake’s eyes widened. “Li, I don’t think —” 

“There’s nothing else to do, Drake! I can’t keep going back and forth. Between this, and now my father, I can’t keep pretending everything is okay.” Liam shook his head as a lone tear traveled down his cheek. “I can’t.” He brokenly whispered.

Drake’s features softened. “I know this is a fucking nightmare, but you can’t do that, Liam, not until we know Brooks is safe… You can probably get away with postponing some stuff because of your dad, but you can’t outright cancel everything…” He swallowed thickly as he tried to keep his head level. He pushed aside his own desolate feelings to console Liam, but between worrying about Riley and dealing with Bastien's betrayal, he didn't know how much longer he could keep on this show. His best friend needed him to be strong and coherent, but the strength he rallied to be Liam's backbone ran sparse. They’d been through a lot together, but this situation put a whole new meaning to the term through hell and back. 

Liam didn’t answer, but deep down, he knew Drake was indeed correct. Until Riley was directly in front of him, he couldn’t do anything to further irritate whoever held these cards, as much as that infuriated him. This entire tim,e everyone kept telling him he was the king — that he was in control — but that was never true. He was merely a puppet in someone else’s scheme and he found himself helplessly stuck, even though he wanted to throw in the towel. The thought of abdication crossed his mind on more than one occasion, but again, until Riley was one hundred percent safe, he couldn’t do anything. 

“Maybe we should get ahold of Olivia and see what she thinks about this,” Drake softly suggested after a long moment of silence. 

Liam couldn’t muster a response, but he nodded and mindlessly made his way out. They headed back to the main floor of the palace to the grand staircase in complete silence, the tension looming among them thicker than ever before. Liam didn’t have any idea where he was going, nor did he register any scenery on their walk; he couldn’t think straight. 

So much ran amok through his already jumbled thoughts. Since his father told them of the hidden tunnels, he hadn’t spoken to anyone other than Leo, Regina, and now Drake. Bastien was no longer around, yet someone still beat them down there. He wanted nothing more than to believe it could have been Riley in that cell, but he didn’t know what to conclude. Nothing made sense. He felt as if the world around him was on fire, but he had no choice other than to walk through the flames with a smile. 

Drake led Liam to his office, thinking that would be the best place for them to do something productive. He stepped aside to allow him access to unlock the door, and Liam mindlessly put his key inside the lock, not noticing that it wasn’t even necessary. The structure creaked open, but Liam suddenly froze as he took in his surroundings. 

He knew when he left last he shut everything off, but a fire roared in the hearth and the TV was on a national news station, although muted. The blinds on his windows were open, the opposite of how he left them. The lamp on his desk shone brightly, and he undoubtedly knew that was the very last thing he’d turned off when he left. 

Without a shadow of uncertainty, he knew someone had been there.  

The temperature suddenly dropped, and an eerie sensation filled the air — one that was becoming all too familiar. Liam stepped over the threshold and took a couple of slow, cautious steps forward, ignoring the goosebumps coating his entire body. The anticipation of the situation multiplied until it became a tangible force — a living, breathing creature that derived from his demons, laying dormant, waiting for its next moment to rise and unleash hell upon his world. The room remained silent, but it wasn't content or peaceful; instead it felt louder than the screams of his deep anguish. For the first time in months, the whirlwind of his thoughts halted,  but it was far from a relief. A sense of dread rushed over him so viciously that it nearly took him to his knees, but he didn't falter. He stood taller to project dominance over the mythical figure of his emotions, but he knew the attempt was subpar at best, and his demons saw how close he was to breaking. 

He spun around in the middle of the room with pinched brows as he surveyed his surroundings. “What the hell?” He whispered, his voice slicing through the silence like a knife.

“Careful, Li…” Drake spoke as he followed closely, his eyes darting all around to look for any kind of threat. 

“Someone’s been here…” Liam spoke as he did the same, combing the vicinity with a dissecting gaze. 

“Yeah, but again, who?” 

“That seems to be the question of the day,” Liam acknowledged as he noticed a lit candle on the coffee table. The pool of wax was only a small circle around the wick, which led him to decide that whoever lit it did so only minutes ago. “Someone is playing with me, Drake…” He trailed off, the hair on the back of his neck rising to attention as he extinguished the flame. 

“Is there a guard close by? Maybe we need to let them handle this…” Drake suggested as his unease continued to grow. 

Liam ignored him and mustered every ounce of strength he had to calm his rising anxiety. Even though he searched the room from top to bottom, he saw no prominent threats. Other than the things he’d already noticed, nothing else stood out. There were no signs that anyone had broken in or stolen anything; it almost appeared as if someone simply wanted him to know that they were there. 

He carefully approached his desk with Drake glued to his side. He intended to grab the phone and call Olivia to see what she suggested they do next. However, as he scanned over the contents on top of the mahogany structure, he realized something he’d never seen lay directly in front of his chair. His hands trembled as he picked up the item, but when recognition swept over him, it was accompanied by anguish that resembled a dagger to the gut. 

It was a folded-up newspaper from the day Riley became the Apple Queen, but someone scratched out her face in red marker on the front-page picture of her and Liam, and covered her body in obscenities. Large, animated tears streamed from Liam’s eyes, and his smile was transformed into a large, dramatic frown. The underlining in the attached article emphasized Riley’s commoner status, while others highlighted passages about an ‘enamored prince’ and her likelihood of success. He scoured the text underneath until the passage broke off and continued on a different page, but as he went to unfold it, something dropped from inside the paper. 

Drake curiously crouched as he observed the contents meet the floor. He could tell papers or cards of some sort fell, but those became momentarily forgotten as something else dropped. It didn’t take long for him to realize it was human hair; long, silky strands of blonde mane, and a substantial amount of it. 

He swallowed thickly as he recognized Riley as the only person they knew with blonde hair — aside from Madeleine, but her locks were nowhere near as lengthy as Riley’s. He bent down and picked up a wad for himself and Liam to see along with everything else, but as he realized what else he held, he stopped breathing. 

With the hair were photos — Constantine at the hospital, Liam entering the palace that night, Penelope’s body arriving back in Portavira, Olivia and Ray investigating — all things nobody should have known anything about.  

Before he could process anything, Drake’s vision went past what he held and landed on the now-opened paper still in Liam's hands. He furrowed his brow as he spotted something scribbled on the inside and motioned to it, causing Liam to look down with confusion written on his features until he saw peeks as well. He brought it to his face with visibly shaky hands and held his breath as he prepared himself for the worst, but within seconds, any and every ounce of hope burst into flames.

Liam dropped into his office chair, and Drake watched his complexion drain until he mimicked a ghost, his breathing steadily increasing in pace and intensity. His tears fell freely until he nearly sobbed, the shift happening so fast that Drake was momentarily speechless.

He quickly sprang into action and crouched in front of Liam. “Li — calm down. Take a couple of deep breaths… Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.” 

After a few seconds of stillness, he answered, “I — I don’t know if there’s a-anything left to be d-done, Drake.” Liam got out through gasps and hiccups, making no attempts to cover his deteriorating state. 

“What’re you talking about? We can’t give up now!” Drake hollered.  

Liam remained silent for a long moment, the tension thickening by the second. His tears dried and the ache in his chest expanded until it exploded, leaving nothing but agony behind. “I don’t think we have a choice in the matter…” He responded, his voice flat and devoid of any emotion. 

“Bullshit. What was it? Lemme see,” Drake demanded as his irritation skyrocketed. He was not willing to let Liam give up — not now. Whatever it was, they could and would deal with it. He didn’t know how, but someone had to keep some hope flowing in an otherwise grim situation. 

Liam didn’t answer, but shook his head and stared blankly into space as he let the wave envelop him whole. His breath hitched and, although he tried to fight it, his tears flowed freely once more. He fisted his hair, and his shoulders shook with anguished sobs, the sound reverberating off the walls. Drake hastily snatched the item from his hands as his agitation got the best of him, even though he was experiencing a side of Liam he was sure nobody had ever seen. He held the paper in front of his face for only a moment before his irritation instantly dissipated, instead replaced with overwhelming anxiety as he’d never felt before. 

They concluded Riley was in the country and speculated she was being held hostage, but they didn’t know for sure. They had very little information to prove where she was or wasn’t, and they tried not to jump to conclusions without having all the facts. Of course, her sources of identification would be required to vacate the country, but it wasn’t impossible to do. It wouldn’t have been easy, but people cross borders all the time — it was a far-fetched theory, but Drake held onto every little sliver of hope that she escaped after all. 

However, as he stared down at the message left for Liam, there was no longer a need to theorize — the implications rang loud and clear. Within the blink of an eye, any semblance of hope turned to dust as they let the situation sink in. 

The paper landed on the floor in front of the lengthy window behind the desk. Outside, a storm raged on, perfectly depicting the tidal wave of emotions coursing through the room and the graveness of the situation at hand. The rain against the glass suddenly increased, turning from a light tap to a full-blown knocking sound accompanied by forceful winds, making the trees sway violently. Liam remained in his daze as he stared blankly into space, but the gentle fall of the paper echoed in his ears as it met the floor, drawing his attention there.

His gaze zeroed in on the message, the illumination from the lightning flashing over it and displaying the consequences of his denial right before his face —

You’re running out of pawns, Your Majesty. Will she be next?