Outside, an old trader was red with anger.
"She stole from me!"
"I paid you!" the woman cried back. "You cheated me!"
Ace listened calmly—then handed the woman money.
Cyma grabbed his arm. "Ace—why?"
"Trust me."
They followed her.
Inside the building, laughter echoed as coins clinked together.
"We played him perfectly," the woman bragged.
Ace leaned close to Cyma. His breath brushed her ear.
"I wanted her to feel safe."
Her pulse raced—not from the danger.
From him.
When they stepped out, the men lunged. Cyma moved without hesitation—swift, precise.
One man grabbed her wrist.
Ace's voice snapped. "Don't touch her."
The woman tried to flee. Ace caught her arm but immediately loosened his grip.
She pressed closer, her voice turning sultry. "My lord… surely we can talk—"
The slap echoed.
Cyma's fist had already connected.
"Disgusting," Cyma said coldly. "Using deceit and shame to survive."
She dragged her back to the trader.
When it was over, Ace turned to Cyma, his hands gentle as he examined hers.
"You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"
"I'm fine," she whispered, suddenly aware of how close he was.
"You don't have to be strong all the time," he said softly.
Her heart skipped.
"I don't know how to be anything else," she replied.
"I do," he said. "And I'd protect you if you let me."
The words hung between them—dangerous and tempting.
As they walked toward the palace, the night air cool around them, Cyma finally asked, "The woman you love… are you married to her?"
Ace chuckled. "No."
She released a breath she didn't realize she was holding.
"But," he continued, voice quieter, "I don't know if she sees me the way I see her."
Cyma stopped walking.
Ace turned. "What?"
She forced a smile. "Nothing."
He studied her face, suspicion flickering in his eyes.
As they walked through the quiet streets toward the palace, the night air cool against their skin, Cyma suddenly slowed her steps.
"Ace," she said.
He turned immediately. "What is it?"
She hesitated, then lifted her chin. "Earlier… at the market."
"Yes?
"You were too obvious," she said quietly.
Ace frowned. "Obvious how?"
She glanced around instinctively, lowering her voice. "You called my name too softly. You stepped in front of me. You told them not to touch me." She paused, then added, "You treated me like… a girl."
His brows furrowed. "Because you are—"
She cut him off quickly. "Not here."
Her eyes met his, firm but conflicted.
"I'm disguised as a man. You can't call attention to me. You can't hover. And you especially can't look at me like that in public."
"Like what?" he asked quietly.
"Like you're afraid I'll disappear if you blink."
Ace fell silent.
After a moment, he exhaled slowly. "I wasn't thinking."
"That's the problem," she said. "You don't think when it comes to me."
His lips twitched faintly. "Is that such a terrible thing?"
"It is when it puts us both in danger," she replied.
He nodded once. "Then tell me the rules."
She blinked. "What?"
"Tell me how to act around you," he said seriously. "So I don't cross a line."
Her heart tightened.
"In public," she said carefully, "you don't call me Cyma. You don't step in front of me unless I ask. You don't check my hands for bruises. And you don't—" her voice faltered "—look at me like I matter more than everyone else."
Ace studied her face. "And in private?"
Her breath caught. "There is no private."
A slow smile touched his lips. "Liar."
She scoffed, turning away. "Just… don't make it obvious."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "And you? What about the way you look at me?"
She froze.
"I feel it," he continued softly. "Every time you think I'm not watching."
She swallowed. "You imagine things."
"Then why did you ask if I was married?"
She had no answer.
They resumed walking, silence thick between them.
After a while, Ace spoke again. "I'll try to remember you're a man."
She huffed a laugh. "Good."
"But don't ask me to forget who you are," he added quietly. "I don't think I'm capable of that."
Cyma said nothing...but her steps slowed, her heart betraying her calm.
Behind them, Hazard whispered to Nena "If this isn't love, then it's the most dangerous pretending I've ever seen."
And neither Ace nor Cyma heard him.
The night road was silent, too silent.
Zion slowed his horse, his exhaustion finally catching up with him. The men behind him were breathing hard, shoulders slumped, weapons hanging loosely at their sides.
"Something's wrong," one of them muttered.
Zion raised a fist. "Stay alert."
The darkness shifted.
Steel flashed.
"Bandits!" someone shouted.
They came from both sides, fast, organized. Zion fought back, blade clashing, but his arms were heavy, his breath uneven. One by one, his men were disarmed, forced to their knees.
Zion growled as rough hands wrenched his sword away.
"Tired heroes," one bandit laughed. "Easiest catch of the night."
Zion lifted his head defiantly. "You'll regret this."
A fist struck him across the jaw.
"Bind them."
Ropes tightened. Blood dripped from Zion's lip, but his glare remained unbroken
Then...
"Drop your weapons."
The voice cut through the night like a blade.
The bandits froze.
From the shadows emerged Dorian, sword already raised. Brooke stood beside him, bow drawn, eyes sharp. Behind them, the rest of the men who had stayed back to rest poured onto the road.
"Now," Dorian repeated calmly.
Chaos followed.
Steel rang. Arrows flew. The bandits fell one by one, scattering into the darkness.
Dorian cut Zion's ropes himself.
"You're free," he said simply.
Zion stood slowly, rubbing his wrists. He didn't look at Dorian right away.
Brooke stepped closer. "You're hurt."
"I've had worse," Zion replied coldly.
Dorian studied him. "You should have waited. The road isn't safe at night."
Zion's jaw tightened. "I didn't ask for advice."
A tense silence stretched between them.
Finally, Zion turned to him, eyes sharp and unreadable.
"…Thanks."
Just one word. No smile, no bow. Then he turned away.
Brooke glanced at Dorian who looked at Zion walk past him, sensing the wall Zion had thrown up. "At least he thanked you even if it was dry" he said lightly, trying to ease the tension.
Dorian sheathed his sword. "That's enough for me."
As they regrouped, Zion remained distant....close enough to acknowledge the rescue, far enough to show he still didn't trust the man who saved his life and Dorian noticed but he said nothing.
Some debts were paid in silence...and some distrust took longer to fade.
Ace escorted Cyma back to the palace just as the evening lamps were being lit.
Quentin, who had been speaking with a guard, froze mid-step.
"…Ace?"
For a moment, he thought his eyes were deceiving him. It had been years, years since Ace had left the town without a word.
Before he could say more, Cyma and Ace stepped fully into view
Inside the hall, the Queen Mother, the Gracious Queen, and His Majesty barely reacted. If anything, their calm made it obvious—they already knew Ace was back.
" Of course they knew" Quentin thought.
Quiana, standing near the pillars, turned at the sound of footsteps.
Her breath caught.
Ace.
Without hesitation, she hurried toward him. "Ace! You're back?" Her hands went to his arms as she looked him over, eyes roaming freely. "You look even better than before. How long has it been? Why didn't you send word?"
Ace smiled politely but took a step back, gently disengaging.
"It's been a while," he said evenly. "I'm well."
Cyma watched quietly.
She remembered the masked men. The ambush.
Quiana, she thought coolly.
But she wasn't about to cause a scene in front of her family. Later, she decided, pushing the thought aside.
"You'll join us for dinner," the Gracious Queen said warmly. "It's only proper."
Ace bowed. "I appreciate the offer, Your Majesty, but..."
"He's staying," Cyma cut in calmly, glancing at him. "It would be rude to refuse."
Ace met her eyes for a brief second… then sighed.
"As the princess wishes."
" you should also join us Hazard" cyma said
" he's my best friend" Ace said introducing him to the family who looked so confused
Before they could move, hurried footsteps echoed down the hall.
"ACE?!"
Alpena burst in, eyes wide with disbelief.
She stopped short, then rushed forward and hugged him tightly.
"Do you know how long you disappeared for? Years! No letter, no message....nothing!"
Ace laughed softly, hugging her back. "I see you haven't changed.
"You're the one who changed," she scolded. "You left without telling anyone!"
He ruffled her hair like he used to. "You were always my fiercest critic."
Cyma smiled faintly. Ace had always treated Alpena like a precious little sister.
Alpena finally stepped back, hands on her hips. "And you..." she pointed at Cyma "...you became so mischievous when he left. Now you're all calm and noble. Something is wrong."
Cyma raised a brow. "Careful."
"I'm serious!" Alpena laughed, then turned to leave.
"You're joining us for dinner," Cyma said firmly.
Alpena blinked. "Me?"
"Yes."
Quiana's smile stiffened.
"How dare a former maid sit at the same table?"she thought
Across the hall, Nena's expression darkened. She shouldn't even be here, she thought bitterly. Cyma treated Alpena better than her own personal maid. Alpena wasn't even a maid anymore...yet she still lingered, still mattered.
Dinner began.
Alpena talked endlessly, filling Ace in on everything he'd missed...Dorian and Cyma's rocky beginning, their clashes, their growth.
"They were enemies," Alpena said dramatically. "Proper enemies. They argued all the time."
Quentin leaned in. "And yet, Dorian proved himself worthy. He's the best choice for Cyma."
The Gracious Queen nodded. "Especially after the incident during her coronation. When they were accused of immoral conduct."
Quiana seized the moment. "Cyma has always had a talent for attracting trouble," she said lightly.
Ace noticed Cyma hadn't touched her food.
She was staring into nothing.
His Majesty cleared his throat. "Dorian and the others should return soon."
The Queen Mother turned to Cyma. "Tell me, child… do you still wish to be engaged to Dorian? You are a princess now. The choice is yours."
The table fell silent.
Cyma's fingers tightened around her cup.
"I…" Her voice faltered. "I can't decide right now."
Quentin spoke gently. "You have my consent if you choose him."
Cyma shook her head. "It doesn't concern only me. I'll wait until Dorian returns."
Relief and tension mixed around the table.
Quentin quickly changed the subject. "My day was exhausting. Foreign delegates, endless misunderstandings....small issues becoming great conflicts simply because no one speaks the same language."
Cyma smiled faintly. "Maybe you should get married. It might calm you."
The Gracious Queen laughed. "He wouldn't last a day. He has eyes for every girl."
Ace chuckled. "Let him enjoy his youth."
Quentin grinned. "Then I'll introduce you to some fine ladies."
Ace shook his head. "I'm on a mission. I can't be distracted."
Alpena leaned forward eagerly. "A mission? Is it secret?"
Ace's gaze lifted.
And landed on Cyma.
"A mission," he said calmly, "to win back the heart of the one I love."
No one spoke. Some noticed his eyes. Some pretended not to.
Cyma stared at him confused, her heart suddenly racing.
Again…?
"Who is she?" Alpena asked, unable to hold back.
Ace smiled. "I'll reveal it when the time comes."
He stood and bowed. "Thank you for dinner."
With that, he turned and left with Hazard
Cyma remained seated....her mind no longer at the table, her heart somewhere dangerously close to his retreating footsteps
The corridor outside the west wing was quiet, the stone walls holding the evening's echoes.
Quiana stood near a pillar, speaking softly to a maid. When she noticed Cyma approaching, she dismissed the girl with a flick of her wrist.
"Well," Quiana said coolly, turning fully now, "this is unexpected."
Cyma stopped a respectful distance away. "We need to talk."
Quiana arched a brow. "About what, exactly? You've had quite the day already."
"The men who followed me," Cyma said evenly. "The ones who attacked me."
Quiana laughed lightly, almost indulgently.
"Cyma, you've lived in this palace your whole life. You know how rumors grow legs."
"So you're denying it," Cyma replied.
"Of course I am," Quiana said smoothly. "I may be many things, but reckless is not one of them."
Cyma nodded slowly. "Then you won't mind if I ask questions."
Quiana's smile tightened. "Questions about me?"
"About patterns," Cyma said. "About sudden payments. About men who aren't from the city."
Quiana folded her arms. "You're imagining threats because you've recently been elevated. It happens."
Cyma met her gaze. "One of them limps. Another panics when cornered. They weren't trained. They were hired quickly."
Quiana scoffed. "You sound very certain for someone without proof."
"I don't need proof to notice fear," Cyma replied quietly. "Or desperation."
Quiana's eyes darkened. "Careful. You forget who you're speaking to."
Cyma inclined her head slightly. "I haven't forgotten."
The reminder hung between them.
"You've always been observant," Quiana continued sharply. "Even before… all this." She gestured vaguely. "But observation doesn't give you authority."
"No," Cyma agreed. "But it gives me understanding."
Quiana laughed bitterly. "Understanding of what? That people resent you?"
Cyma's voice sharpened. "That people feel threatened."
"By you?" Quiana snapped. "Don't flatter yourself."
"This isn't about me," Cyma said. "It's about Dorian."
Silence struck.
Quiana's composure slipped. "You don't get to say his name like that."
"I didn't take him from you," Cyma replied firmly. "I never asked for his attention."
"And yet he gave it to you," Quiana shot back. "Just like Ace did."
Cyma's jaw tightened. "Ace has nothing to do with this."
"He does when he looks at you like you're the only thing in the room," Quiana snapped. "Men forget themselves around you."
"That doesn't justify violence," Cyma said coldly.
Quiana's laugh cracked. "You don't know what it's like, watching what you thought was yours slip away."
Cyma took one slow step closer, not threatening, but unyielding.
"I know what it's like to lose," she said. "What I don't know is deciding someone else deserves to be hurt because of it."
Quiana's breathing grew uneven.
"You think you're untouchable now," she said bitterly.
"I think you're cornered," Cyma replied.
Quiana's eyes flashed. "So what if I sent them?"
The words fell hard.
Cyma didn't react immediately. "Say that again."
"Yes," Quiana said, lifting her chin. "I sent them. And I'll send more if you don't step away from Dorian."
For the first time, Cyma's calm fractured.
Her hands clenched at her sides, her voice dropping dangerously low.
"You will not threaten my life."
Quiana sneered. "And what will you do? Report me?"
Cyma leaned in just enough for her presence to be undeniable.
"I'll stop pretending you're harmless," she said. "And I won't protect you from the consequences of your own actions."
Quiana hesitated.
"You may outrank me," Cyma continued quietly, "but I know this palace. I know its people. And I won't be silent if you cross this line again."
Quiana stared at her, something new flickering in her eyes.
Fear.
Cyma stepped back, restoring the distance.
"This conversation never happened," she said calmly. "But let this be the last time you mistake me for weak."
She turned and walked away.
Quiana remained frozen, heart pounding.
For the first time, she realized the truth:
Cyma wasn't gaining strength because of her title.
She was discovering it.
And very soon… even a higher princess would feel threatened by her.