The palace was made of marble, gold, and silence.
It was the kind of silence that screamed.
Six years ago, Alina stood in front of the gilded mirror in her royal chambers, staring at the bruises on her arms—not from fists, but from grips too tight, from being yanked, shoved aside, silenced.
She'd been taught not to cry. It showed weakness.
She cried anyway.
Quietly. Carefully. Behind a locked door no one would knock on.
Because no one dared.
Not the maids. Not the guards. Not even Kaelir.
He hadn't hit her. He didn't have to.
Neglect was a sharper knife.
The nights were the worst. Alone in that cold, oversized bed, her body curled into itself, her eyes searching shadows for the version of him she'd married—the man who, once upon a time, had looked at her like she was salvation.
She had memorized every detail of his indifference. Every time he walked past her without a word. Every time he stood at a banquet, arm around her waist for the cameras, and let her die quietly inside.
Then the threats started.
From the Queen Mother. From the court. From nobles whose names she didn't even know.
"You're not fit to bear the heir."
"She's a liability."
"She's still Moreau blood."
"She should disappear."
They didn't know she was already pregnant.
---
The night of the coup, chaos reigned.
Shots fired in the halls. Guards turned on each other. Smoke rising from the east wing. Confusion.
The perfect cover.
Alina ran.
Not with jewels. Not with wealth. Just with a forged ID, a fireproof USB in her bra, and a pregnancy she hadn't yet told anyone about—not even Kaelir.
She didn't run from the kingdom.
She ran to save her sons.
Because in that palace, love meant nothing.
But blood?
Blood was a curse.
---
Present Day — Downtown Serynthia
Rain kissed the windows of Alina's penthouse as she stood in her bedroom, staring at her reflection once again.
But this woman wasn't the girl from six years ago.
She wore black now—not for mourning, but for war.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:
> You should've stayed dead, Your Highness.
A second message followed. A photo.
Of Riven.
At his school's playground.
Alina's blood went cold.
"Bastards."
---
Meanwhile — Royal Palace
Kaelir walked briskly through the corridors, ignoring aides trying to get his attention.
He had one destination.
The Queen Mother's private wing.
He didn't knock.
She looked up from her tea, calm and cold.
"You've finally come," she said.
"I know what you did," he said, voice low. "To her."
She raised a brow. "You'll have to be more specific. I've done many things to many people."
"To Alina."
The Queen Mother sighed. "She was weak. A girl born from scandal, shoved into our world. She wouldn't have lasted either way."
"She lasted," Kaelir said through gritted teeth. "And she gave me sons."
She paused. "Sons?"
"You heard me. I have heirs. Real ones."
Her eyes narrowed.
"You've made a mistake," she said quietly. "The moment you let that woman back into our bloodline, you've doomed the kingdom."
Kaelir leaned forward, voice cold enough to freeze the air between them.
"No. The moment you drove her away, you doomed me."
He turned on his heel and walked out—unaware that in the shadows of the corridor, someone had heard everything.
---
Back at Alina's Penthouse
Kaelir arrived breathless from the palace, his security team in disarray.
"What happened?" he demanded.
Alina handed him her phone.
He saw the message. The photo.
His rage was instant.
"Where are they?"
"Safe. I moved them to one of my secure safehouses. I have protocols."
Kaelir blinked. "You have… safehouses?"
She gave him a look. "You think I built my empire on perfume and press releases?"
For the first time, he saw her not just as the woman who ran—but as the one who had survived.
She wasn't just a mother.
She was a weapon.
"I want in," he said. "On everything. You, the boys, the war you're clearly planning. I want in."
Alina stared at him, her eyes unreadable.
"You sure?" she said. "Because once this starts, there's no going back."
He took a step closer. "There's nothing to go back to."