Nicolae sat in the jail cell like he always did when his temper got the better of him — sprawled on the filthy cot, arms crossed, one leg thrown casually over his knee, waiting to "cool off." He was no stranger to these walls. His father thought the cells could tame the Mad Dog.
Nicolae knew better.
Attacking his brother was just the latest entry on a long list of sins. Normally, he'd rot here for a few days. But this time, footsteps echoed down the hall sooner than expected.
Bennihan.
She strode in with two guards at her heels, her long military coat draped off her shoulders, medals catching what little torchlight there was. She dismissed the guards with a flick of her hand and planted herself in front of his cell, hands on her hips.
"So that was..." she tilted her head, eyes narrowing, "...really fucked up."
Nicolae didn't move. His jaw tightened, eyes simmering with leftover rage.
"I didn't know Father and Ritchor were scheming that shit," she continued, pacing with her hands clasped behind her back. It wasn't as if Nicolae's feelings for Kaelani were ever subtle. Everyone had seen his obsession grow over the years, brazen and unashamed. In a way, she admired him for it — he knew what he wanted and never hid from it.
Nicolae snorted, shifting on the cot like her words bored him.
Bennihan ignored it. "It got me thinking. They want her tied to our line, right? To have an heir. That's all Father cares about. He wants her with Ritchor, which means he's lining Ritchor up for the throne. No surprise there. But..." she paused under the tiny barred window, staring out at nothing, "what if Kaelani had a child with another brother?"
Nicolae's gaze snapped to her like a wolf scenting blood.
Bennihan turned back slowly. "Then that brother would have claim to her hand. Everyone would be happy. She'd still be producing an heir, still tied to the family. Doesn't really matter which son, does it? Just matters that Kaelani and a child exist."
Nicolae shot to his feet, fists gripping the bars. "You're saying I should just... get her pregnant?"
Bennihan's expression flattened. "God, you're dense. I meant with her consent. You know, that little thing we humans do?"
Nicolae leaned his forehead against the bars, muttering like he'd missed the obvious until this very second. "Of course I'd get her permission. I'm not an animal."
Her brow arched.
He grinned darkly. "I'm not that kind of animal."
Bennihan dragged a gloved hand through her hair. Helping him might be the dumbest thing she'd ever done. But she remembered every time he shielded her from their father's switch, every time she smuggled him food when he was locked up. They were siblings, no matter the different mothers. They had each other's backs.
With a sigh, she pulled the key from her belt.
The lock clicked. The door swung open.
"Go," she said. "Try to convince her. If anyone asks, I was never here."
Nicolae grabbed her head in his hands and kissed the top of her crown like he had when she was little. "Thanks, Benni."
Then he bolted for the stairs.
She called after him, voice echoing through the stone halls:
"AND STAY AWAY FROM RITCHOR — HE'S PROBABLY IN HIS ROOM CRYING!"
____________________________________________________________________________
Emily's townhouse was silent. Well past midnight, the whole place slept.
Except for Kaelani.
She sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, draped in a sheer royal-blue nightgown that tied at the shoulders and left little to the imagination. The fabric whispered over her skin — sleeveless, flowing, plunging into a v at the front, hugging her waist before flaring out in a ghostly spill of silk. In her hand, a half-drained bottle of wine tilted lazily.
She stared into the fire. And she thought.
Think. Think. Think. How the hell am I getting out of this one?
They couldn't force her. But they could coerce. They'd find a way. They always did. And if she was drunk enough, they'd trick her into it — she'd wake up with a husband she hated and a belly full of his cursed blonde DNA.
She sighed. She wished she'd been some kind of super spy in her past life, or an assassin. Someone clever and ruthless with Bond-movie instincts to draw from. But no. She had been bland. Basic.
An older woman. Breast cancer — the silent killer. No family except one daughter, who'd never made it home. She had died in a hospital bed, alone.
And she had believed. She had gone to church every Sunday, tithed faithfully, prayed dutifully, lived "right." She'd thought God would reward her for being an upstanding, boring person. Only to die and discover there was no God. Only an endless, sick carousel where souls spun back into another life to be tormented again.
So, yes — she was glad when she came back a queen. Glad she had parents who loved her. Glad to have wealth and freedom and indulgence. She had lived spoiled, until her parents were assassinated, and everything crumbled.
And now? Now she was trapped in a den of greedy animals. They wanted her. They took from her. And the walls were closing in.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Her bleary eyes flicked up.
Did she... fart? Or was that real?
She shifted, trying to stand, but the world tilted and pitched.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
A sound, this time for sure. Not from her body (probably). She looked around the room, swaying. Maybe a bird? Maybe—
"Kae!"
Her head whipped.
A voice. Familiar. Whispering. "Come to me."
Her eyes widened. She stumbled toward the sound, pressing her ear against the wall like a lunatic. "God? Is that really you?"
"Kae, you idiot, I'm outside the window."
She blinked, turned, and squinted through the firelight. And there he was — Nicolae, perched on the balcony railing like some deranged knight-turned-burglar. Hood drawn low, shadowed, ridiculous. He tapped the glass again with one gloved finger.
Kaelani sighed so hard it nearly blew out the fire. She staggered to the window and unlatched it.
Nicolae slipped in quietly, his broad frame stretching as he ducked beneath the window. Kaelani swayed backward to make room, nearly toppling over. His reflexes were sharp — he caught her by the waist, steadying her before she could crumple.
She looked up at him, properly, for the first time in years. His eyes. God, his eyes were beautiful. She'd never hated Nicolae's eyes — she hated the color, because they were his color. Looking into Nicolae's gaze always meant staring into the shadow of the man she despised most.
Her lips twisted. "What the hell are you doing here? Ahh, Bennihan broke you out, huh?"
Nicolae blinked slowly. He could smell the wine on her breath, the slur in her tongue. Same old Kae. A smile tugged at his mouth, one dimple flashing.
"Kae," he said softly, "I came to see you because I have a way for you to get out of this mess."
He tried to guide her toward the bed, but she slapped his hand away and began prowling the room, eyes darting. Nicolae sighed, realized what she was hunting for, and scooped up the bottle from the floor. He handed it to her.
She snatched it, popped the cork back between her teeth, and drank deep. Nicolae shrugged off his cloak, letting it fall to the floor in one motion.
"Kae, listen," he said, voice low but urgent. "I think I know how we can fix this — so the empires get what they want, and you don't have to marry Snitchor."
Kaelani snorted mid-swallow and spat wine across the rug, cackling. "Snitchor! I forgot we used to call him that. God, he was such a bitch. Always telling on everyone. What a little rat."
She leaned against the bedpost, still grinning. "Okay, let's hear it, kid." Her tone was indulgent, like a mother humoring a child's wild plan.
Nicolae huffed, frustration prickling under his skin. He stepped in close, snatched the bottle from her hands, and tossed it aside without looking. Her mouth dropped in protest, but before she could curse him, he grabbed both her hands. His grip was firm, his eyes locked on hers with the weight of a man who'd burned for her his entire life.
"I want you to marry me, Kae," he said. Dead serious. No pleading. No jest.
Kaelani blinked, lips curling into a scoff. She huffed like he'd just offered her a used shoe. "This again? Always with you and your marriage nonsense. Always trying to get into my panties. Like god, Nicolae — we had sex once. ONCE. You should be over it by now!"
Her voice rose, not cruel but sharp, a tirade meant to drive the point home. She flailed her hands for emphasis, tugging against his hold, glaring at him with all the ferocity of a drunken queen who refused to be cornered.
She paced, words tumbling out sharper, faster. "You've been chasing me since we were kids. You don't know what you're asking. You don't know what it means. You think marriage and babies is some kind of fairytale? It's not. It's chains. It's being used. It's—"
Her voice caught, just for a heartbeat. She swallowed hard, staring at him with fire that burned too hot to be only anger.
"It's being forced," she spat, softer now, venom trembling in her throat. "It's waking up every day and seeing his face in your face, and remembering what he took. And then—" She broke off, chest rising, fists trembling.
Nicolae flinched, his jaw tightening, eyes shadowed with a pain of his own.
Kaelani barked a laugh, sudden and ugly, wiping at her eyes as though the tears weren't real. "See? This is why I don't do this. Why I don't talk about it. I drink, I fuck, I sleep, I wake up, repeat. That's the only way I survive. And you—" she jabbed a finger into his chest, hard enough to bruise—"you want to drag me back into the fire I already burned in?"
Nicolae's face darkened. The pleading had vanished; something harder, angrier, filled his features as he searched her eyes. He grabbed her shoulders, not roughly but with the iron grip of a man who'd already promised himself he wouldn't let her slip away this time.
"What do you mean, him, Kae? What happened? You never get like this." His voice cracked on the last word. "Look at me. Say a name. Give me a name and he is dead. Anyone who hurts you has a tombstone waiting for them. Who is he?"
She wasn't looking at him. Her gaze tracked the fire, then the dark corner of the room, then the ceiling — anywhere but his face. Tears pricked at the rims of her eyes and her hands trembled so badly her fingers fumbled at the hem of her gown. Nicolae tightened his hold, the desperation in him sharpened to a blade. He was not the man to let a question go unanswered.
For a long, loaded second she said nothing. Then, with the practiced instinct of someone who knew exactly which buttons to press, she did the one ridiculous, disarming thing that always threw him. She wrenched free from his grip, crossed to the bed, and ripped a pillowcase off a cushion as if wrenches and theatrics were the same tool. He watched her, breath held, every muscle taut.
Without a word she walked back, pillowcase in hand, and slipped it over his head in one smooth motion. It was absurd and childish and cruel and intimate all at once. Nicolae blinked blindly against the fabric, hands clenching at his sides. Her voice was low and dangerously commanding when she spoke into the muffled dark.
"Take your pants off," she ordered.
The words hit Nicolae like a hammer to the chest. Heat shot through him so fast it made him dizzy, his groin aching as his cock strained painfully against his trousers. He couldn't see her — the pillowcase shrouded everything in dark, muffled linen — but he didn't need sight to feel her power. Her voice, sharp and commanding, was enough to set his entire body alight.
____________________________________________________________________________
The next morning, Kaelani's bedroom was awash in light. The curtains had already been drawn back when Edward entered, arms full of towels and his patience already frayed.
He stopped short. For once, the Queen was not sprawled across a pile of courtiers, servants, or stray musicians. No wine bottles rolling underfoot. No orgy debris to sweep away. Just... Kaelani, still in bed. Alone.
His eyes misted dramatically. "Your Highness... you're maturing. A normal night. No drugs, no bodies. I might cry."
"Cry me a river, Larson," came her muffled growl from beneath a mountain of pillows.
"Your bath is ready."
A lacy undergarment sailed across the room and nearly smacked him in the face. He ducked smoothly.
"How many times do I have to tell you," she barked without opening her eyes, "I am not a goddamn morning person!"
Edward began clearing pillows, grumbling under his breath. Then he froze. The last pillow... moved. And not in a way Kaelani could possibly manage in her half-asleep state.
Her eyes snapped open. A heavy weight pressed into her stomach, her thighs. She sat bolt upright as Edward yanked the covers back. He didn't flinch at her nudity — he'd long since been desensitized to every conceivable angle of her body.
But this—this was new.
There, nestled happily between her legs, arms wrapped around her waist like a child clutching a favorite toy, was a very naked, very content Fifth Prince. His head was still shoved in a pillowcase.
"WHAT THE FUCK?" Kaelani shrieked. "How did I not even feel him there?!"
Edward, perfectly deadpan, adjusted his sleeves. "Respectfully, Your Majesty... of all the people in this empire, you are the last one who should be surprised at not noticing a grown man on top of you."
She gaped at him. "Get him OFF me!"
Her protests stirred Nicolae from his blissful sleep. He mumbled into the pillowcase. "Mmm... Kae?"
Edward ripped the case off his head, revealing Nicolae's flushed, worshipful face, smiling up at her like he'd been blessed by Heaven itself.
"Good morning, Kae," he said dreamily, leaning forward as if to kiss her.
She shoved him off the bed with a thud, dragging her hands down her face. "Christ, I can't even sleep without fucking something up."
Last night had been a blur — too much wine, too much firelight, too much... Nicolae. She'd been desperate to shut him up, to stop his endless pleading. So she'd given him exactly what he wanted, in her own way.
She pegged him.
And she'd thought that would scare him off, humiliate him, send him crawling away to lick his wounds. But no. Nicolae took it like a champion, moaning for more, begging her to slap him, spit on him, demean him.
It was hot. Infuriatingly hot. She had never met anyone who begged for pain with such delirious devotion. And Kaelani... Kaelani loved giving pain.
She wasn't complaining.
But he was still Nicolae. And he was still blonde.
Kaelani snatched the robe from Edward's waiting hands and shrugged it on, tying the sash as she planted one bare foot firmly on Nicolae's chest.
The Fifth Prince lay sprawled on the floor, naked as the day he was born, smiling like a fool. He was practically glowing, recounting silently the greatest night of his life.
The moment her foot pressed down, Nicolae groaned, arching into the contact like a starving dog. His hands immediately slid up her calves, massaging her ankles, kissing at the arch of her foot with eyes shining.
"Want me to make you breakfast, Kae?" he asked, breathless, grinning like a puppy begging for scraps.
She rolled her eyes and stepped on him like he was a door mat she'd been meaning to wipe her feet on. Nicolae moaned, body arching into the pressure as though she'd blessed him with sainthood instead of dirt.
Edward, ever the professional, merely cleared his throat and ushered her toward the bath.
"Come, Your Majesty," he said smoothly, ignoring the spectacle. He tugged her along while, with his other hand, he tossed a discarded cloak across Nicolae's lap to preserve what little dignity the maids might allow him.
Nicolae, still lying flat on his back, stared up at the ceiling, blissed-out.
Edward glanced down at him. "Your other Highness. May I interest you in some clothes?"
Nicolae only chuckled, closing his eyes, still basking in the memory. But beneath the haze of satisfaction, something pricked at him. A ping. A pulse. That damn voice in the back of his head that wouldn't shut up.
Who was he?
Kae's slip from last night hadn't gone unnoticed. Someone had hurt her. Someone had broken her in ways Nicolae could feel in every trembling word she tried to bury. And once he found out who it was—
He was going to kill him.
____________________________________________________________________________
The King's suite was crowded with power. Politicians muttered over contracts, lawyers sharpened quills, military officers leaned against walls, arms folded like statues. King Hanz paced the length of the room while Hakim Adebayo sat like a dark pillar at the center of it all.
Near the window, the First Prince — Ritchor, or Snitchor, as he was better known behind his back — sat slumped in a chair, existing in that pathetic, damp-sock way only he could. Meanwhile, the Second Prince, Merin, had taken charge of the paperwork. A natural legal aid, he sifted through contracts with fastidious care, keeping the paper trails neat and binding. He was their accountant, their detail man, and today he was laying the bones of a marriage contract.
And then Nicolae happened.
The doors slammed open as guards scrambled, uncertain if they should stop him or let him through. Nicolae didn't care either way. He shoved past them, wild-eyed, half-dressed, radiating the kind of unhinged energy only he could.
"Dad. I need to talk to you. Now."
All eyes snapped toward him.
His hair was knotted into a high bun, half falling loose in strands that made him look feral. He wore the same pants and boots from yesterday, scuffed and dirty. But his chest was bare — the only thing covering him was a woman's silk bathrobe, the royal blue fabric flowing open and untied. The robe slipped over his shoulders but didn't close, framing his lean, muscular torso with obscene clarity.
A ripple went through the room — servants blushing, an officer choking on his cough, a lawyer pretending to fix his spectacles as though he hadn't just stared.
Nicolae stormed past the gawking crowd and into the heart of his father's suite, every inch of him radiating: uninvited, unstoppable, and about to ruin everything.
Merin tipped his head up from the paperwork, peering over his spectacles to take in the disheveled spectacle that was his brother. His gaze lingered on the flowing fabric.
"...Is that a woman's robe, Nicolae?"
He reached out, pinching at the silk like it was some unknown parasite.
Nicolae slapped his hand away. "It's Kae's. Keep your greasy sausages off the silk."
Merin sniffed, unbothered, and calmly returned to his contracts. The rest of the room still gawked — though really, why were they shocked? This was Nicolae. Shirtless rampages, borrowed robes, and scandalous timing were practically his brand.
King Hanz sighed heavily and placed a hand on his son's shoulder, steering him toward the corner, away from the prying ears of politicians and lawyers. "Nicolae, now is not the time—"
"No. NOW!" Nicolae barked, jerking his shoulder free. "If you're going to trap Kae into a marriage, it can only be with me."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
Nicolae jabbed a finger across the chamber. "Ritchor doesn't even know what a vagina is, let alone how to please one."
At that exact moment, the First Prince scratched something on his arm, lifted his fingers to his nose, and sniffed. Both Nicolae and Hanz turned their heads, faces twisting in identical disgust.
The King dragged his attention back to his youngest troublemaker. His jaw clenched. "Look, Nicolae, we all know you... uhh... pine for—"
"Not pine," Nicolae snapped, cutting him off. His chest heaved, eyes wild. "NEED her."
The room went still.
It infuriated Nicolae — the way they all dismissed him. His whole life he had screamed his love for Kaelani from the rooftops, carved it into the bones of everyone who would listen, yet no one ever took him seriously. To them, it was a crush, a passing fancy, a Mad Dog obsession that would burn itself out.
But it wasn't.
This wasn't oh, I have a thing for her. This was need. This was survival. Breathing without air. Eating without food.
Even at war, when he drowned himself in blood and the bodies of strangers, she was still there. Every encounter, every moan, every gasp — her name was on his tongue. Always Kae. Always.
To Nicolae, Kaelani was not just a queen. Not just an ends to a means. Not just another notch on his bedpost. She was the reason he felt alive. He could breathe when he was with her — really breathe. She was his person. His bond. His soul, wrapped in chaos and vice, the only anchor that ever steadied him.
And maybe only he recognized it, maybe only he understood it, but it didn't matter. It was truth.
He loved her as a woman, yes. But more than that, he loved her as his best friend, his anchor, his everything.
And he would die before he let his slack-jawed, half-brained, gross-ass brother put his hands on her. Ritchor didn't even respect her. Didn't see her as a queen, a person, a force.
Nicolae did. Always had. Always would.
The room held its breath. Lawyers froze mid-scratch, Merin's quill hovered above parchment, Hakim's eyes flicked from father to son like a hawk. Even Ritchor looked up from sniffing his fingers for once.
King Hanz exhaled slowly, like a man humoring a child, and laid a hand heavy on Nicolae's shoulder. His voice dropped, quiet, intimate, as though speaking only to him.
"You think I want this?" Hanz said. "You think I'd give Kaelani to Ritchor if there were another way? But she has to marry someone. If not your brother, then a foreign prince. A rival noble. A man with armies of his own who would use her far worse than Ritchor ever could. At least this way, she stays safe. At least she stays close to us."
Nicolae's glare faltered, just for a breath. His fists clenched at his sides.
Hanz pressed on, his tone low and coaxing, a serpent with honey on its tongue.
"You're young, Nicolae. Impulsive. You want everything at once. But nothing is decided until vows are spoken. If Ritchor fails — if he falters, if he proves himself unworthy — then it will be your turn. But for now, you must trust me. Timing is everything."
Nicolae's teeth ground so hard the muscle in his jaw jumped. He wanted to scream, to tear the contracts off Merin's desk, to put his fist through Ritchor's smug nose again. But the words lodged in his throat, tangled with the faint, dangerous glimmer of hope his father had dangled.
Nicolae turned his head slowly toward his brother. Ritchor sat perched by the window, smirking and shaking his head, as though Nicolae were the problem.
Nicolae smiled.
It was an instant shift — too sharp, too sudden. A smile that never meant joy, only danger. Hanz felt his stomach drop. He knew that smile. It meant Nicolae wasn't going to let this go. Not today. Not ever.
Before anyone could react, Nicolae snatched a vase off the sofa table and hurled it across the room. It missed Ritchor's head by inches, shattering against the wall. Ritchor shrieked — a shrill, womanish cry — and toppled off the perch he'd been sitting on, scrambling backward like a child.
The room froze, mouths agape, as Nicolae stormed out.
Chairs clattered, papers whipped off tables in his wake. Then came the chaos in the hallway: shrieks from maids, the crash of portraits ripped off walls, the thunder of overturned tables, and a servant's panicked cry of, "Fire!"
Hanz exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He gestured to one of his aides.
"Send someone to watch him. Before he brings the whole palace down."
The servant bowed and fled.
Ritchor, back on his feet and red-faced with humiliation, spat, "Why does he get away with everything?!"
The King didn't even glance at him. He sank into his chair with the weariness of a man who'd lived too long with madness.
"Because, my son," he said, voice low and deliberate, "a storm cannot be stopped. You don't stop thunder, you shelter under it. And if you're clever, you direct where the lightning strikes. Because men like your brother are not tamed, only aimed."