"Matthew! MATTHEW!"
The call echoed through Emily's small estate, Kaelani stomping around shouting random names as if any of them were real. "Oh my God, where is Matthew?"
Emily sat peacefully on the veranda with juice and snacks, soaking in the quiet morning. Or at least, trying to. Kaelani burst out into the sunlight, flailing in irritation, all noise and dramatics.
"Emily! Where is that polish rag you have for a butler? I can't find him anywhere and I need to send off a post."
Emily didn't even glance up. "Who is Matthew?"
Kaelani huffed. "You know—your wrinkly old house mouse that you keep as a butler. Or is he a butler? What is he, really?"
Emily sighed, still calm, sipping her drink. "Edward is in the kitchen preparing dinner. And he is not a butler; he manages the entire household."
"Ugh! Why is he always gone when I need him, but hovering like a damn gnat when I don't?" Kaelani spun on her heel, gown swishing dramatically as she stormed toward the kitchen.
Emily only muttered, "One day you'll remember his name. Maybe."
Inside the kitchen, Edward measured powders with a steady hand, slipping vitamins and herbs into Kaelani's juice. He was the only reason she was still standing upright most days. Since the Queen's diet consisted almost exclusively of drugs, sugar, and alcohol with no less than 20% proof, someone had to keep her alive. And Edward had decided that someone was him.
The kitchen doors slammed open.
"MATTHEW, there you are, you little shit!"
Edward dropped his spoon, closed his eyes for half a beat, and braced himself with both hands on the counter. Then he straightened. "Your Highness. Did you need me?"
"Of course I need you! I always need you when you aren't around. It's like you do it on purpose."
Her eyes caught the glass on the counter — and the powder he was stirring into it. She narrowed her gaze. "What's this? Are you trying to drug me?"
Edward picked up the spoon again with exaggerated patience. "Your Grace, I've told you at least twenty times over the years. I supplement your drinks with the nutrients your body lacks so that you don't drop dead. Explaining it further has proven pointless, since you forget the moment you walk out the door."
Kaelani wrinkled her nose. Then, perfectly serious: "Then why explain it to me again?"
The cook coughed, choking back laughter.
Edward simply leaned in, plucked the sealed letter from her hand, and said, "I assume you need this posted?"
"Ah, yes, obviously. Duh. That's why I'm here. I don't come to you to chat like a friend." She tossed her hair like the spoiled brat she proudly was, though her eyes kept darting suspiciously to the glass.
"What is in that, anyway? Because I've been having some really bad gas lately, and I think your poison is the root cause—"
Edward cut her off, voice dry as bone. "Your Highness, I've been supplementing your drinks for nearly a decade. If you are experiencing intestinal issues, I suggest you consult a doctor."
Kaelani snorted. "Ha! No. I hate doctors. Everything's 'because of my period.' They don't even know how the female body works. They're useless. And male."
Edward didn't contest it. He simply bowed his head and said, "Very well. I'll see to this letter immediately."
Kaelani snatched up the pitcher and sniffed at it like a hound on the trail. Her nose wrinkled. "Smells like ass."
Edward, without breaking stride, swooped back, took the pitcher from her, and gave her hand the gentlest smack before holding up a single warning finger. "Stop putting your nose in the juice."
He turned on his heel and walked out, the pitcher in hand, posture as stiff and immaculate as ever.
"AND MAKE SURE IT'S RUSHED!" Kaelani bellowed after him.
The cook, who had been trying to keep a straight face this entire time, sighed, turned back to her pot, and stirred as though none of it had happened.
Kaelani folded her arms, nodding solemnly to herself, then muttered aloud, "So hard to find good help these days."
____________________________________________________________________________
A polite knock stopped the maids mid-gossip in the foyer. Everyone glanced up, waiting for the real butler to answer. The door opened to a courier in palace livery — gloves, posture, the whole shameful parade.
"Post from the palace, sir," he intoned, offering a folded envelope stamped with regal ink.
The young man in the proper uniform bowed, took it, and closed the door with the practiced discretion of anyone who'd learned to survive noble households. Emily came up behind him, eyes already on the seal.
"It's for Her Highness," the butler said.
Emily's shoulders sagged. She took the letter like it was a hot coal. "Probably something that will make Kae sour for a week," she muttered — and she was rarely wrong.
In the library, Kaelani was in full distraction mode: a maid in her lap, giggling as Kaelani whispered indecipherable filth into her ear. The maid's curly red hair bobbed with every chuckle.
Emily breezed in with the letter, not sparing the display so much as a glance. She was far too used to Kaelani's obscenity to waste energy reacting anymore.
"A letter from my father, I think," Emily said evenly, holding out the seal.
A polite knock stopped the maids mid-gossip in the foyer. Everyone glanced up, waiting for the real butler to answer. The door opened to a courier in palace livery — gloves, posture, the whole shameful parade.
"Post from the palace, sir," he intoned, offering a folded envelope stamped with regal ink.
The young man in the proper uniform bowed, took it, and closed the door with the practiced discretion of anyone who'd learned to survive noble households. Emily came up behind him, eyes already on the seal.
"It's for Her Highness," the butler said.
Emily's shoulders sagged. She took the letter like it was a hot coal. "Probably something that will make Kae sour for a week," she muttered — and she was rarely wrong.
In the library Kaelani was in full-time distraction mode: a maid in her lap, giggling as Kaelani whispered indecipherable filth into her ear. The maid's curly red hair bobbed with every chuckle. When Emily breezed in with the letter, the sight didn't even get a look — indeed, Kaelani made a point of ignoring decorum.
"A letter from my father, I think," Emily said, holding the seal between two fingers.
"Ugh really? I can't have a moment's peace." Kaelani took the letter, exasperated and ready to toss it, but with the maid still in her lap she opened it and read. The maid leaned back against Kaelani's chest, reading the letter also.
Kaelani's eyebrows shot up. She knew what this really was — it was bait. To get her drunk probably, so they could pressure her to sign a piece of paper and she would wake up the next day married to that soft potato. She'd seen his bare feet once and swore he had the toenails of a velociraptor, and that image was burned into her memory for all eternity. It almost made her vegan — but she liked dick way too much to be vegan.
"Alright, I'll bite," she said as she got up, the maid dumped off her lap onto the floor. "EMILY! WE GOING OUT TONIGHT and we gonna fuck this party up!"
The maid clapped from the floor, cheering Kaelani on. "Your Highness, can I come too?"
Kaelani sighed, knowing that lower-class citizens were not allowed to be dressed up as nobles and attend, but the good thing about being her was that she was a motherfucking queen. She could do whatever the fuck she wanted, and if she did get in trouble she would just feign ignorance and remind everyone she was a foreigner.
"Alright, let's do this. You are going, and we gonna go have fun, and right before Hanz tries to pull the 'oops you signed a contract marriage' bullshit? I'm gonna set the place on fire!"
The maid, now standing, hopped up and down clapping. "YAY!"
____________________________________________________________________________
The clang of steel echoed through the training yard. Trainees circled, bruised, bloodied, breathless — all of them unlucky enough to spar with the Mad Dog that morning.
Nicolae moved like a storm, each strike wild but heavy, his blade crashing against shields and wooden swords with bone-rattling force. He didn't care that they were green recruits. He didn't care that they weren't ready for him. He wanted pain, wanted to give it, wanted something to burn through the rage boiling under his skin.
Another trainee went down with a howl, clutching his ribs. The others stepped back, wide-eyed. None volunteered to take the next round.
"Pathetic," Nicolae snarled, chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin. "You think you'll survive on the line like that? You think the enemy will wait for you to stop pissing yourselves?"
Silence. No one dared step forward.
Then a voice cut through the heat. Smooth. Controlled.
"I'll take a turn."
Nicolae's head snapped up, eyes narrowing. Darius strode into the circle with calm poise, removing his coat and rolling his sleeves with deliberate grace. He picked up a training blade, testing the weight in one hand. His movements were precise, elegant, as if he were stepping into a ballroom instead of a ring.
The recruits instantly relaxed. Let Darius handle him.
Nicolae's lip curled. "You?"
Darius only smiled faintly. "You're going to kill the boys, Highness. Better you swing at me than waste the king's trainees."
Nicolae barked a bitter laugh, low and dangerous. "Fine. Let's see if your silver tongue dodges as well as your feet."
They circled.
Nicolae lunged first, wild and furious, blade cutting air where Darius's body had been a heartbeat earlier. Darius slid aside like water, never breaking rhythm, never losing composure.
Strike after strike, Nicolae drove at him, each attack heavier, angrier. And every time, Darius evaded with nothing more than a graceful shift, a parry that redirected instead of clashed. His sword barely sang.
"Stop dancing," Nicolae roared, red-faced, sweat flying.
Darius's eyes softened, calm as ever. "You're not angry at me, my prince."
That made Nicolae's fury spike. He slashed harder, forcing Darius back, teeth bared. "Don't you dare tell me what I'm angry at."
Another dodge. Another parry. Darius breathed steady as a prayer, his voice unshaken. "It isn't me you want to cut down. It's the thought of her. Marrying someone else."
Nicolae's chest heaved. His grip nearly splintered the hilt. The trainees stood frozen, terrified of the outburst building like thunder.
His voice cracked when it came out. "She wants you."
That silenced the yard.
Nicolae's words dripped venom and desperation. "After everything. After last night. After I gave her everything — she still looks at you like you're worth more than me."
He swung again, reckless, and Darius flowed out of reach like smoke. Nicolae's rage only deepened, a wound bleeding open.
"She was supposed to be mine. She's always been mine. And now—" His teeth ground, spit flying. "Now they want to hand her to that pig Ritchor. They want to bury her alive and pretend it's a crown."
The sword slipped from Nicolae's hand and clattered into the dirt. He stood there, chest heaving, hair clinging to his temples, eyes bright and wild. Rage and anguish both trembled through him as if he were about to tear himself open from the inside out.
Darius lowered his blade but didn't leave the circle. He simply watched him, breathing slow, steady, as though his calm might bleed into Nicolae if he stayed still long enough.
"Tell me," Darius said at last. His voice wasn't a command, but it wasn't a request either. "What is it about her?"
Nicolae's head snapped up. "What the hell kind of question is that? You've seen her. You've met her." His hands curled into fists. "She's everything."
"Everything," Darius echoed mildly.
Nicolae began pacing the ring like a caged beast, boots grinding gravel. "She's not just a queen. She's not just beautiful. She's—" He faltered, dragged a hand down his face. "She's fire, and wine, and madness. She's life. When I'm with her, I can breathe. Do you understand that? The world is choking me all the time, and she's the only air I've ever had."
The recruits lining the yard didn't dare move. They stood stiff and pale, watching their commander unravel. But Darius didn't flinch. His eyes followed Nicolae with that same measured calm.
"You've fought wars," Darius said. "You've had women, drink, victories. And still, it's her."
Nicolae rounded on him, eyes blazing. "Yes, still her! Always her! Since we were children!" He jabbed a finger at his chest. "I don't want palaces. I don't want titles. I don't even want peace. I want her. I want the way she makes me feel like I matter. Like I'm not just a weapon Father keeps on a leash." His voice cracked, guttural. "Don't you get it? She's the only thing that makes me human."
Darius took a step closer, slow and deliberate, closing the distance. His tone dropped, low enough to thread between Nicolae's anger. "That doesn't sound like love. That sounds like hunger."
Nicolae's breath hitched, rage snapping again. "Don't you dare judge me. You don't know what it's like!" He seized Darius by the collar, jerking him close. "I know I'm sick with it. I know it eats me alive. And I don't care. Without her, I am nothing."
Their faces were inches apart, the air thick with sweat and fury. Darius didn't pull away. He didn't resist. He only tilted his head, eyes steady, voice quiet but firm.
"And with her?"
The words hung in the air, sharp as any blade.
Nicolae froze, mouth half open, but no answer came. His grip slackened on Darius's collar.
Darius pressed, voice softer now, coaxing. "What are you with her, Nicolae? If she is your air, your fire, your everything... then what will you be when she is gone?"
Nicolae's throat worked as if he'd swallowed glass. His hands trembled before he shoved Darius back, not hard, but enough to break the contact. He turned away, wiping sweat from his face with the back of his arm.
Darius straightened his collar with the same elegance he'd begun with, but something in his eyes had shifted. This wasn't just duty anymore. There was pity there. Understanding. And maybe, though he would never admit it aloud, respect.
"You don't need her to be human," Darius said finally, gentle as a prayer. "You already are. You just need to see it."
Nicolae laughed, broken and bitter. "You sound like one of those priests Father keeps locked in the chapel. Say that again when she's standing in a wedding gown beside Ritchor."
The name curdled in his mouth like poison.
Nicolae's voice broke out of him, harsh and raw. "She wants you."
Darius steadied his footing, calm as ever, and tilted his head. "Does she?"
Nicolae blinked, thrown. "Don't play dumb. She climbs all over you every chance she gets."
"She does." Darius's tone was even, but there was a sharpness under it. "But has she ever had me?"
Nicolae's jaw worked, his teeth grinding.
"She doesn't want me, Nicolae," Darius pressed. "Not really. She wants what I don't give her. That's why she keeps pressing." His eyes softened, voice dipping lower. "Because I'm safe. I won't take her heart, and she knows it. Which means she never has to face what's real."
Nicolae's chest heaved, anger faltering for the first time into something rawer.
Darius stepped closer, close enough that Nicolae had to meet his eyes. "You terrify her, Nicolae. Not because you hurt her — but because you could love her. And she could love you back. That's the one thing she doesn't know how to survive."
Nicolae shook his head, voice breaking. "No. If she felt that way, she wouldn't—"
"She would," Darius cut him off gently. "Because real love means admitting she's vulnerable. And she's been bled enough that she'd rather chase shadows than open the wound again."
The words hit harder than any blade. Nicolae turned away, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. His breath came ragged, like he was trying not to choke on it.
Darius sheathed his sword and spoke softer now, not the handler but something closer to a friend. "She doesn't want me, Nicolae. She's terrified she might want you. That's the difference."
Nicolae stared at him, chest heaving, fists clenched.
Darius let the silence hang for a beat, then asked, "So what do you intend to do about it?"
Nicolae blinked. "What do I—? There's nothing I can do. She refuses me every time and Im not sure I can take it anymore. She hates my hair color I see it every time she looks at me her eyes go straight to my hair like its some curse."
For the first time, Darius chuckled. He tossed the training sword behind him, letting it clatter in the dirt, then stepped closer, expression sharpening into something serious. "Come now, Your Majesty. Don't tell me that after years of chasing her, you've decided now is the time to give up?"
Nicolae's eyes narrowed into a glare. "What am I supposed to do? I haven't been able to woo her—"
"Didn't you get her into your bed just last night?" Darius cut in smoothly.
Nicolae froze mid-sentence, his mouth half open. His shoulders stiffened. "How... how did you know that?"
Darius gave him a look that suggested the answer should have been obvious. "Your father has you watched constantly. You'd be amazed at the things he knows about you—things even you don't."
Nicolae scratched at the back of his neck, unsettled, but slowly, a grin tugged at his lips. The memory of her bending him over, her hand striking him like he was nothing more than a tavern wench, flickered across his face in dangerous delight. "Yeah... so?"
Darius folded his arms, unimpressed. "So you broke through her defenses. She gave you what she doesn't give anyone else. You dismiss it as pity sex, but the fact remains — she chose you. She let you close. And you don't even realize the power in that."
Nicolae frowned, hands spreading in exasperation. "I don't do riddles, Captain. Spell it out."
Darius's voice sharpened, a rare edge of heat behind the calm. "You have the power to change her mind. You're letting your insecurities blind you. You think brute force and chaos are your only tools, but they aren't. Kaelani doesn't need to be conquered, Nicolae. She needs to be won. And if you truly want her, then you'll have to use more than your fists. You'll need charm, wit, patience."
Nicolae blinked, as though the words scraped across places in him no one had ever touched.
"She fears real love," Darius continued, softer now. "Because real love makes her vulnerable. And you terrify her precisely because she could love you back. That's why she hides behind me. Why she hides behind games, and drink, and chaos. But she let you in. That means something. Don't waste it."
Nicolae stood there, jaw working, chest heaving as he processed what Darius had told him. He didn't like the man — not really. Only because Kaelani's attention always seemed to orbit around him. If Darius wasn't such a cuck for virtue, maybe, maybe, they could've been friends already.
But Nicolae was desperate. And desperation ate pride.
"What... do you... suggest I do?" he asked, voice low. "To gain her attention?"
Darius didn't answer right away. He paced slowly around him, hands clasped loosely behind his back, thoughtful as though weighing the words. Finally, he spoke.
"Well... normally, I would say ignore her. That seems to work well enough for me. But you?" His eyes flicked up to Nicolae's wild stare. "No. She wants you to ignore her, because she wants to prove she can make you break. That's her game. Still..." he let the pause drag, careful, "...I do know jealousy is a quick way to provoke action in someone who hasn't admitted what they feel yet, so—"
"Make Kae jealous?" Nicolae cut in, eyes wide, almost boyish. His grin spread slow and crooked. "Her jealous of me? Is that possible?" He wasn't even asking Darius — more marveling to himself, giddy at the very idea.
Darius's eyes widened in concern. "Well, that's not exactly what I was going to infer—"
"Captain! I know we didn't get along during the war, and, yeah—maybe I'm the reason the soldiers called you..." He squinted, rifling through the memory, then snapped his fingers with a grin. "...'Captain Cockblock.' Or 'Brother Blueballs,' depending on the day."
Nicolae chuckled, leaning closer. "That whole 'Our Lady of Eternal Celibacy' thing? That was General Magdin's idea. I told him it was corny."
The trainees on the edges of the yard shifted, a few smothering nervous laughs.
Nicolae leaned in, earnest and wild-eyed. "But if you can help me with this? I swear I'll owe you. Whatever favor you need, whenever you need it — done. No questions asked."
Shockingly, Darius didn't recoil at the contact. In fact, he smiled — small, soft, as though something in him had been waiting for this. His eyes warmed, sparkling for the first time that day. He laid a hand over Nicolae's where it gripped his shoulder.
"Your Highness," he said gently. "You don't need to owe me a favor. I'll help you regardless."
Nicolae's grin split wider. He clapped Darius on the shoulder so hard the man actually staggered a step. "You're a good man, Captain. Better than I thought. I'm gonna take a bath, get ready, and tonight?" His smile turned feral, hopeful, stupidly bright. "Tonight, I'll make Kae jealous."
And with that, he turned on his heel, boots pounding up the stairwell, humming something off-key, a buoyant skip in his step.
Darius exhaled, rubbing his shoulder where Nicolae had nearly dislocated it. He raised a finger, as if to correct — that's not what I meant at all — but Nicolae was already gone, swallowed by the barracks above.
The storm had passed. For now. Darius had done his job: he'd calmed the Mad Dog. Redirected his teeth.
So why did it bother him, this hollow feeling in his chest? Why did it feel as though giving Nicolae hope had only set him running straight toward the cliff?