Alexander and King Fernandez sat in the dim royal chamber, the silence between them thick.
Alexander finally spoke, his voice calm but curious.
"Father… tell me about Mother's family. About her brother."
Fernandez paused, fingers tapping the armrest.
After a long breath he answered, "Your mother has one brother."
Alexander waited, watching his father's face carefully.
Fernandez continued, "We… don't have contact with him anymore."
A deep frown formed on Alexander's face.
"Why? What happened between them?"
King Fernandez leaned back, eyes darkening slightly.
"Because," he said slowly,
"her brother doesn't know she married me."
Alexander's confusion only grew.
Fernandez added quietly,
"If he finds out… he will never forgive her."
"Her brother is my best friend," King Fernandez admitted, his voice low.
Alexander's eyes widened in shock, trying to understand the tangled past.
Before he could ask anything more, the door suddenly opened.
Queen Zara stepped inside.
Her calm eyes moved from Fernandez to Alexander — both men sitting strangely stiff, the room heavy with secrets.
Seeing her, they immediately fell silent.
Fernandez straightened quickly.
Alexander lowered his gaze, trying to hide the storm of questions in his mind.
Zara looked at them suspiciously.
"What are you two talking about?" she asked gently.
Both father and son exchanged a quick glance — neither daring to reveal the truth.
Fernandez quickly stood up and walked toward Zara with a smile that looked a little too innocent.
"Nothing, love," he said smoothly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Just some random work matters. Nothing important."
Zara narrowed her eyes slightly — she could always tell when Fernandez was hiding something.
But she didn't push further.
Instead, she walked past him and sat gracefully on the royal sofa.
Alexander watched her silently.
His father's words kept echoing in his mind:
"Her brother is my best friend."
"He doesn't know she married me."
Something wasn't right.
Something big was being hidden from him.
---
🌑 Alexander's POV
This day has always belonged to her.
No matter how ruthless I became… no matter how dark my name sounds in this kingdom… this day softens something inside me.
It is my queen's birthday.
My mother.
The only woman who ever looked at me and saw a son instead of a weapon.
The palace corridors glow with golden chandeliers tonight. Silk drapes fall from the high ceilings, musicians rehearse in the courtyard, and servants rush like silent shadows preparing for the grand celebration. Everything must be perfect.
For her.
She deserves more than jewels and crowns. She deserves peace. She deserves joy.
And tonight, I will give her both.
I have invited my uncle — a man whose pride is taller than these palace walls. We have not stood in the same hall peacefully for years. But for my mother, he will come.
Old rivalries can remain silent for one evening.
But my plans for tonight are not only about royal gestures and family honor.
There is someone else I want here.
Someone my heart refuses to ignore.
Camellia.
My princess.
I know she is somewhere within this kingdom. I can feel it. The air shifts differently when she is near. The silence feels alive.
She thinks she can hide from me.
She underestimates me.
Or perhaps… she underestimates what she does to me.
I stand near the palace balcony, watching the sunset bleed into the horizon. The sky is painted in shades of crimson and gold — a reminder that even beauty carries fire within it.
Just like her.
One queen gave me life.
The other… gives my life meaning.
Tonight, under these royal lights and watchful eyes, I will celebrate my mother.
But before this night ends…
I will find my princess.
And when I do—
She will not slip away again.
Not from my sight.
Not from my world.
--------------------------------------------------
The palace hall glows like a second sunrise.
Crystal chandeliers hang from the vaulted ceilings, scattering golden light across polished marble floors. Crimson and ivory drapes cascade down towering pillars, embroidered with the royal crest. Musicians play softly near the western balcony, their instruments blending into a melody fit for a queen.
My queen.
Tonight is my mother's birthday.
Every detail has been arranged under my command. Every flower placed with precision. Every guard stationed strategically. No mistakes. No disorder.
Because this night belongs to her.
Guests begin to arrive in waves — nobles wrapped in silk and jewels, ministers with careful smiles, military commanders standing stiff in ceremonial attire. Their greetings echo through the hall, polite and respectful.
I acknowledge them with measured nods.
But my attention is elsewhere.
A ruler never truly relaxes.
My gaze remains fixed on the entrance.
Watching.
Waiting.
The grand doors open again.
This time, the shift in the air is immediate.
The murmurs lower. Conversations slow.
King Virendra enters with the steady authority of a man accustomed to being obeyed. His presence is neither loud nor dramatic — yet it commands attention effortlessly.
Beside him walks Isabella.
Graceful. Composed. Draped in emerald silk that catches the golden light and turns it into something softer. She moves like she belongs in royal halls, like she was born among crowns and secrets.
The evening had settled into a rhythm of elegance.
Music floated gently beneath the golden chandeliers. Laughter echoed across the marble floors. Silk gowns brushed softly against polished stone as nobles moved in practiced grace.
It was perfect.
Controlled.
Exactly as I had planned.
Until the doors opened again.
I did not turn immediately.
But the subtle shift in the air made me look.
Fernandez entered the hall with quiet confidence, his posture steady, his expression unreadable. There was something deliberate in his steps — as if he understood the weight of this entrance.
And beside him—
Zara.
For a moment, time itself seemed to hesitate.
The hall did not fall silent, yet something deeper than silence spread through it.
Across the room, King Virendra saw her.
I watched it happen.
The transformation.
His shoulders stiffened. His fingers tightened slightly at his side. The carefully maintained composure — the unbreakable royal exterior — faltered.
His eyes locked onto hers.
And then… they changed.
A king does not show weakness in public.
Yet in that instant, he was not a king.
He was simply a man confronting a memory he had buried beneath years of pride and power.
His eyes began to glisten under the chandelier light.
Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
But undeniably.
Something inside him fractured.
Isabella noticed.
Her gaze followed his, landing on Zara.
Shock crossed her features first — sharp and sudden.
Then it softened.
Her eyes lingered on Zara, and something like relief, like quiet happiness, unfolded there. As though she had longed for this moment without daring to hope for it.
Zara stood still near the entrance, her posture poised yet fragile. She did not hide. She did not retreat.
Her eyes slowly found Virendra.
The distance between them felt larger than the hall itself.
So much unsaid.
So much unfinished.
Their gazes held — heavy with years, with choices, with consequences.
I wondered what history lived between them.
What storm had once raged that now stood calmly in royal attire.
Virendra's jaw tightened.
For a fraction of a second, it seemed he might step forward.
But instead—
He turned away.
Abruptly.
Without a word.
He walked out of the palace hall, not with the measured authority of a monarch, but with the unsteady pace of a man escaping his own past.
Isabella hesitated only briefly before following him, concern etched clearly across her face.
The music continued.
The guests resumed their whispers.
But something irreversible had just shifted.
The celebration still glowed under golden lights, yet beneath it all… tension coiled silently.
I remained where I stood, observing.
Power reveals many things.
But nothing reveals truth more than unexpected reunions.
And tonight, beneath chandeliers and royal smiles—
The past had returned.
The moment King Virendra walked out of the hall, I saw the change in her.
My mother.
Zara.
The strength she had carried into the palace shattered before my eyes. Her gaze blurred, her breath uneven, and before anyone could stop her, she turned and ran.
Not like a queen.
Not like a dignified royal guest.
But like a sister whose heart had just been torn open.
"Zara—" my father called.
Fernandez.
My father.
The man who raised me. The man who stood beside me through every storm.
We both followed her without hesitation.
The music from the celebration faded behind us as we entered the private corridors. She pushed open the door to her chamber and didn't even bother closing it.
When my father stepped inside, she turned toward him.
Her eyes were red.
Her hands trembled.
And then she began hitting his chest with her fists.
"I told you…" she cried, her voice breaking. "I told you we should have told my brother everything… We should have told him…"
Each word carried years of regret.
Each strike against my father's chest wasn't anger — it was pain.
He didn't stop her.
He didn't move away.
He simply let her release everything she had been holding in.
My mother collapsed against him, her fists loosening as tears soaked into his coat. My father wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding her like she might fall apart if he let go.
"I was trying to protect you," he said quietly. "Protect both of you."
But protection often builds walls thicker than truth.
I stood near the doorway, watching.
Not as a ruler.
Not as a feared name.
But as a son.
My mother's sobs slowly weakened. Exhaustion took over. Her breathing softened until finally… she fell asleep against my father's chest, drained by emotion.
Carefully, he lifted her and laid her on the bed, brushing her hair away from her face with a tenderness few have ever seen from him.
In that moment, they were not powerful figures.
They were simply my parents.
Carrying the consequences of choices made long ago.
My father straightened and turned toward the door.
Toward me.
His eyes were calm again — but heavy.
Without speaking, he walked out.
And I followed him.
Because tonight, the past had awakened.
And I knew this was only the beginning.