*Belinda*
On the day of their expected arrival, instead of standing out on the platform in formality, Belinda waited inside, where it was warm, where the wind could not reach her. Where the illusion still held.
It was unlike her to break form. She knew it. And surely the nobles would whisper. Belinda of the velvet spine, the enforcer of grace. Renowned for her flawless etiquette, for never missing a step or a greeting, for walking a room like a waltz. She held up the facade for so long.
The perfect Queen, the perfect Wife, the perfect mother.
And now the perfect lie.
The bodice of her dress creaked under her fingertips as she clawed lightly into the silk, careful not to leave a mark. Not to ruin the illusion. She forced the corners of her lips into a serene curl, careful to lift just enough, never too much. Her smile—painted in rouge and restraint—sat poised on her face like a blade balanced on its edge. Cracked, but not yet falling.
It was all Belinda could do to prevent it from growing any further and have them see through. She did not want anyone else to see. The raw, ungovernable swell beneath her skin.
So today, she broke her own rules. Just this once. She wouldn't stand in the cold and let the rain smear her effort across her face like a confession.
After all the time spent—her dark hair smoothed and pinned into a sculpted coil, her skin powdered to a porcelain hush, her lashes curled, lips painted a shade too bold for mourning. The kind of red that dared anyone to ask how she felt. It would be a shame to let it all run. A queen does not run.
Beyond the doors, drizzle hissed against the stones. Icy rain came down in hard, stinging threads, slicing into the cobblestone where it pooled in silvery puddles, each one muddied and trampled and gray. As gray as the sky. As gray as her eyes when she didn't bother to smile.
No, staying in had been the right choice. At least she could control her complexion and beauty. It was something she could still do. Something she could still hurt him with.
Her beauty, her elegance, would be her weapon—the blade to hold right at his throat without saying a word. Let him see her untouched. Perfect. Radiant. As if his betrayal hadn't gouged a hole through her chest.
It was the only power she had left. And she would wield it with precision. She would make him bleed, and he'd never see the wound.
Alexander. His name stirred like ash in her mouth. A flick of heat lit behind her eyes, an angry glint that never quite reached her smile. She felt it rise—grief, rage, something wild clawing to the surface— Something warm was in her hand.
She looked down. A small hand in hers.
Nicoli's fingers curled into her own, gentle and steady as if he had sensed the crack forming. As if he meant to mend it on instinct. But his grip lingered a beat too long. He held on with a tense grip—too cautious for someone so young. It felt as if he was preparing for something he couldn't name.
Belinda's spine eased by a breath. Her thumb brushed across his knuckles, careful, slow. The mask didn't slip. But the ache beneath it shifted.
Her sweet boy.Her anchor. Belinda's heart swelled with motherly affection, a bloom of warmth where the cold used to sit. How comforting it was to have him with her in this dark time. To ease her. To give her love in the empty crater his father had left.
She leaned down to kiss the crown of his head, breathing in the clean scent of his soap—lavender and lemon. It calmed her like a balm. Her hand adjusted around his, noticing how much more of it there was to hold. When had that happened?
He was growing again. Another little spurt while the world twisted sideways. But he'd always be her little man. Her steady boy. The one who hadn't left.
"Are you excited?" Belinda asked, her voice sweet as her smile bloomed naturally just by looking at him. Nicoli already worked wonders on her mood—filling the hollowness left behind by someone else. "Everyone is looking forward to your birthday."
He was going to be ten years old. It stunned her how fast time slipped. How quickly her baby became a boy, and soon, a young man. And one day a king.
"Knowing your Father, I'm sure he will have some kind of entertainment set up to liven the festivities." Belinda went off handily, but she didn't miss Nicoli's hand, which had turned cold in hers.
His fingers didn't shift, but the warmth was gone. His gaze shifted to the stones. Tension creased his brows, filled with unspoken thoughts. A shadow crossed his face, revealing a flicker of something she almost didn't recognize.
It immediately struck Belinda with worry. This was not like him. Where was her happy, smiling boy?
Worry pinched Belinda's chest. "Nicoli?" she asked softly. "Is something wrong?"
Her hand moved to cup his cheek, soft and warm in her palm. "Tell me."
But the young prince wagged his head. "No, Mom, there's nothing." He went, but he didn't meet her eyes. His shoulders hunched in, small and awkward. His boot scraped the stone. Again. Again. A nervous rhythm. Something in him trembled.
Something was wrong. He was lying.
Belinda tilted his chin up, coaxing him gently."Nicoli, my sweet, is it something that you can not even tell your own mother?" The idea stung. She wanted no secrets with him. No. That couldn't be. She was his mother. His safe place. She had to be.
She needed to be.
"Nicoli," She tested again to see him softly sigh.
Nicoli's eyes flicked sideways, lips twitching into a line that trembled like he was swallowing something sharp. His boot scraped the stone again, slower this time, like he was digging a hole just to disappear into.
He kept silent for another moment before braving himself to speak again. His sapphire eyes full and searching as he lifted his gaze to ask.
"Mom. About Father?" He began, but her smile faltered. Not on purpose, but the name alone had a weight. She didn't mean to, but her body tensed, shoulders locking.
"What about your father?"Her tone came off a bit sharper at the word. A coil of anger circling up her chest. Her hand on his cheek gripped just a little tighter.
"Is there something wrong?" Besides what he is doing now? Running off to be with that Bastard child?
Leaving them behind? Abandoned? Betrayed!
Belinda could feel her anger rising all over again. The thought- the very idea that he would dare choose that child over them came back like a flood of sharp resentment. Colder than the very ice forming over the cobblestone outside.
Running off to play savior while they sat forgotten? How dare he—!The mask nearly slipped again. She saw it in Nicoli's wide eyes. His hesitation. He'd noticed something.
Belinda forced her mouth into a soft smile again, sweet and pleasant. She hoped he hadn't seen. Hoped he didn't know. He didn't have to.
No, she'd been careful. She was careful. She had sent him from the room before she went off. He didn't know. He didn't see the shouting, how she all but crumpled to the floor in the study, the fury she buried deep under her perfect smiles. He didn't see the way her hands shook when she read the letter.
He didn't know. He was just a child.
Except—he wasn't, not entirely. Not anymore. But still, he couldn't have.
Something seemed to shift in Nicoli's face. Something in his gaze flickered. Sadness? Guilt? A weariness no ten-year-old should wear. It was wrong. Nicoli would never make such a face.
But before Belinda could press on, wanting to hear more. He was wagging his head.
"No, it's, never mind." Nicoli dismissed. A natural smile came to his face, warm and carefree, like always. His mood was bright again as it should always be. What Belinda expected him to be like. And he was back.
"I was just thinking how exciting being ten years old will be." He went on, his voice light and cheerful. Normal. Expected.
Seeing it made Belinda uncoil inside. Nicoli was fine. She was just seeing things, she was sure. It was one thing for her to be upset about his father, but it would be quite another if something bothered Nicoli.
NO, what would Nicoli have anything to worry about? Belinda dismissed. He was a happy young boy and a good son. He was her final sanctuary, the only illusion she refused to shatter.
If he was fine, then the cracks hadn't spread. If her sweet boy stayed whole, then perhaps she hadn't failed completely. He was her refuge. Her proof was that not everything in the marriage had to be broken.
"Of course you are," Her sweet boy. Her perfect little man. Belinda rubbed her thumb on his cheek before letting go to hear the first carriage door close. Her back automatically straightened.
It was time to start the act. Belinda was already grinning with that one of those polished, hostess smilesas the first and, truthfully, most consequential guest came barreling into view.
And barreling was the only word for it. Hidi was RUNNING.
The sight was so absurd it almost made Belinda snort. The giant queen wasn't just descending the stairs—she was launching herself down them, taking three steps at a time with reckless joy, her thick golden braid snapping behind her like a victorious banner. Each landing sent a BOOM through the marbled floors, her heels threatening to crack the stone itself with each exuberant stomp.
Belinda had about three seconds to prepare. She straightened her spine like someone bracing for a collapsing bookshelf.
"Hidi," she called with forced calm—hands out, smile wider.
"Belindaaa!"Hidi lunged into her like a golden avalanche, arms flung wide, scooping Belinda into a crushing embrace that lifted her clean off the ground. Belinda squeaked—a very un-queenly sound—stiff as a board in Hidi's ironclad grip. Her fur-trimmed collar bunched awkwardly as Hidi rocked her side to side, nearly toppling them both over like a pair of unsteady wine bottles.
Then, just in time, Hidi seemed to remember Belinda had bones.
"Oh!" she gasped, setting her down with exaggerated care and a sheepish chuckle, brushing her palms over Belinda's shoulders as if to dust her off. "Sorry. I missed you so much I almost broke you."
Belinda exhaled, smoothing her hair with queenly dignity that had just been dented like a tin can. "It's alright," she lied. "I remembered how to breathe halfway through."
Hidi laughed—a full-bodied sound, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling—and straightened to her full towering height, the opal brooch at her collar flashing in the light.
"I was counting the days." She boomed, her accent thick as her braid. Her excitement was only matched by the sincerity in her words. "I'm happy to be back in Dawny again."
"I'm so glad you are," Belinda replied honestly, her ribs still adjusting. Hidi's energy hadn't dulled one bit—and thank goodness. Their little arrangement was still going strong.
And better—Belinda didn't miss the way Hidi's eyes, glowing with affection, immediately darted downward toward Nicoli.
And to Belinda's shock, so did Nicoli's.
Well. Maybe not affection precisely. But it was miles better than how he was before. Why, he wasn't pretending to look bored.
"About time, Hidi, Come on," Nicoli went, and then, another surprise. He reached forward to take Hidi by the hand and turn on his heel with purpose.
Belinda blinked. He grabbed her hand?! Like a proper suitor?
"We have stuff to talk about," he added, already turning.
"Stuff?" Belinda nearly fell out of her heels. Her eyes went wide as she practically levitated over to Hidi, a whole bouquet of questions bursting behind her lashes. What stuff? What does that mean? Were things between them already progressing this fast?
Was Nicoli starting to get feelings for her?
Hidi, still holding Nicoli's hand, shook her head slightly with a fond, teasing look. Then she winked.
Not quite that yet.But close. The message was as clear as her grin.
And for Belinda, that was more than enough.
"Yes, very important," Nicoli confirmed, nodding like he was leading a secret council. "I need to talk with Hidi. In private."
"Private?" Belinda echoed, raising a knowing brow that nearly reached her hairline. Her lips curled upward with mischief as she threw a glance toward Julia, standing off to the side like a statue. Consistent, ready. And a quick smile of knowing flicked on her thin lips. Smirking
Belinda had to smirk back, feeling herself soar. The look was weighted between them like two old hens.
A look that made Nicoli raise his own brow, but he didn't seem to catch on to what the women were all doing. He let it go, turning to walk.
"Yes, very important." Nicoli went on. "I need to talk with Hidi. In private."
"Private?" Belinda raised a brow at Hidi, an amused smile curling up her painted lips. Her eyes shifted over to see Julia off to the side, and a quick smile of knowing flicked on her thin lips.
A look that made Nicoli raise his own brow, but he didn't seem to catch on to what the women were all doing. He let it go, turning to walk.
"Right, so can we?" he asked, already angling toward the hall.
"Can you?" Belinda echoed with a barely suppressed laugh. "By all means—"
But she was cut off by the sudden slam of cold air as the doors burst open again, a gust of icy wind howling into the lobby like an uninvited ghost., Making the very chandelier overhead tinkle off key. The cold knifed through the room, curling around ankles, sliding beneath velvet, stealing breath.
The damp chill curled over Belinda's heart before she even thought about lifting her eyes to see who she knew to be the last arrival.
Her smile slightly tipped at the edges, and her back pulled painfully straight as the man's broad silhouette came into view. Her reaction was barely hidden under the guise of a perfect smile. She wasn't the only one who seemed to be affected.
Nicoli stilled, his expression falling at the moment as the king cleared his throat, stopping past the threshold. His sapphire eyes, dark and tired from the week's ride, glanced over the room. Pausing a moment, as if waiting for the grand welcome.
The silence lingered. None came.
A look of knowing pained crossed his face, as if he was preopared for that. But he didn't allow himself to feel it long. He was already lifting his chin, smile up and ready as he stepped deeper into the room. His hands out as if asking for an embrace.
"Wife, son. Come welcome me home, would you?" he said gently, a softness buried deep in the words. There was a note of pleading there. Something almost fragile.A quiet ring of forgiveness.
Belinda didn't move.
Her mask was perfect, but inside, her chest burned cold. Just for a moment—one fleeting moment—her control slipped. Her jaw clenched, and her heart twisted. Then it returned—the smile, the posture—impeccable.
She said nothing. Her back remained straight, her grey eyes fixed and merciless. Unyielding.
Alexander flinched under her stare. It was faint—but it was there. A crack in the armor. Still, he turned toward Nicoli with forced lightness.
"Son, come give your papa a hug, now." Alexander beseeched again, his smile pushing up his full beard. Expecting him, at least, to be happy to see him. So did she. Nicoli was usually jumping by now, ready to hug, to be carried, to be swung around like he was a little boy.
But this time, Nicoli didn't move.
His small frame tensed, shoulders coiling inward like he was caught between instincts. His hands twitched at his sides before curling into tentative fists. His eyes, sharp for a boy his age, flicked to his mother's face—just for a moment—then back to his father. Something unseen was working inside him.
"Later, Dad." Nicoli finally surmised at last. His voice coming off a bit flat. Almost too mature that even Belinda was a bit taken aback. But nothing looked wrong. Not in his expression. His smile was on again.
"I have business with Hidi, first." He claimed again, and as if a reminder, he looked back at his mother. "Can we use one of the tea rooms?"
Belinda blinked a moment, still taken aback by her sons' rather mature behavior. But in the end, she softened as an idea came to mind. Something that would certainly help the two progress their feelings. The faster, the better. Belinda secretly smiled.
"No, show her your room instead. I'll have food sent up." Belinda glanced at Julia. She smirked.
"Nicoli's room?!" Hidid nearly sounded like she was about to faint with joy. "Oh, Ja, I'd love that. Please. Let's do that." The giant was beside herself, swaying her hoop skirt like a bell. Loving the idea. She winked at Belinda.
Nicoli, still not understanding what was being exchanged, only shrugged.
"Sure, I guess. It doesn't matter to me. Come on, "Nicoli went again, pulling her hand, focused on whatever 'important' objective he needed to do with her.
But as he turned to lead Hidi, his hand briefly twitched again—like it had almost gone toward his father before he thought better of it. He didn't look at Alexander. Instead, he looked at Hidi, anchoring himself to her joy, not the confusion unraveling behind him.
"Come on," he said simply, tugging her hand and heading off.
Hidi was the only one who seemed in high spirits. She gave a quick wave back to both of them before they disappeared into one of the vestibules to a hall.
Watching them go, Belinda's chest tightened—not painfully, but with that quiet ache of watching a dream unfold without her. She wanted this for them. The faster Nicoli develops feelings, the better their future marriage will be. She wished them to have a good marriage.
A happy marriage. Belinda lingered on the thought, a fragile ember flickering in the wind. She could almost taste the sweetness of it—young love blooming, full of possibility. It was the only warmth she had left, this sliver of hope for Hidi and Nicoli. But even that was snatched away.
She felt him before she saw him.
The air shifted—turned colder, heavier. His approach sucked the light from her reverie like a winter gust slipping beneath a cracked door. The icy drizzle that laced the air now felt sharper, as if it had taken root in her bones. Even her clothes clung damply to her skin, unable to shield her from the chill that came with his nearness. His presence was like a shadow swallowing flame.
"Would you look at that?" Alexander began, his voice straining to stay lighthearted, like everything was the same. Just as if he could pick up the pieces with his bare hands and not feel the bite of jagged glass.
"I didn't think Nicoli and Hildenberg would be so close now." He went on, as if trying to ease into a conversation. Like nothing was wrong.
But it was. And would always be now. Her hand clenched into her dress, her face still perfect. Belinda refused to acknowledge him just yet. Her grey eyes were still in the hall, they disappeared into.
"Indeed," She answered, careful to keep her tone even. "The letters are quite effective. Hidi is certainly determined to win him over."
"The power of letters is something not to be trifled with, right?" His voice drew nearer, until she felt it—his hand. Warm. Familiar.
It closed over hers gently, and something in her chest jolted.
"Alexander," she breathed. Her voice cracked. The sound of it betrayed her, raw with emotion she wasn't ready to name. His touch was everything she remembered. The warmth of it nearly shattered her resolve. She had always loved his hands. Always.
She had loved him.
But you promised yourself, she reminded herself, rage brimming under the surface. You promised.
She couldn't waver. She wanted, no, she needed, to stay angry with him.
Because this wasn't just about him hurting her anymore.
It was about Nicoli.
Her heart iced over again. With a sharp jerk, she pulled her hand back as though his touch had burned. Her breath caught as she forced her spine straight, pain hardening her expression.
"A letter, you say?" Belinda rasped, her voice low and laced with venom. Her eyes, once soft with memory, now turned on him like blades. "You would know all about that, wouldn't you? Alexander. Especially your LAST letter."
He flinched, color draining from his face. His lips parted like he meant to speak, but all that escaped was a sigh—long, weary, and older than his years.
"Belinda, let's not start," he murmured, glancing toward the watching servants. A flick of his hand tried, weakly, to ward off a scene.
She scoffed. Now he cared about appearances?
So funny. She could laugh—if not for the fire gnawing at her belly.
"So good of you to join us." Her smile curved cruelly, cutting into her painted lips like a wound. "But how long should I expect you to be staying?"
"Belinda, please." Alexander moved closer, voice dropping. "I know you're upset. You have every right to be. But you don't understand—I had no other way to ensure Ana's safety—"
"No. I don't." She cut him off sharply, every syllable a lash. Her voice wavered for a beat, but she didn't let it crack again. She couldn't. She wouldn't. Not in front of him.
She folded her arms tightly across her chest, clenching her jaw until it hurt.
She had given him too many chances. Too many years. Too much of herself. And now?
Now he was putting Nicoli in the crossfire.
That was unforgivable.
He was unforgivable.
"But it's not like I would have a say either way," she said bitterly, her voice low and taut with restraint.
"Belinda," Alexander winced, as the shift of the tall and stoic servant came into view. Belinda regarded the older servant with a slight pinch. But it was much easier to look at him than Alexander for the moment. Maybe for the rest of their marriage?
Belinda was angry enough to try it.
"Will you both be staying till the end of the month?" she asked flatly. "Or will spring pull you away again?"
Johan only lowered his head. "Your Majesty,"
Belinda dropped the smile then. That wasn't an answer.
"Alexander?" Belinda's gaze snapped back to Alexander, locking eyes with him—but he looked away.
Her chest rose. "How long?" she whispered, the words sharp as glass. Its echo seemed to hang on the high ceiling above them.
Julia shifted behind her, her head snapping to the maids, clearly staring, taking in the fight. They bowed, more afraid of Julia's wrath, knowing full well they should not press.
At least Belinda had Julia's help. That was something. But they had probably seen more than enough for future rumors to spread.The whole castle would know about this by the end of the day, The King and Queen were fighting again. And it wouldn't be long till everyone would know why.
But Belinda could deal with that later. But for now–
Alexander took a long breath before finally looking up. "I'll be here till after Nicoli's birthday ends."
Her face fell. Her mask cracked, just for a moment. Her own anger subsiding for the loss, for what that would mean.
Not for her. But for Nicoli.
"But that's… that's not even two weeks," she whispered, blinking. "You only just got back."
Her eyes lifted to Johan, but the servant made no expression. He gave her nothing.
It was true.
They really were planning to leave that quickly again.
Alexander reached out again, slower this time, as if afraid she'd strike him. "I know it's not long. But the situation over in Nochten is not,"
"The situation?" He was really going on about what was happening over there? Like she'd give a damn!? Belinda crossed her arms. She took a few breaths to gather herself before she could trust herself to speak again.
"No, it doesn't matter." Belinda went calmer now. "You are here now. That's what's important."
Alexander had to smile a little, relieved. "Yes, of course, I would be. I wouldn't think to miss our boy's birthday."
"No," she snarled, suddenly. "You just want to miss everything else."
The smile dropped from his face like shattered glass. The remark hit straight into his heart.
Good. Belinda wanted it, too. She wanted to rub it in his face. Let it cut him.
Because if he wanted to abandon them, he was going to do it with full knowledge of what he was going to leave behind.
He would miss every moment with Nicoli. Every new growth spurt, every chance to see him grow up into a man. He would forego all of that because he felt guilty.
She found herself bitterly happy to know that, for once, there was something she could hurt him with just as badly, like he could hurt her. The tables were finally turning. He could hurt her by leaving. And she could hurt him by staying and being everything to Nicoli.
"Am I wrong?" Belinda widened her smile to show all her teeth, breaking and cracking her painted lips in a darker grin. Pain and something cruel exposed inside. Something, she had been so careful not to show Alexander in all the years together. But the crack in her mask was growing wider, revealing the underbelly of who she really was–cruel, meticulous, and vindictive.
"Belinda," Alexander grew pale as a shiver ran through him. He reached for her hand once more, as if pleading for any last shred of sympathy between them and all the years they've been together.
"Come, let's talk somewhere quieter." He offered, pleading and trying, his sapphire eyes looking over her with warmth and care.. "Please, let's be civilized and-"
"I'm not going anywhere with you," she snapped. "You wanted this. So now you have it. A bastard in trade for a loving wife and a son. I hope you're happy."
He recoiled like she had struck him. "Belinda—"
"Please," she mocked, laughing bitterly. "Let's be civilized?"
She turned first.
"Welcome home, dear Husband," Belinda kept her head high as she moved. "And enjoy your stay, for as long as that is,"
She waved her manicured hand, the wedding ring hitting her other rings in the motion. The clash of gold on gold sounded louder than it should have, echoing through the hollow space between them. The sound was like a bell tolling something lost—bitter like the laugh in her throat as she left him standing there like some fool with open hands.
Behind her, Julia didn't move at once. She stared at the King, expression unreadable—until the corner of her lip curled, just barely. Disdain. Then she followed.
Julia swept beside her, quiet as a ghost.
"Well done, your highness. " she whispered. Her pale eyes shimmered in the candlelight, proud and loyal. She sounded pleased at the ordeal. IF only Belinda could be.
She felt nothing. Or—no. She felt too much. Anger. Loss. All of it pressed like stone on her ribs.
And still, it wasn't enough.
Every step away from him felt like stepping on glass. Her throat burned, but the tears wouldn't come. Not anymore. Really, it hadn't been for a long time now that she could see the quiet of the hall.
He had broken not just hers but Nicoli's heart long before he ever drew breath. The moment he chose Parsul, the moment he nearly let himself die with her broken in grief–that was when the curse began.
She had nursed him back from the brink, fed him warmth when he was cold, and faith when he had none left. She had loved him, utterly. Loved him past reason, past dignity, past what she should have spared for herself. And for what? For a man whose heart had never belonged to her. Never to Nicoli. Perhaps never to anyone.
No—his heart had always been elsewhere. And loving him… had been the curse.
It wound around her ribs like thorns, twisted through her veins like dark ivy, cold and green and ever-growing. A poison of her own making. A love that asked too much and gave back nothing.
She had given him everything, and now it demanded something more.
One of them would not survive this love.
She knew that now, with a terrible clarity. It would kill one of them in the end. Slowly, like a rot in the walls, no one sees until the house caves in. Quiet, patient, inevitable.
She didn't know who would go first—only that one of them must.
Belinda's eyes darkened, her gaze sharpening like the tip of a dagger as she turned, her gown trailing behind her like a funeral shroud. "Julia," she called, her voice soft but without tremor.
The servant stepped forward without question. Loyal. Steady. A small comfort in a storm with no shore.
"Bring wine to my chambers," Belinda said, barely above a whisper. "Plenty of it. I intend to drown my sorrows…"
She paused, eyes distant now, voice hollow. "…And then draw some more."
She walked forward, not toward light, but deeper into the hall's yawning mouth of shadow. Her silhouette flickered against the stone like a spirit already half-forsaken. Her heart beat soundlessly beneath her ribs, a battlefield now empty of hope, haunted only by ghosts.
The hallway behind her stretched wide and hollow, absorbing the soft echo of her heels. Sharp. Rhythmic. Final.
The silence Alexander left behind followed like a specter. And Belinda did not look back.
* King Alexander*
Alexander considered turning right back around and stepping into the rain. At least outside, the cold had an excuse. It came honest out there—wet, sharp, and unapologetic, not like the cold that just met him inside. That kind came in looks, not weather.
Gods, the way Belinda had looked at him…
"My Lord," Johan began, his voice low and already carrying that tone of wise correction.
"Save it, old man." Alexander's jaw tightened as he waved a hand, bracing himself for the lecture he didn't need. Not now. Not after that.
He hated to admit it—but he wasn't as prepared as he thought. He'd read Belinda's letter more times than he could count. Knew every curl of her pen. Every controlled tremor in her words. But letters were just ink.
Seeing it on her face… was something else entirely.
"I knew she'd be angry," he muttered, almost to himself. "But…"
He sighed, rubbing the side of his neck where tension had taken up permanent residence. His fingers were stiff and calloused, raw from the treacherous weeks' ride through frozen winds. The mountain ride had carved the wear into his bones.
Everything ached. His shoulders, his knees, his pride.
But it wasn't just her. Alexander stilled, his hand lowering as a different weight settled in his chest.
Nicoli.
The boy hadn't run to him. No arms flung around his waist. No breathless chatter, no urgent tales of imaginary battles or palace mischief. Not even a tug at his sleeve.
He hadn't even moved. Just stood there—watching. Hesitant.
That was the word. Not cold. Not indifferent. Hesitant.
Alexander's brow furrowed. It had caught him off guard, but now it clung to his thoughts like burrs in wool.
Was something wrong? Could there be something… off?
Or was it just time doing what time does? Nicoli was nearly ten. Maybe he was trying to look grown in front of Hidi. Affection had to change shape now, to be more subtle and reserved.
Still… Alexander couldn't shake the feeling. A strange discomfort rooted deeper than pride.
A dull ache bloomed in his chest—the sting of a father realizing both of his children might be getting too old to leap into his arms. To reach for him without hesitation.
And he hadn't been there to see the change come. He didn't want Nicoli to be one more thing he'd failed to notice in time.
But he had enough to deal with already. More than enough. There were bigger problems—mounting, pressing, waiting for him in Nochten and back home.
He needed to return to Ana as soon as he could. Gods, that girl was walking through fire and he hadn't even taught her how to breathe smoke.
Wolves surrounded her. Even with Pendwick at her side, there were teeth at her heels.
And Mykhol? No. That monster was the most ravenous of them all. Alexander didn't trust him to stay still. He never had.
Nicoli didn't need to be a problem either. He couldn't be.
And yet—
Alexander's eyes followed the boy from memory. His hand wrapped around Hidi's. Small. Trusting. That eased something in him. A chuckle slipped out, warm but thin.
"At least someone's love life might be on the rise," he mused dryly.
Johan gave him a long look, one brow lifting with slow disapproval. "You mean between the prince and Her Majesty Hildenberg?"
Alexander snorted, letting out a real laugh this time—hoarse, but grateful for the lift.
"What kind of meeting could children even have?" he said, shaking his head. "If only it were that simple for the rest of us."
The humor helped, however fleeting. The laughter echoed through the grand lobby, fading into high ceilings and stone.
And still, Alexander had the strange feeling that even that sound… wouldn't last much longer.