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Chapter 3 - 3 The Cost of Her Return

The palace was colder than she remembered.

Not in temperature, but in soul. In the sharp, silent glares that sliced through her as she stepped deeper into the marbled halls. Everything looked the same—the gilded ceilings, the obsidian-tiled floors, the velvet banners embroidered with her family's crest—but it all felt like a memory, half-frozen and hollowed out.

Liana moved with purpose. Her heels struck the floor with deliberate precision, echoing like gunfire. Every step was a defiance, every breath a silent declaration: I have returned.

Guards flanked the corridor but none dared speak. None even bowed.

Once, they would have lowered their heads in reverence.

Now they looked through her, as though she were nothing more than a phantom passing through their world.

The ghost princess has returned, she thought bitterly. That's what they were calling her. As if her exile had turned her into something spectral. Something less than human.

A servant scurried past, avoiding her gaze entirely. Liana's hands clenched at her sides. It wasn't just fear. It was disdain. They didn't believe she belonged here anymore.

At the end of the corridor, the throne room doors loomed—massive, dark wood carved with scenes of victory and blood. Her fingers paused on the handle. Her heart should've been racing. But she'd spent so many years numbing herself, her pulse barely flinched.

This was what she came for.

This was the reckoning.

She pushed the door open.

Inside, the throne room was hushed, but not empty. Nobles lined the walls like polished statues, draped in silks and adorned in jewels, their eyes gleaming like blades. Her return had drawn them like wolves to a wounded prey.

And on the twin thrones at the far end of the room sat King Theron and Queen Ilyana.

Her uncle and aunt.

Her parents' killers.

The man wore the crown her father once held, a circlet of black iron laced with rubies that glinted like blood. The queen sat slightly turned, her lips curved in that serpentine smile Liana remembered all too well—beautiful, venomous, and poised to strike.

"Liana," King Theron greeted, voice smooth and hollow. "You've returned after so many years. To what do we owe this... surprise?"

She stepped forward, head high. "I've come to claim what's mine."

Murmurs rippled through the hall like a gust of wind. The nobles leaned in, their eyes lighting with scandal. Some smirked. Others narrowed their gazes with calculating interest.

Queen Ilyana arched an eyebrow. "You mean the title of ghost princess? Because the throne, my dear, is no longer yours to claim."

"It was never yours to begin with." Her voice was quiet, but it cut cleanly across the room. "You took it from my father. You buried my mother in the gardens like a broken doll. And you thought time would make me forget."

The king's lips twitched. "So dramatic. You always were."

Liana stepped closer. "I was twelve when your soldiers dragged me from my bed. When they held my head under water to make sure I couldn't scream. I still remember the taste of the mud in my mouth."

Her voice didn't shake.

She wouldn't give them that.

"I came back to remind you—I'm still alive. And I remember everything."

A tense silence gripped the room. Even the guards at the doors straightened.

"You have no claim," Queen Ilyana said finally, her voice silken but sharp. "You are an orphan. A relic of a failed bloodline. The court will never accept you."

"Then I won't ask the court," Liana replied. "I'll show them who I am. What I've become. And when they kneel, it will not be to you."

Theron stood slowly, the weight of his crown glinting under the stained-glass light. "You tread dangerously, niece. You've been gone too long to understand how fragile power can be."

"No," she said. "I understand exactly how fragile it is. And how easily it breaks."

Then she turned her back to them and walked out of the throne room.

She didn't need to see their faces. She already knew.

Fear.

And fury.

---

By nightfall, the palace buzzed with whispers. Some called her bold. Others called her mad. But every corner of the court was ablaze with one truth:

Liana Virell had returned to the capital. And she wasn't leaving quietly.

---

Back in her temporary chambers, Liana stared out the arched windows as rain slashed the skies.

She wasn't naive. She had no army. No allies. And the nobles were a nest of vipers loyal only to power.

But she had something they didn't.

She had the truth.

And she had him.

As if summoned by thought, a shadow moved behind her. No knock. No sound. Just sudden presence.

"You shouldn't be here," she murmured, not turning.

"And yet I always am," came the low reply.

Dominic Raine stepped into the candlelight, dark and devastating, with a predator's grace. His cloak dripped rain onto the stone floor. His hair was slicked back, and his eyes gleamed like onyx.

Liana faced him, arms crossed. "The king won't be pleased if he knows you've come."

"The king isn't my concern." His gaze swept her face. "But you... you're playing a dangerous game."

She shrugged. "So are you."

Dominic stepped closer. "You made a statement today. Publicly. That was bold."

"It was necessary."

"Perhaps." He studied her, his voice dropping. "But now you've painted a target on your back."

"I already had one."

He was too close now. She could smell the smoke and steel on his skin. She hated how her pulse reacted. How some foolish part of her remembered what it felt like to be touched by hands that could kill and still make her feel safe.

She turned away.

"I didn't come for protection, Dominic."

"I didn't come to protect you," he said softly.

She looked at him.

Then why was he here?

Silence stretched. He stepped forward, brushed a wet curl from her cheek. His fingers lingered.

Then he said, low and dangerous, "Because if they kill you... I won't be able to forgive myself."

It wasn't a confession. It was a warning.

Liana swallowed the emotion clawing her throat.

"I don't need saving," she whispered.

"I know," he said. "But that won't stop me."

Their eyes locked—and for one fragile second, the world outside didn't matter. The betrayal. The throne. The blood in her past. There was only the storm between them.

Then, as quickly as he came, Dominic turned and vanished into the shadows.

Liana closed her eyes, heart pounding.

The war had begun.

And she wasn't sure which part of it would destroy her first.

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