𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 | 𝟏𝟖+

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐖𝐎 | 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐓

ততততত

𝐈 𝐌 𝐎 𝐆 𝐄 𝐍

Gareth trods alongside me as we head towards the commotion in the throne room. My disappearance this morning isn't exactly something I'm proud of, but I was desperate to speak with Tobin once more. Before I knew about Aspen, I could care less about what broken state I left him in, but the theft of the crown wasn't done so selfishly. He had to choose who to save from Leighton: his sister or myself.

Tobin chose his sister over the woman who held him hostage many nights ago with only a bow and arrow, the woman who he confessed that he loved.

Gareth shakes his head at me, those sapphire eyes shimmering with a devilish annoyance. "How're you gonna get out of this one?"

"Why so curious?" I mutter, already peeved with Gareth's presence, or more so his manipulation of Tobin.

He's always been Leighton's sly counterpart. Before I knew he and Tobin were friends long ago, I always knew that Gareth had some shady side to him, an almost natural distrust to his aura. Now I know why I felt so unsure of him. He was set on stealing Ruslan's crown, and he used Tobin as a tool to do so.

"You know, when I met you, I thought you'd be different," he conjures.

I frown at the statement. "How so?"

"You're a force to be reckoned with," Gareth says. "Don't tell my king I said this, but I even had a laugh when I saw that you strung his underpants with an arrow."

"I appreciate you liking my theatrics, but I still do not want to marry his inconsiderate cruel arse," I grumble, not daring to give Gareth anything more than a glance. All morning he's been trying to pry information from me, probably about how Tobin and I ended up connecting on an intimate level. It's a story I'm not willing to tell so openly. Even Elena has a false version of it.

"Now I know why you won't marry Leighton," he grins, and I meet his darkening blue eyes. He mouths one name: Tobin.

So I mouth one word back: bastard.

My father's exasperated voice bellows through the corridors as we enter the throne room. Lorcan mediates the chaos, residing with his arms folded behind his back. Leighton stands near him, but for once, it's not Leighton that becomes my father's greatest headache. It's the duke of the city of Aardglass—Hadrian Gillet, speaking on behalf of the seaside community near the borders of Thivalon.

"You know this kingdom needed a prince to continue on the Mironescu name," Hadrian hisses. My heart stings at the words as if they were daggers. "Why did you not let us know that there was one?"

It's only been a matter of hours since the crown was stolen, and the rumours are spreading through our kingdom like wildfire. It's a sign that something isn't right. A rumour shouldn't spread that fast unless there was a messenger sent to every village and city, planted there to feed the roots of doubt. This rumour will expose anyone who is willing to corrupt my father's reign at the slightest distrust. The last we need is unrest in our cities. We need to be fortified, united as one kingdom.

Ruslan might be the defining factor that splits Lagulon apart. They always wanted a prince, not a princess.

My father rubs his temples. "Adirya and I decided upon marriage it was best that he was kept hidden."

"So where is he?" Hadrian hisses. "Where is the heir to the throne?"

"The heir to my throne is—" he lifts his gaze over to where Gareth and I enter in. There's a look of relief on his face at my return, but I know I'll never hear the end of it later on. "The heir stands right there. It's Imogen."