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The cellar in the North did not break Celine; it merely provided the pressure needed to turn her mana into a diamond. As the frost crawled up the walls, encasing the two brutes in a layer of jagged ice that pinned them to the stone, Celine didn't wait for them to thaw. With her left eye burning a defiant, unnatural crimson, she shattered her bindings and stumbled out into the biting winter air.
*The Prince of the West*
Celine ran until her lungs burned like swallowed coals. The adrenaline that had fueled her escape began to ebb, replaced by the sheer exhaustion of her injuries and the mana drain from her left eye. Her vision blurred, the white snow of the Northern forest rising up to meet her. She collapsed near a frozen stream, her small, blood-stained figure nearly invisible against the drifts.
She expected to wake up in her father's arms or not at all. Instead, she felt a pair of strong, warm hands lift her from the snow.
The man who found her was not a Northerner. He was dressed in travel-worn leathers and a cloak made of rare mountain fox fur. This was Prince Lowell , the runaway heir of the Western Kingdom. Lowell had spent the last year fleeing the crown, preferring the solitude of the high peaks to the suffocating politics of the West.
He looked down at the girl in his arms—at the blood on her nose and the residual red glow in her eye. He knew the North would be crawling with guards, but something about her told him she wasn't safe anywhere near the current borders.
"You look like a little bird with broken wings," Lowell murmured, his voice like the low rumble of a mountain storm. "But you have the eyes of a king. I won't let them find you …at least not right now."
Instead of turning toward the palace, Lowell turned toward the Elite Mountains—a neutral, treacherous territory where even Arion's trackers would struggle to follow. Celine's journey back to her family had just been diverted into the unknown.
***
In the South, the humidity had become unbearable. Lorcan sat in his study, a bottle of potent Southern wine half-empty on the table. The images of Aiden and Asher—the marks, the whispers, the tears—were a loop of agony in his mind.
Finally, the alcohol drowned out his common sense. He stood up, swaying slightly, and marched toward the guest wing. He burst into Aiden's room, his breath smelling of grapes and sorrow.
The room was quiet. Asher was in the en-suite bathroom, the sound of splashing water indicating he was taking a bath to soothe his aching, needle-pricked body. Aiden was sitting on the edge of the bed, reading a book. He looked up, a slow, predatory smirk spreading across his face as he saw Lorcan's disheveled state.
"You're late for a visit, Prince," Aiden said smoothly.
Lorcan didn't answer with words. He lunged, pinning Aiden back onto the mattress with a desperate, clumsy force. Tears welled in Lorcan's eyes, spilling over his flushed cheeks. "Why?" Lorcan choked out, his hands trembling as they gripped Aiden's collar. "Why aren't you looking at me anymore? Why are you ...why are you doing this with him?"
Aiden didn't struggle. He looked at Lorcan with a cold, calculating gaze—a look that was Kyon's, but sharpened with a more manipulative edge.
"Why should I look at you, Lorcan? You told me you were pregnant. You told me you were engaged. I simply took your advice and started loving someone else." The words broke Lorcan's final defense. He let out a sob, burying his face in Aiden's chest. "It was fake! A lie! My mother ...she made me say it!"
Lorcan grabbed Aiden's hand and pressed it firmly against his own flat, firm stomach. "There is no child, Aiden. There is only you. I love you. I've always loved you."
Aiden felt a surge of satisfaction. He had known the pregnancy was a lie—his sharp senses had never picked up the scent of a new life—but he had needed Lorcan to break completely. He was like Kyon, yes, but while Kyon used strength, Aiden used the heart as a chessboard.
He heard Asher moving in the bathroom, about to step out. With a subtle flick of his fingers, Aiden channeled a thread of mana into the door's mechanism, locking it from the outside.
"Aiden? The door is stuck!" Asher shouted from the other side, rattling the handle.
Aiden ignored him. He turned his attention back to the weeping Prince on top of him. He didn't take it all the way—Lorcan was too drunk, and Aiden wanted their first real time to be a memory Lorcan could hold onto clearly. Instead, he claimed Lorcan with a feverish intensity, his lips traveling over Lorcan's neck, his cheeks, and his mouth, marking him with a heat that finally eclipsed the fake marks on Asher's skin.
Under the influence of the alcohol and the overwhelming relief, Lorcan finally went limp, passing out in Aiden's arms.
Aiden stayed with him for an hour, simply watching him sleep. He pulled the heavy silk duvet over Lorcan's shoulders, tucking him in securely. Then, with the same cold efficiency, he stood up and released the magic on the bathroom door.
Asher stumbled out, wrapped in a towel, his face red with fury. " AIDEN!! You locked me in! What the—"
Asher stopped dead. He saw Lorcan fast asleep in Aiden's bed, looking peaceful for the first time in weeks.
Aiden stood by the window, his arms crossed and a smug, mocking smile on his face. "The Prince had a bit too much to drink, Asher. He needed someone to remind him where he belongs."
Asher looked from the bed to Aiden, a look of pure confusion and annoyance crossing his face. "You're a freak," Asher muttered, though he couldn't help but notice the triumphant glint in Aiden's eyes. "A manipulative, terrifying freak."
Aiden just chuckled, looking out toward the South. He had his Prince back. Now, he just had to deal with the Queen, the West, and a missing sister. The game was far from over, but for the first time in six years, Aiden was the one holding all the cards.