Dylan rose from where he sat.
The moment he did, Clover instinctively stepped back.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Her entire body tensed as he began walking toward her.
The room suddenly felt too small.
Too quiet.
Too suffocating.
Clover swallowed hard, her fingers curling tightly at her sides as Dylan stopped right in front of her.
Her pulse thundered.
She slowly lifted her gaze—
And the moment her eyes met his, her heart skipped violently in her chest.
Those crimson, unreadable eyes held hers with a weight that made it hard to breathe.
For one brief, terrifying moment, Clover thought he was about to do something.
Say something.
Touch her.
But then—
Dylan's gaze shifted past her.
His expression hardened.
"Who is there?"
His voice was low and cold.
The door opened almost immediately, and a man stepped inside before bowing deeply.
"My Lord," he said respectfully. "The council is waiting."
Dylan stared at him for a brief moment before speaking.
"I'll be there."
The man bowed once more and withdrew.
Silence settled in the room again.
Clover still hadn't moved.
She stood there, frozen in place, her heart still racing from how close he had been.
Dylan looked at her once more, his expression unreadable.
Then he turned away.
"I'll be back in a bit."
And with that, he walked out leaving Clover alone in the room.
The second the door shut behind him, Clover let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Her hand moved to her chest.
Her heartbeat was still uneven.
Too fast.
Too loud.
She slowly sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to steady herself.
What was wrong with her?
Why was her heart beating like that?
Why was she reacting like this… because of him?
Because of Dylan?
Clover frowned and looked down at her hands.
It didn't make sense.
He was dangerous.
Unpredictable.
And yet…
She remembered the way he had looked at her.
The way he had spoken.
The strange gentleness that sometimes slipped through the cracks of that terrifying exterior.
It was confusing.
Everything about him was confusing.
Her thoughts drifted.
To home.
To her mother.
To her father.
A sudden ache spread through her chest.
She missed them.
She missed the life she had before all of this madness.
Before monsters.
Before this palace.
Before Dylan.
The loneliness hit harder than she expected.
Clover slowly lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Her eyes felt heavy.
And before long, with too many thoughts tangled in her mind—
She drifted off to sleep.
Inside the Council Chamber.
The council chamber was filled with low murmurs.
Voices overlapped one another in hushed tones, tension hanging thick in the air like smoke.
But the moment Dylan stepped inside—
Silence.
Every voice died instantly.
Every gaze turned toward him.
And there, at the center of the chamber…
Sat Matthew.
On the throne.
Dylan's throne.
One leg crossed over the other, his posture lazy, arrogant, as though he belonged there.
The sight alone was enough to make the entire room feel colder.
Elias who had receive a message from Dylan to return stood nearby, his expression dark with restrained anger.
Several elders shifted uncomfortably, clearly uneasy with what was happening, while others kept their eyes lowered, pretending not to see the blatant insult.
Dylan walked forward with calm, measured steps.
No rush.
No visible anger.
No expression.
That made it worse.
He stopped directly in front of the throne and looked at Matthew.
His face remained unreadable.
"What is this?"
His voice was quiet.
Flat.
But the words cut through the chamber sharper than steel.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Matthew smiled.
Slowly, he rose to his feet.
And then—
He started clapping.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
The sound echoed mockingly through the silent chamber.
"Well," Matthew drawled, his lips curling with amusement, "the king finally remembers his kingdom."
No one dared speak.
Matthew stepped down from the throne without hurry, brushing past Dylan as though sitting there had meant absolutely nothing.
As though he hadn't just committed one of the greatest acts of disrespect possible.
He walked past him and made his way toward the council seats.
Then he sat down among them.
Casual.
Relaxed.
As if he had every right to.
Only then did he look back at Dylan.
"You disappear for centuries," Matthew said lazily, leaning back in his seat, "and suddenly you return like nothing happened."
Elias's jaw tightened.
"Watch your mouth."
Matthew ignored him completely.
His eyes remained fixed on Dylan.
"The day you abandoned this kingdom," he continued, "was the day you forfeited the right to rule it."
A heavy silence followed.
No one interrupted him.
No one dared.
Matthew's expression darkened.
"You left your throne. You left your people. You vanished because of a woman."
A ripple of discomfort spread through the chamber.
Some elders looked away.
Others exchanged uneasy glances.
The subject was dangerous.
Very dangerous.
"And now," Matthew said, his voice sharpening, "you return with another."
His gaze burned with contempt.
"A girl who looks exactly like the woman who destroyed you."
Elias stepped forward instantly.
"That is enough, Matthew."
"No." Matthew stood this time from where he sat among the council, his expression hardening. "It is not enough."
His voice rose, bold and defiant.
"If he expects to return and sit on that throne as though nothing has changed, then he should answer for what he has done."
The chamber grew still again.
Matthew stepped out from the row of council seats, now fully facing Dylan.
"You left this kingdom without a ruler," he said coldly. "You abandoned your responsibilities in pursuit of obsession. You disappeared because of a woman… and now you've returned with her ghost."
His lip curled.
"The Dragon Clan cannot afford a king ruled by madness."
The words landed like a spark in dry grass.
Dangerous.
Provocative.
Deliberate.
Elias looked like he was seconds away from ripping his throat out.
But Dylan…
Dylan still hadn't reacted.
He said nothing.
Did nothing.
He simply stood there.
And somehow, that silence was far more terrifying than rage.
Then, at last, he moved.
Without a word, Dylan turned and sat on the throne.
His throne.
The room fell into complete silence.
He rested one arm against the armrest, his gaze settling on Matthew with a calm so cold it made the air feel heavy.
"What is the issue?" Dylan asked flatly.
Matthew gave a short, bitter laugh.
"The issue," he said, "is that your reign should have ended long ago."
He gestured toward the council.
"You abandoned this kingdom. You left for a woman. You returned with another who looks exactly like her. And yet we are expected to kneel and act as though none of it matters?"
No one answered.
No one moved.
Dylan's gaze remained fixed on him.
"Finished?"
The single word made several council members tense.
Matthew's jaw clenched.
But before he could say anything else, Dylan rose from the throne.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
The shift in the atmosphere was immediate.
The chamber seemed to darken.
A suffocating pressure rolled through the room like an unseen storm.
Several elders stiffened.
One even lowered his gaze completely.
Dylan stepped down from the throne and stopped directly in front of Matthew.
Close enough to make the threat unmistakable.
Matthew's confidence flickered for the first time.
"My personal affairs," Dylan said, his voice low and terrifyingly calm, "are none of your concern."
No one breathed.
No one dared.
"I do not need your approval," he continued. "And I certainly do not need your permission."
A cold smile touched his lips.
"If anyone here has a problem with my return…"
His gaze slowly swept across the entire chamber.
"…then challenge me."
The words dropped into the room like death itself.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
No elder spoke.
No noble moved.
No warrior stepped forward.
Dylan's gaze returned to Matthew.
"I will gladly entertain anyone foolish enough to try."
Matthew's fists clenched at his sides.
Rage flashed across his face.
But beneath it—
Fear.
Because he knew.
Everyone in that room knew.
No matter how bold his words were…
He could never defeat Dylan.
Not here.
Not now.
Not ever.
The silence stretched until it became unbearable.
Then Matthew looked away first.
His jaw tightened.
And without another word, he turned sharply and stormed out of the chamber.
No one stopped him.
No one spoke.
No one dared break the suffocating quiet left behind.
Because the message had already been delivered.
The king had returned.
And no one would forget it.
Inside the Master Bedroom.
When Clover woke, the room was quiet.
Too quiet.
Soft golden light streamed through the tall windows, spilling across the floor and the massive bed she had fallen asleep on.
For a moment, she simply blinked up at the ceiling, disoriented.
Then the memories came rushing back.
Dylan.
The palace.
Everything.
She slowly sat up and looked around.
He wasn't there.
Her brows furrowed.
He hadn't returned.
Not throughout the night.
A strange feeling stirred inside her, but she quickly pushed it away.
Why should she care?
Clover climbed out of bed and glanced around the room.
It was enormous.
Far too luxurious.
The kind of room that screamed power in every detail.
Dark polished floors.
Tall carved pillars.
Heavy velvet curtains.
A massive bed that looked like it belonged to royalty.
The entire place was styled like the private chamber of a ruler.
Which, she guessed, made sense.
This was Dylan's room.
The thought alone made her feel oddly aware of where she was.
Clover shook it off and moved toward the wardrobe.
After a moment of searching, she found something simple enough to wear.
A plain white gown, which was among the clothes the maids had brought in last night.
It was elegant, soft, and far less intimidating than the others.
Once dressed, she stepped out of the room.
The Palace
The palace corridors were quiet, but not empty.
Servants moved carefully through the halls.
Guards stood at attention.
And the moment Clover appeared—
Eyes followed her.
Everywhere.
She could feel it.
The stares.
The curiosity.
The whispering silence that came from people too cautious to speak openly.
Clover tried to ignore it, but it was impossible not to notice.
Some looked shocked.
Some looked suspicious.
Some looked at her as if they had seen a ghost.
She frowned.
Why were they staring at her like that?
Her steps slowed as she moved deeper into the palace, her gaze wandering over the towering walls and ancient decor.
The place was beautiful in a cold, haunting way.
Massive portraits lined the walls.
Old paintings.
Ancient frames.
Figures she didn't recognize, their expressions solemn and imposing.
The deeper she went, the older everything seemed to feel.
Like the palace itself was carrying memories too heavy to forget.
Eventually, Clover found herself standing in front of a room unlike the others.
The door was slightly open.
Curious, she stepped inside the antique room.
The room was filled with relics.
Old artifacts.
Decorative weapons.
Ancient books.
Glass cases.
Ornaments that looked too delicate and too valuable to touch.
Everything inside felt like a preserved memory.
Clover slowly wandered through the room, eyes wide as she took in the strange collection.
There were old vases, silver trinkets, faded scrolls, strange gemstones, and several locked display boxes.
It looked like a place where forgotten things were hidden away.
Or treasured.
She moved carefully, brushing her fingers over the edge of a wooden table.
Then her eyes landed on something.
A box.
It sat on a table near the far end of the room.
Unlike everything else, it wasn't sealed behind glass.
It looked… personal.
Clover hesitated.
Then slowly, she stepped closer.
The box was old, but well kept.
Almost as though someone had made sure it remained untouched by dust or time.
Her heart gave a strange little beat.
She reached out.
And opened it.
The second she saw what was inside—
She froze.
Her breath caught.
Inside the box were two pendants.
Her eyes widened in shock.
No.
That couldn't be—
They were the exact same pendants.
The same pair she had once wanted from that store.
The same ones Dylan had refused to buy for her.
Clover stared at them in disbelief, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached toward them.