Veyholm.
The name felt like a whisper from a past life.
It was once a thriving noble city, an ally to her family, a place she had visited as a child. She remembered the wide stone streets, the grand estates surrounding the main square, the carefully kept gardens where nobles strolled without a care in the world.
But now—
It wasn't hers anymore.
Veyholm had moved on.
The people had changed. The city had continued to breathe, live, and grow while she had been buried in the darkness of Ravaryn.
And yet, this place still held echoes of her past.
She wasn't sure if that made it better or worse.
---
A Decision Made
"You're sure about this?"
Kael didn't look up. She was seated near the inn's window, fingers tapping absently against the wooden table, watching the city through the glass.
Riven stood beside her, arms crossed, his usual smirk playing at the edges of his lips. Jorrik was fastening the last buckle on his coat, adjusting his stance like a soldier preparing to enter enemy territory.
"You need to go back," Kael said simply.
Riven sighed dramatically. "I hate when you say things that make sense."
"Then stop arguing and leave," she muttered.
Jorrik chuckled. "She's right, though. If you disappear for too long, someone will ask questions. And 'I was drinking in a mercenary inn' isn't exactly the best excuse for a prince."
"On the contrary," Riven grinned. "I think it's perfectly on brand."
Kael shook her head, exhaling. "Just try not to get yourself killed before we meet again."
Riven placed a hand over his heart. "Sweetheart, I'm touched by your concern."
Kael lifted her gaze, purple eyes cool. "I just don't want to waste time rescuing you."
Jorrik snorted. "She has a point."
Riven groaned. "Why am I always outnumbered?"
"Because you're usually wrong," Jorrik answered smoothly.
Kael smirked. "And insufferable."
Riven sighed. "Fine. I'll leave you to your brooding. But don't have too much fun without me."
Kael gave him a flat look.
Jorrik rolled his eyes and grabbed Riven by the arm, dragging him toward the door. "Let's go before you make it worse."
Riven shot Kael a playful wink before disappearing into the crowd.
And just like that—she was alone.
---
A City of Ghosts
The silence felt strange.
After weeks of fighting, running, surviving, Kael didn't know what to do with stillness.
She left the inn, stepping onto the streets of Veyholm.
The city was alive—merchants shouting over their stalls, children laughing as they ran past, nobles passing through in carriages pulled by sleek horses.
She walked slowly, letting her feet take her where they wanted.
She passed a bakery, the scent of fresh bread curling into the air.
She had been here before.
She could almost hear her mother's laughter, see her brother sneaking a stolen pastry behind their father's back.
Her fingers twitched at her side.
She walked further, past a wide stone fountain in the town square.
She had played here.
The memory came without warning—her brother pushing her forward, laughing as she almost fell into the water. Their father's voice, warm and amused, scolding them half-heartedly.
Kael exhaled, shaking the thought away.
She had no time for this.
No time for a past that no longer existed.
But then—she reached the place where her home should have been.
She stilled.
The manor was gone.
Burned to nothing but charred stone and overgrown weeds.
A wound carved into the city itself.
The people of Veyholm had rebuilt around it, but no one had claimed the land. It was as if the ghost of House Veyne still lingered there, too dangerous to erase, too cursed to restore.
Kael didn't move.
She should have felt rage.
Should have felt the burning need to destroy something, to carve her vengeance into the bones of this city.
But all she felt was tired.
She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes for just a moment.
Then, she turned her back on the ruins.
Because there was nothing left for her here.
And her enemies were still alive.
She had work to do.
---
Velmont Keep - The Palace of Masks
Meanwhile, the royal palace of Velmont stood as it always had—unchanging, polished, perfect.
A kingdom built on lies.
Riven and Jorrik walked through its marble corridors, passing nobles who greeted them with pleasant smiles and hidden daggers.
Riven had grown up in this world, had mastered the game of false alliances and empty words.
But today—he wasn't in the mood to play.
They had barely reached the main hall when a smooth voice called out.
"Brother."
Riven's jaw clenched.
He turned, already bracing himself.
Prince Edric Dain stood before him, dressed in the finest court attire, his golden-brown hair perfectly styled, his green eyes filled with calculated amusement.
"Edric," Riven said, forcing a slow smile. "Still alive, I see."
Edric chuckled. "And yet, some days, I wonder if you truly want that to be the case."
Riven tilted his head. "I try not to think about it too much."
Jorrik muttered, "Gods, not this again."
Edric smirked but said nothing.
Then—another voice.
"Prince Riven."
Riven didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Queen Evelyne Dain.
His stepmother.
The woman who had taken his mother's place.
The woman who had helped rewrite history.
Evelyne smiled, stepping forward gracefully. "The court has been wondering where you disappeared to."
Riven returned her smile, just as sharp. "Oh, you know me. Always looking for a good time."
Evelyne studied him for a long moment, unreadable.
Then, softly—"We should speak. Privately."
Riven's smirk didn't waver.
But deep inside, he knew—
The game had already begun.