While Lara busied herself helping Prince Alaric remove his damp outer cloak, a pair of resentful eyes narrowed from behind a carved pillar on the second-floor landing. Hidden in the shadows, Mira watched them with barely concealed suspicion, her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the marble column.
Then, with a sudden creak, two doors swung open at once. Bener and Asael stepped out from their rooms, drawn by the sound of movement.
Asael’s eyes narrowed at the sight of Mira half-hidden in shadow. "Why are you skulking around like a thief?" he demanded, his voice low but sharp.
Startled, Mira gasped and took a hasty step back, nearly stumbling into Bener, who had emerged from the opposite room. She turned around quickly, her expression feigning innocence.
"Brothers," she said sweetly, clasping her hands before her chest, "I was only watching Sister Lara. Don’t you think she’s being... a bit too familiar with Prince Alaric?"
Asael’s gaze darkened, but he wasn’t surprised. He had suspected the prince might still be in the manor—Lara had come upstairs earlier to borrow a tunic, claiming Alaric had been caught in the sudden downpour. When the heavy rain had broken over the training fields, he and his brothers had been forced to abandon their drills and retreat to their rooms. Clearly, Lara had wasted no time bringing the prince inside.
"They’ve already returned?" Bener asked, resting one elbow on the wooden banister and glancing over the edge. "I didn’t see Gideon."
"I didn’t either," Mira said with a small shake of her head. "It’s just the two of them. Alone."
"Stop spying on them like some jealous handmaiden," Asael snapped. His tone was sharp, but there was an undercurrent of concern he didn’t bother to hide.
Mira scowled, her lips jutting in a sulky pout. Without another word, she turned on her heel and disappeared into her room, the door closing with a faint click behind her.
Asael and Bener exchanged a look, then descended the stairs together, their footsteps heavy with unspoken displeasure. When they reached the sitting room, they found their unease justified—Alaric stood too close to Lara, the flicker of a private smile passing between them.
Asael stepped forward, his tone clipped. "Your Highness, thank you for seeing Lara home. But now that the rain has stopped, perhaps it’s time you returned to your own estate?"
Before Alaric could respond, the rhythmic sound of descending footsteps drew everyone’s attention. General Odin and Marchioness Freya emerged from the upper level, their presence filling the room with a sudden, expectant silence.
Freya’s eyes landed on the delicate silver locket resting just above Lara’s heart. Her breath caught in her throat. Her gaze then lifted slowly to Alaric—he wore the same chain, the same silver glinting against his chest.
"You..." she whispered, disbelief flashing in her eyes as memories stirred like ghosts in a long-locked room.
"Marchioness Freya, I gave her the exact same necklace that my mother gave her when she was still a toddler."
Alaric stepped forward, his voice quiet but resolute. "Marchioness Freya," he said, "I gave her the same necklace your ladyship gave to her—when she was but a toddler. A keepsake from my mother, passed down with her blessing."
Freya turned to Odin, her gaze locking with his. A storm of emotions swirled in her eyes—love, fear, and something more profound. It was the look of a mother torn between promise and desire. And Odin, ever the warrior yet forever attuned to his wife’s heart, read every unspoken word in that glance.
He nodded solemnly, stepping forward. His movements were heavy with purpose as he approached Lara.
"My child," he said, his voice low but unwavering. He placed a firm, calloused hand on her shoulder—the same hand that once wielded a sword in defense of their land, now offering only comfort. "That agreement... it was forged long ago between your mother and the late Queen. A promise made in honor, not chains. If your heart does not consent to it, then we will not bind you to it. Your happiness, above all else, is what your mother and I desire most."
Lara’s breath caught. The gravity of her father’s words struck deep into her soul, and warmth rose in her chest like sunlight breaking through clouds. Her eyes shimmered, not with uncertainty—but clarity. Love. Belonging. She looked at Odin, then Freya, and her heart swelled with a conviction that had long eluded her.
At this moment, she was no longer the girl starving for love, a girl who worked hard to belong, to be accepted. She was a Norse. She had a family. She was home.
"Thank you, Father," she said, her voice rich with emotion. "For putting my happiness first... I’ve thought about this—truly. And I’ve made my decision."
She drew in a breath, steadying herself against the tide rising within.
"I like Alaric. I want to give this—us—a chance."
Her words fell like thunder, shattering the stillness in the room.
But beneath her steady voice, there was more. A secret calculation. Lara had seen the way the crown prince looked at her—not with affection, but with obsession. And she feared what he might do if denied. By choosing Alaric, she wasn’t just choosing a possible love—she was choosing protection. Strategy. Peace for her family.
She and Alaric have been through a lot together and she wanted to believe Alaric when he said they were fated. If not, how could they meet in Mount Ourea in such circumstances?
Asael’s brow furrowed. He stepped forward, unable to hide the crack in his voice. "Sister... maybe you should think it over. You might be rushing this."
His protest was born not of doubt, but of a brother’s desperate wish for more time. Time to be with his sister.
Across the room, Bener remained silent, but his eyes lingered on Alaric with quiet assessment. He had seen them together—seen the softness in Alaric’s gaze, the way Lara’s walls fell in his presence. He hadn’t spoken of it, but deep down, Bener knew: if Lara had to marry, better it be Alaric. At least his intentions were pure.
General Odin gave a long, weighted sigh. "Then so be it. Your decision is yours to make, daughter. And we shall honor it."
Mira’s grip on the banister tightened. After finding the necklace, she exited her room and listened to the conversation between her so-called parents and Lara.
So Lara knew about the betrothal all along. And now she accepted it?
Mira’s jaw clenched. Her chest tightened. Something fierce and hot twisted in her stomach.