Outside, the nimbus clouds that had cloaked the manor in the last few hours suddenly parted—ripped open by an unseen hand to reveal a brilliant sky, as though the world itself exhaled in relief. The sun spilled through the windows, illuminating the radiant light of the ancient tapestries and silver filigree.
Prince Alaric, standing near Lara, caught the shift in atmosphere. He knew what it meant. He had overstayed his welcome, and the time had come to leave.
He bowed respectfully to Odin and Freya, then turned toward the door. But his gaze lingered—longer than necessary—on Lara. The air between them was thick with a thousand unsaid things. Then, with quiet grace, he stepped out.
"Lara, dear," Freya said softly. "I strongly advise you to still think through it. While Prince Alaric is better than the crown prince, he is still a royal." She looked at Lara with gentleness. "If a royal decided to take concubines, then you can do nothing about it. This is tradition. I don’t like you to be burdened with the petty jealousies of women sharing one husband."
Asael suddenly found an opportunity to find fault with Prince Alaric. "Mother is right. Prince Alaric already had two concubines. I don’t think you will be happy with a man having more than two wives." Asael proudly looked at his parents.
"Father has only one wife, and look at how happy mother is. Father still looked at our mother with devotion, even at their age."
Odin glared at Asael. What did he mean by that? Does he think that he was too old to dote on his wife?
Lara smiled. Her big eyes turned into crescents. "Brother," she turned and looked at the man with a face almost similar to hers. "Alaric had divorced his two concubines and sent them back to their families."
"What?" It was not just one voice that asked, but a chorus of four voices.
"Yes. He divorced. He no longer has concubines and doesn’t intend to take any in the future."
Then a sigh of relief.
Upstairs, Mira burst into her chamber, skirts swishing like restless flames. She stormed to the window and threw open the shutters with a sharp clatter that echoed down the quiet hallway. Cool air rushed in, biting against her flushed cheeks as she leaned out, her breath catching in her throat.
There he was—Prince Alaric—striding across the cobbled courtyard like he belonged to the world and it to him. The hem of his dark cloak swept behind him like a silken shadow, regal and menacing all at once. Every step he took radiated authority, carved from bloodline and battle, destiny and desire.
Even from behind, he exuded power—noble, commanding, utterly self-possessed. Her heart betrayed her, stuttering at the sight.
He looks more like a king than Reuben ever could.
And in that moment, envy burned bright within her. Not just for Lara’s title. But for the man she had claimed.
A fury Mira had buried long ago surged through her like wildfire licking at old bones. Her heart pounded against her ribs, not with love, but with possession, with the ache of something she believed had always belonged to her.
Not just the title. Not just the affection. The power. The man.
Her fingers gripped the edge of the windowsill until her knuckles turned white. Her eyes darkened with swirling emotions. Deep within her, a storm was brewing.
Mira watched the carriage disappear beyond the tree-lined cobbled road, the glint of its golden crest catching the sunlight before vanishing.
She stood frozen for a moment, breathless, as her thoughts raced like wild horses.
Since they were young, she had always been the quiet one, the one in the shadows. And Lara had always been at the center of everything. They were both a Norse, but why was she the apple of the eye of her parent and bothers?
She, on the other hand, was neglected and bullied. In a family of so many sisters, she was just a wallflower.
But one day, when she was seven, her Aunt Freya came to their house and asked one of them to spend the summer with Lara so Lara would have a playmate. She was not the one initially selected, but her younger sister Manna, who was the same age as Lara. Fragile and innocent Manna, who never raised her voice, who clutched her dolls like they were treasure.
And weakness didn’t deserve opportunity.
Mira’s mouth curled at the memory—the sound of the splash, the muffled gasps, the feverish cries echoing from the edge of the pond. No one had seen her push Manna. No one had questioned why Mira offered herself as the replacement when Manna fell ill.
That day, with a smirk on her face, she left with her Aunt Freya and headed to General Odin’s manor, which was bigger than theirs. She had gotten her own room, not as big as Lara’s, but she did not have to share it with two of her sisters.
That day, she started to act like Lara’s doting big sister, especially when her Uncle Odin and Aunt Freya were watching. She did everything to please her Uncle and Aunt and cousins. They were not difficult to please. Their family was loving and caring by nature. She loved the attention they were giving her, and she craved more. She wanted it all for herself.
When the summer ended and it was time for her to return to her family, she had vowed that everything that Lara had would be hers someday, and she, Mira, the neglected and the bullied, would rise above her sisters and show them how great she was.
And she had succeeded. Two years ago, she had taken the place of Lara. She had claimed the affection of her parents and her six brothers...so she thought. She had the attention. The admiration. Even the family’s trust.
But now, she saw it unraveling. Piece by piece, thread by thread.
Lara was reclaiming what Mira had stolen.
And the man Mira wanted most had never even looked at her.
Her chest heaved. Her reflection in the window stared back—eyes wild, lips trembling with unshed rage.
No. I won’t be the girl standing in the hallway, watching from the dark.