Chapter 20
Henriette’s spoon stilled midway to her mouth as the soft clatter of hurried footsteps echoed outside the sunroom.
Morning light filtered through the tall windows, casting golden streaks across the white tablecloth, the warm bread, the fresh pears, and cheese she hadn’t yet touched. A vase of wildflowers, picked by the kitchen girl that morning, tipped slightly in the breeze from the open archway.
She had been alone. Grateful for it. It was one of the few places no one expected her to perform.
Then Thess appeared.
She was breathless, pale beneath her skin. She didn’t bow, didn’t wait for permission to speak.
“He’s here.”
Henriette blinked. “Who?”
Thess stepped closer, voice low. “The King’s brother.”
She slowly lowered the spoon. “That’s not possible.”
“He arrived just after sunrise. He didn’t wait for escort or fanfare. Rode straight into the courtyard and demanded audience.”
Her hand clenched around the edge of the table. “That kingdom is weeks away.”
Thess nodded once. “Apparently, he was already traveling. They say he meant to arrive for the wedding.”
She pushed the bowl aside. Appetite gone.
“Where is he now?”
“In the throne hall,” Thess said. “With the King.”
Henriette stood at once. “Has anyone warned Arin?”
Thess hesitated. “He knows his brother. But I don’t think he knows what he’s come for.”
Henriette pressed her palms down to still her trembling hands. “Of course not. No one ever comes just to say hello.”
Thess didn’t smile. “Shall I send word if the meeting turns… sour?”
She shook her head. “No. I’ll go myself.”
The corridors felt cooler than usual. Maybe it was her nerves, or maybe it was the way the castle always seemed to shift when old blood returned.
She remembered his eyes from Arin’s memories. Dark and sharp like obsidian. The kind that could see the lie beneath the silk.
She stepped into the throne hall just as Arin rose from the dais.
His brother stood beside him.
He looked older than Arin remembered. His hair was shorter now, and his face had taken on more edge, like stone carved thinner with time. But his presence was exactly the same—dense, calculating, dangerous.
He turned the moment he sensed her.
A slow, unreadable smile touched his mouth. “Henriette.”
Her name sounded like a test in his mouth.
She kept her voice calm. “You arrived early.”
His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Time waits for no kingdom.”
Arin stepped toward her, his expression unreadable. “I was just telling him about your plans for the harvest celebration.”
Henriette nodded. “We’ve changed the venue to the lower fields. Better wind.”
The brother arched a brow. “And you’re overseeing such things yourself now?”
“I always did,” she replied.
“Of course,” he said smoothly. “Forgive me. It’s been some time since I saw you... active.” He licked his lips.
There was a silence after that. Arin glanced between them, tension seeping through the space like smoke.
The brother broke it. “May I speak to you?” he asked, gaze still fixed on her.
Henriette felt Arin stiffen at her side. He could sense she was uncomfortable.
She answered for him. “Of course.”
He led her down the hall that curved past the grand chambers, past the garden with the crumbling fountain, until they reached the covered terrace where no one ever lingered.
It smelled faintly of rain, even though the sky was clear.
Henriette folded her arms as she leaned lightly against one of the columns. “You’ve come to stir things, haven’t you?”
The brother clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ve come to see the truth.”
“The truth of what?”
He walked a slow circle around the space. “Arin’s memory may be broken, but mine isn’t. And the woman standing before me was promised to me first.”
Her chin lifted. “Not by my kingdom.”
“Yes,” he said. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you were meant to be my wife. My queen.”
Henriette felt her breath catch, just for a second.
He turned to face her again. “I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped into that hall. The way he looks at you, like you’re both new and familiar. Like he’s trying to solve you.”
She didn’t respond.
“I don’t know what you’ve done,” he said softly, “but if you’ve used this situation to manipulate him...”
“I haven’t,” he cut in. “Not yet,” he added. “But something tells me you have.”
“I’ve done nothing but care for him. Protect him. Be what he needed.”
He studied her face. “Convenient, isn’t it? A man with no memory, and a woman who wears a crown because he can’t recall who used to.”
Henriette’s voice was low now. “You never liked me. Not then, not now.”
“No,” she said plainly. “Because you always wanted power. And you’re clever enough to know how to get it.”
“I wanted your kingdom,” he snapped. “And I still do.”
That didn’t surprise her.
She saw it in the way his brow twitched, in the way his jaw tensed for just a heartbeat before smoothing again.
He stepped closer. “Then you’ll understand why I will take this kingdom. And you.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Then it won’t just be your crown at risk.”
She didn’t flinch.
And after a long, hard pause, he turned and walked away.
She didn’t go looking for Arin after that.
She needed to collect herself. To keep her mask smooth and her thoughts clear. The brother had shaken something loose—something Henriette hadn’t wanted to face: how close the whole illusion was to shattering.
Not because of a mistake.
But because Arin was beginning to see her.
And so was his brother.
That evening, Arin came to her chamber.
No guards. No fanfare. Just a soft knock and the rustle of his boots on the stone floor.
She opened the door and found him standing there, the flicker of torchlight in his eyes.
“I should’ve come sooner,” he said. “I know he spoke to you.”
Henriette nodded and stepped aside. “Come in.”
He did, his hands curled loosely at his sides. “What did he say?”
“That he wants this kingdom.”
He smiled faintly. “It is my understanding that it was promised to him first.”
Her heart skipped.
“Not by this kingdom. By your father,” she added, walking toward the window. “My kingdom and I were betrothed to you.”
“You’re stronger now. And... gentler, in a way. You hold things differently. And by the way, we are married. The priest will never agree to annul the marriage, or to give this kingdom to your brother.”
“I want peace with my brother. I know what happened. This rivalry between my brother and me is your fault. My parents’ death... your fault. I know everything now.”
She stepped closer, stopping just beside him. “Do you trust your brother?”
Arin hesitated. “I don't have a memory, and I can't trust you. You withheld the truth from me. This marriage is not love. It is a treaty."
Henriette sighed. “He’ll ruin you. And this kingdom.”
“He offered a trade. This kingdom—and you, for our family’s kingdom.”
“We are married!” Henriette half-shouted.
“A wedding and contract I don’t remember,” he said flatly, dismissive, as if his mind was already made up.
“Please. Give us a chance,” she pleaded, grabbing his hand.
He looked at her, eyes soft. “I doubt who I used to be. Because the more time I spend with you now, the less I want to remember someone else. Even if that man were me, I don’t feel the connection.”
Tears stung at her eyes, but she blinked them back.
“He already has two wives,” Henriette protested.
He didn’t answer. He only wished he had his memories, something to help him make sense of the mess.
He was halfway out the door when he turned around. “Is it true you lay with both of us?”
“Yes,” she choked. “But it’s not what you think. I’m sure your brother didn’t tell you the whole truth.” She was about to tell him that his brother raped her, but Arin was already gone.