Two Sides of the Love Triangle

Behind Castle Walls
The hooves of Alexander's horse thundered against the stone road as the capital of Edralis came into view. The towering spires of the royal palace glimmered under the early afternoon sun, a sharp contrast to the turmoil that swirled within him. He had ridden nonstop since leaving Bellaflor, needing the wind in his hair and the ache in his muscles to quiet the chaos in his chest. But no amount of distance could erase the memory of Aurora’s tear-streaked face... or the taste of her kiss lingering on his lips.

He passed through the castle gates without fanfare, the guards saluting him with wide-eyed surprise. Covered in dust and still wearing his travel cloak, he looked less like the Crown Prince of Edralis and more like a soldier returning from the frontlines.

"Your Highness," a steward called, jogging to meet him.

"Have my horse tended to," Alexander said, dismounting in one fluid motion. He tossed the reins to the man and brushed past him. "And inform no one of my return. Not yet."

He moved through the marble halls of the palace with long strides. Every corner, every mosaic tile, every perfume-scented corridor felt too clean, too composed. He passed a young maid with a linen bundle in her arms.

"You there," he said, stopping.

She stiffened, nearly dropping the towels. "Y-Your Highness?"

"Prepare a bath in my chambers. Now."

"At once, my lord."

He didn’t wait for her bow, already moving again. His boots echoed against the polished floors. By the time he reached his room, steam was already curling under the door. Inside, the marble tub awaited, the water fragrant with herbs and oils. He stripped silently and stepped into the bath, sinking beneath the warmth.

When he emerged later, towel wrapped around his waist, the room was empty. He dried himself, then crossed to the mirror, pausing to take in his reflection. Cleaned, combed, and dressed in his royal attire, he looked the part of the Edralian prince. But his face gave him away.

He ran a hand through his damp blonde hair. His eyes—those sharp, piercing blues—searched his reflection, trying to anchor himself in duty.

But all he could think about was her.

Aurora.

He could still see the tears on her cheeks, feel her warmth when she leaned into him. That kiss... It hadn’t been desperate or reckless. It had been real. She had kissed him back. And that scared him more than anything.

He turned away from the mirror and fastened the gold clasp of his cloak, the House crest gleaming on his chest. With one last breath, he stepped into the hallway, head held high.

The palace was abuzz with activity. Maids hurried past with silver trays, guards adjusted their stances as he passed, and ministers bowed low.

"Your Highness."

"Prince Alexander."

He nodded in return, offering curt acknowledgments. But he wasn’t in the mood for court games or hollow praises. He navigated through the labyrinthine halls until he stood before a tall set of gilded doors adorned with the Queen's sigil: a silver flame wreathed in thorns.

His hand hovered over the handle.

He hesitated.

He could already hear her voice in his head. She always knew when he was near. It was eerie, how his mother seemed to sense things long before they happened.

He closed his eyes. Inhaled deeply.

Then he pushed the door open.

Queen Lysandra sat reclined on her grand velvet chair like a panther in silk. Her long legs were propped upon an embroidered footstool, being massaged delicately by a pair of maids. Another stood beside her feeding her sugared braids of fruit. A third gently combed her ebony black hair, massaging her scalp with practiced grace.

"Alexander," she said, without opening her eyes, a soft smirk curling her painted lips. "You’re back."

He blinked. "How did you know it was me?"

Her eyes opened slowly, those infamous violet irises gleaming. "Please. No one else would dare barge into the Queen’s chambers without knocking or asking permission first."

Alexander snorted and folded his arms.

"You look well," she said, sitting up with a regal stretch. "Did your journey back go smoothly?"

"Yes. As well as it could," he replied.

She waved her hand. "Out. All of you. I wish to speak with my son. Alone."

The maids scattered like trained birds, vanishing without a sound and closing the door behind them.

Lysandra rose to her full height and walked to her son, placing her hands gently on his shoulders.

"I have news."

He arched a brow. "What kind of news?"

Her grin widened. "The kind I know you’ll want to see with your own eyes."

—

Flanked by two guards carrying torches, Alexander descended into the underbelly of the palace. The air grew colder with every step. Stone walls wept moisture. The scent of mold and iron and blood clung to the narrow corridors.

The guards said nothing as they guided him down, their expressions unreadable behind their helmets. The only sound was the drip of water and the soft crunch of boots on grit.

At last, they came to a stop.

One of the guards unlocked a rusted iron cell door. The creak echoed through the corridor like a scream.

Alexander turned to them. "Torch."

The guard handed him one without hesitation.

He stepped into the cell.

The darkness recoiled at the flame’s glow, revealing stone walls streaked with red. Shackles hung from the far end, and in the corner, lying broken and bloodied on the floor, was a figure barely recognizable.

His chest barely rose. One arm lay at an unnatural angle. His clothes were tattered and soaked in blood and grime.

Alexander stepped closer, lowering the torch.

And froze.

His mouth parted in disbelief as he stood, staring at the only man who had haunted his thoughts as much as Aurora had.

"Darius?"