Prince Darius Vane

Lysandra’s POV

He had caught me before I could even test that theory. Before my muscles could coil to make the desperate escape, Varek’s hand locked around my arm, dragging me back from the precipice with effortless, terrifying force. I had no time to strike back. No time to summon whatever flicker of defiance remained. In a blur of motion, he swept me down from the stone wall, hauling me into the shadows of the courtyard.

Before my feet could find balance on the uneven ground, cold metal clamped tight around my ankles. The sharp, mechanical click of the heavy Voidcuffs echoing in the night sealed my fate.

The suppression hit me like a physical blow. The faint hum of magic in my blood died out instantly, replaced by a hollow, sickening weight. I jerked my leg instinctively, trying to kick away from his grip. The cuffs punished the sudden movement. A searing, agonizing heat flared straight through the iron, biting deep into my skin. The burn sent a sharp gasp tearing through my teeth, forcing me to freeze.

By the time I could think clearly through the stinging pain, the fire had already gone dull inside me. Varek did not drag me back toward the towering fortress or call for his armed guards. Instead, he steered me straight out toward the dark, outer dirt road.

A carriage waited there, hidden in the thick tree line, positioned as if he had known the exact spot my desperate climb would end. He shoved me inside the confined space and climbed in right after, taking the seat directly across from me. The heavy door clicked shut. The carriage lurched forward into the black night.

Inside the fast-moving carriage, the isolation felt thick and oppressive. No guards rode inside with us. No secondary escort followed the wheels. Just the steady, rhythmic thud of hooves on the dirt road and the heavy silence stretching between us.

"You really should stop staring at me," Varek said, his voice sliding through the dark air. A faint smirk played on his sculpted mouth. "It makes me a bit shy."

I glared at his shadow. "Where are you taking me?"

He merely tilted his head, leaning back against the plush leather seat, looking infuriatingly relaxed.

"Where are we going?" I demanded furiously, my voice rising above the rattle of the wooden wheels.

"Didn’t you want to go to the border?" he asked, his tone casual.

I frowned, keeping my posture rigid. The answer sounded far too easy. Nothing about this man suggested he would hand over a victory just because I tried to steal it. My hands curled into tight fists in my lap. I tested the limits of the metal binding me, shifting my right foot just a fraction.

Pain flared instantly. The sharp heat radiated up my calf, locking my muscles in place.

"You should learn when to stop," he murmured.

I ignored the warning, keeping my chin lifted and my back straight. I refused to let my guard drop. I refused to lean back and give him the satisfaction of seeing my exhaustion.

Then he moved.

One second he sat across from me, a relaxed shadow in the dim light. The next, his hand closed like a vice around my wrist. He yanked me forward. I braced instinctively, digging my heels into the floorboards to wrench free, but the Voidcuffs punished the resistance without mercy. Agony shot up my legs, turning my muscles to lead.

Varek used that exact second of hesitation. His immense physical strength crushed my magically restricted state. He hauled me across the narrow gap between the seats and pulled me down hard right beside him.

"Sit still," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

I planted my boots, pushing back against his chest, desperate to keep my physical distance. The cramped space offered zero leverage. He simply angled his broad torso, pressing his weight forward until I collapsed onto the seat beside him. His large hand pushed my head firmly toward his shoulder.

I stiffened, locking my spine, refusing to yield. "I am not tired."

He laughed under his breath. "Enough. You have been awake for too long and you look like you are about to collapse. Rest. I will wake you when we reach the border."

"I am not resting near you," I hissed, pulling away from his shoulder. I forced myself to sit upright, edging as close to the wooden carriage wall as possible. I was determined to stay awake. I would never lower my defenses around a tyrant.

But the sheer exhaustion of the past week, the terror, the soot, the magic drain, began to pull at my bones. The rhythmic sway of the carriage became a heavy lullaby. My eyelids drooped. My head grew too heavy for my neck to support. The darkness dragged me under.

The next thing I knew, I awoke with a harsh start.

My cheek was resting intimately against his broad shoulder.

My body stiffened instantly, shame and panic spiking through my veins. I snapped my head up, pulling away from him. The carriage had finally stopped moving. The air inside felt distinctly colder, biting through the thin fabric of my borrowed dress.

Varek remained right beside me, his head angled slightly back against the leather. His dark hair fell loose across his forehead, and for a brief, terrifying second, his sleeping face looked almost normal. Calm. Then his eyes fluttered open, dark and sharp.

"Are you planning to run away again?" he asked, his mouth curving into that familiar, mocking shape.

I glared at him, pressing my back flat against the carriage wall, refusing to answer.

His dark amusement flared evident in his eyes. He reached into the dark corner of his seat and pulled out a plain, featureless mask. He held it out toward me.

"What is that?" I asked, my voice tight.

"You would not want your precious soldiers thinking you betrayed Novaria and ran off with Vorlund’s prince," he warned smoothly, his gaze turning dangerous. "Unless you plan to start a war for me on your first night out."

My breath caught. My soldiers. The border.

I snatched the stiff leather and smoke-scented cloth from his hand, forcing it over my face. My fingers fumbled with the thick ties, securing the mask tight against my skin until it hid my identity. It felt pre-planned. A trap set before I ever climbed that fortress wall.

"You can take it off," Varek added, his voice dropping into a chilling, deadly ultimatum. "Just know that the exact moment you do, this camp will turn into a mass grave. And no one will ever live to understand who condemned them."

The sheer lethality in his tone made my stomach twist. I knew he was not bluffing. Before I could formulate a response, he reached past me and knocked once on the carriage wall.

The heavy door opened instantly.

Cold morning air rushed in, carrying the distinct scent of damp soil, raw steel, and burning campfire smoke. Varek stepped out first. I followed behind, my legs stiff, the Voidcuffs biting into my skin with every step I took down to the earth.

The stark reality of our location hit me like a physical blow.

We stood directly at the heavily fortified, tense divide between Novaria and Vorlund. Massive wooden barricades, iron spikes, and deep trenches stretched across the landscape. Vorlund guards stood rigid at their posts, their armor gleaming in the early light.

Varek started walking. He strode purposefully right through the dirt path, heading straight for the massive Vorlund gates. I followed a few paces behind, the mask suffocating my breaths.

The Vorlund guards recognized their prince immediately. They stepped aside in perfect unison, hauling the heavy iron gates open without a single word of hesitation. Varek crossed the threshold without slowing his pace.

He headed straight toward the Novarian line.

My heart began to hammer a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I stared at the Novarian soldiers visible just beyond the divide. I saw the familiar silver crests polished on their chest plates. I heard the rough, familiar cadence of my own language drifting through the cold morning air. This was my home. This was the military camp meant to protect my kingdom.

Varek approached the Novarian gates without a shred of hesitation.

A sharp shout rose from the front line. Men scrambled. Weapons shifted. But then, to my rising horror and disbelief, the Novarian gates opened.

My own kingdom’s armed soldiers parted ways for him.

They stepped back, lowering their spears, offering no resistance as the tyrant prince of their enemy walked straight into their territory. The men stared at him with tight, wary expressions. Some looked resentful, others confused, but not a single blade was raised. Not a single command was given to strike him down. They simply watched him pass, letting him walk deep into the heart of my homeland’s military camp.

I walked behind him, a masked prisoner in my own kingdom, sickened by the sight of my people yielding to the monster who had taken me.

Varek ignored the perimeter tents. He moved with strict purpose, heading toward the largest, most heavily guarded war tent in the center of the camp. The Novarian guards stationed at the entrance stiffened as Varek approached, their hands gripping their weapons tight, but they pulled the heavy canvas flap aside anyway.

We entered the war tent unannounced.

The air inside was thick with the heat of a low fire brazier and the smell of melting lantern wax. A massive wooden war table sat in the center, strewn with maps and carved markers.

Then I saw him.

Standing tall by the edge of the table was Crown Prince Darius Vane.

The sudden sight of him hit me so fiercely that my chest tightened, trapping the air in my lungs. His posture was rigid, his jaw set hard, his dark eyes instantly locking onto Varek. Every familiar line of his face, the set of his broad shoulders, pulled at my shattered nerves. My hands began to tremble. The overwhelming urge to rip the stiff mask from my face, to scream his name and run to him, flared hot in my blood.

But Varek’s chilling threat echoed in my mind. A mass grave.

I forced my trembling hands down to my sides, curling my fingers into fists, strictly keeping the mask secured.

"Well," Varek said, his voice carrying a smooth, amused edge as his gaze swept the tense room. "This is a warmer welcome than I expected."

Darius did not flinch. His jaw remained tight with evident tension. "You're late."

Varek smiled. It was a dark, calculated expression. His predatory gaze drifted slowly past Darius, past the maps on the table, ultimately landing on the figure standing quietly in the shadows beside my prince.

My eyes followed his gaze.

Standing beside Darius was a woman. She was elegantly dressed, draped in fine fabrics that had no place inside a muddy border camp. Her silhouette was poised, confident, standing exactly where I was supposed to stand.

A rush of cold dread spilled down my spine. My blood ran instantly ice-cold.

Even in the shadowy, flickering lantern light, I recognized the slope of her shoulders. I recognized the color of her hair. I knew exactly who she was supposed to be.

Varek let the tense, heavy silence stretch painfully inside the tent. He watched the realization, the twisted theater of it all, play out in the quiet space before his mouth curved into a dark, playful smirk.

"And this must be..." Varek said softly, his dark eyes focused on the woman standing beside Darius. "Your wife. Lysandra Rydel."