Chapter 4 Threads of Fire

The days that followed their kiss blurred into a haze of longing and tension. Liora tried to bury herself in work hauling water, tending to Bram's illness, and helping Maeve at the herb stall but her heart beat to a rhythm no task could still.

Each morning, she rose with the same question burning through her: Would he return?

And every dusk, when shadows stretched across Duskmere's crooked rooftops, she found herself drifting toward the grove.

He was always there.

Prince Alaric no, just Alaric now in her thoughts shed his regal cloak and crown for roughspun wool and worn boots. But no disguise could hide the sharp grace in his posture, the noble weight in his gaze. He moved like a man trained to lead armies but spoke like one who had only now discovered the power of silence and truth.

They didn't always talk. Sometimes they simply walked together, fingers grazing, hearts thudding too loudly in their chests. Other times, they shared fragments of themselves memories, scars, and small dreams they'd never dared voice aloud.

"I used to think love was a game," Alaric admitted one evening, watching the fireflies flit through the branches above. "A tool used by the court to bind power and land. But now..."

He turned to her, brushing a loose curl from her cheek. "Now I think it's the only truth I've ever known."

Liora's breath caught. "You speak as if this could last."

He didn't smile. "I need it to."

But not everyone turned their eyes away as gently as the trees.

At the palace, Queen Isolde sat at the head of her long table, flanked by advisers, courtiers, and silent watchers. A missive lay open before her another report from Lord Wexley. Her son's visits to the village were no longer occasional they were frequent. Predictable. Dangerous.

"The girl must be dealt with," she said coldly, folding the parchment. "Before he does something irrevocable."

"What would Your Majesty have us do?" Lord Wexley asked carefully.

"Remind her of her place. Make her disappear from his path," she replied, voice like ice cracking beneath weight.

Back in Duskmere, the air had changed.

Liora noticed it in the way the guards lingered longer at the edge of town, their eyes sharper, their posture more rigid. The villagers once indifferent to her now looked at her with veiled judgment, their whispers no longer subtle.

Even Maeve had begun to pull away, speaking less, her smiles forced.

"You think I've changed," Liora said one night as they washed herbs in silence.

"I think you're falling into something that has no end but pain," Maeve said. "And you're dragging Bram into it, too."

Liora flinched. "He's just a child."

"Exactly. And if something happens to you, what happens to him?"

That night, the stars were hidden behind clouds, and the grove felt colder. But Alaric was there, waiting, a lantern in his hand.

"There's talk," she told him as soon as she stepped into the clearing. "They know. Your mother knows."

He didn't move. "Then let them know."

"You don't understand"

"I do. I've lived my life beneath the weight of expectation, duty, and silence. But I won't sacrifice you to it."

His words stirred something fierce inside her. "Then what do we do?"

Alaric took her hands in his, gaze unwavering. "We make them see. I'll speak with the Queen. I'll tell her that I"

"No, Liora interrupted, her voice trembling. "If you go to her, she'll take everything from you. Your title. Your birthright. She'll blame me. You know she will."

"She already has," he said.

That night, beneath the branches heavy with mist and moonlight, they kissed again this time not as strangers discovering fire, but as two souls who had already begun to burn.

And somewhere far away, a decision was made.

At dawn, a knock shattered the quiet of Liora's cottage.

She opened the door to find three palace guards on her doorstep. Behind them stood Lord Wexley, immaculate in his silver-trimmed cloak, expression unreadable.

"Liora of Duskmere," he said. "By decree of the crown, you are to come with us."

She stared, unblinking. "Why?"

"For questioning. And for your protection."

"From whom?"

He didn't answer.

Bram clutched her hand, panic rising in his small frame.

She turned to him, kneeling. "Stay with Maeve. I'll be back."

But as she was led away, through the dirt roads of the only home she'd ever known, past neighbors who stared with eyes full of pity and judgment, Liora knew the truth

Nothing would ever be the same again.