Chapter 3 The Prince and the Lie

The corridors of the palace felt different now.

Once, she had floated through them with innocence wrapped around her like silk. Now, every step echoed with memory - of whispered betrayals behind closed doors, of smiles hiding knives, of love that had been nothing more than a lie...

No.

Not a lie.

A trap.

Thalia stood outside the sunroof where she knew Alaric spent his mornings - reading military reports he pretended not to care about, sipping bitter tea that made him feel more grown than he was.

She had been summoned.

The prince wished to speak with her.

Just like the first time.

Back then, she had gone breathless, heart fluttering, convinced that she was falling in love.

This time, her hands were steady.

The door opened with a soft creak.

He looked up from his desk.

Even now, Crown Prince Alaric looked like a storybook hero: silver-gold hair tousled from the wind, posture too perfect, eyes a strange, quiet blue. Cold and careful - but not yet cruel.

Not yet.

"Thalia," he said simply. "You're late."

She bowed her head, just enough to play the part.

"My apologies, Your Highness. I was remembering an old dream."

He watched her in silence for a beat too long. Then gestured toward the seat opposite him.

"Sit. I won't keep you long."

She obeyed. Let the silence stretch.

In her past life, this was the meeting where he asked her to accompany him to the Spring Ball - the first public show of their relationship. The first trap. The moment the court began watching her like a rival instead of a noblewoman.

She had said yes too quickly. Too eagerly.

This time...

"I wanted to thank you," he said, breaking her thoughts. "You've been... quieter lately. Less reckless. It's been noticed."

Ah. So they were already watching her.

"I've had time to reflect," she said, folding her hands. "Some mistakes do not deserve repeating."

He looked at her more carefully now, as if seeing something just slightly out of place.

"You speak as if you've lived two lives," he said.

Thalia's lips curved slightly.

"Maybe I have."

He frowned, but said nothing.

A flicker of doubt in his gaze. A sliver of curiosity.

She had planted a seed.

Not of affection.

Of uncertainty.

And in a court like this, doubt was the sharpest weapon of all.