The morning was still young; light barely filtered through the palace’s tall, ornate windows.

The aftermath of the noble gathering still hung in the air — a heavy, tired silence broken only by the faint clatter of distant maids tidying up from the night before.

Lucy, however, was wide awake — and had been for hours. Her heart thudded against her chest as she strode through the dim halls, her satin slippers whispering against the floor. She wore a pale lavender gown, simple yet flattering, her hair twisted into a loose braid.

Her fingers nervously fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve as she approached the grand double doors of Leander’s private chamber.

Two guards stood posted, as rigid.

"I want to see the king," Lucy said.

"You can't, Lady Lucy," one of the guards replies with a straight face.

"You must let me in," Lucy insisted, her voice sharp with urgency as she stepped closer. "It’s important."

The guards, unmoved, simply exchanged a brief glance. One shook his head slightly.

"His Majesty has not summoned visitors," the taller of the two said gruffly.

Lucy scowled, her hands balling into fists. "I’m not here for gossip or trivial matters. I need to speak to him — now."

The guards remained impassive. The taller one shifted his weight, his hand inching subtly closer to the hilt of his sword, a silent warning.

Lucy opened her mouth to argue again when a deep voice, muffled by the heavy door, rang out:

"Let her in."

The guards hesitated for a second before pulling the doors open.

Lucy took a shaky breath and stepped inside.

Inside, Leander sat on a cushioned chair near the fireplace; he looked every bit the king even in his relaxed state. His black linen shirt hung loosely over his broad frame, the collar slightly open to reveal the strong line of his throat.

His hair, usually so perfectly groomed, was slightly tousled as if he had barely run his hands through it after rising. A long scroll was unfurled across his lap, his fingers tracing over the ink as he read.

When he looked up at her, there was a sharpness in his gaze, an unspoken warning not to waste his time.

Lucy immediately dropped into a low curtsy, her voice trembling.

"Good morning, Your Majesty. Forgive me for disturbing you so early..."

Leander set the scroll aside and leaned back, one brow raised in silent question.

"I—I have something to show you," she said, lifting her chin in a desperate attempt to appear confident. "Something important. Please... you must come with me."

There was a long pause. Leander studied her for a beat too long, his piercing eyes seeming to see right through her. He remained still, his thumb idly stroking the chair.

Finally, his voice broke the silence, low and dangerous.

"If you are playing games, Lucy," he said, each word deliberate and heavy, "you will not like the consequences."

He let the threat hang in the air, the weight of it sinking into the room like a stone into a still pond.

Lucy swallowed hard.

"I would never dare, Your Majesty," she said quickly, forcing a strained smile onto her face.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, slowly, Leander rose to his feet, towering over her effortlessly; the loose fabric of his shirt shifted as he moved, revealing his muscles underneath.

He adjusted the cuffs of his loose shirt, his expression unreadable.

"Lead the way," he ordered.

Lucy nodded eagerly, turning on her heel and hurrying ahead while Leander followed behind at an almost lazy pace, his hands clasped behind his back, his long shadow stretching along the wall.

Leander’s eyes narrowed slightly as he watched Lucy glance back at him nervously every few steps.

"Where exactly are we going, Lucy?" he asked, his tone calm.

"You will see soon, Your Majesty," she said breathlessly, quickening her pace.

Still, he said nothing, his mind already alert, calculating, preparing for whatever nonsense she was about to drag him into.

After a few more twists and turns through the palace, they arrived in front of Thomas’s chamber door.

Lucy paused. She turned to Leander, who simply raised one eyebrow.

"Thomas’s chamber?" he asked coolly, voice low and smooth. "Is this your grand surprise?"

"You will understand," Lucy said breathlessly, twisting the doorknob without waiting for permission. Her heart thundered in her chest.

This is it... she thought. This is how I'll ruin her.

The heavy door creaked open, and both Leander and Lucy stepped inside.

Leander’s eyes swept over the room lazily, a faint frown on his face.

Lucy stepped forward eagerly, her heart hammering in her chest, breath short with anticipation.

But the sight that met her froze her in place.

Lucy’s triumphant smile faltered almost immediately.

Her breath hitched sharply in her throat.

On the large bed, tangled in rumpled sheets, were two figures.

Thomas and a woman—Lyla.

On the grand bed, tangled in disheveled sheets, two figures stirred from sleep. The soft rustle of fabric filled the tense air.

Thomas stirred first, blinking in the low light, his face slack with confusion , his bare chest visible as he sat up.

Besides, Lyla’s eyelids fluttered open moments after, her hair spilling messily across the pillow, and her shoulders were also bare to him.

As realization hit them,

W-What is this?" Lyla stammered, her voice cracking, dragging the blanket over her body as she scrambled to sit up.

Thomas rubbed his face with one hand, trying to clear the fog from his mind.

"Lyla? What the hell—?" Thomas swore under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

Lucy stumbled a step back, her face draining of color.

No. No. No. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Her mind screamed.

It was supposed to be Moira!

Beside her, Leander's face remained unreadable. Cold. Patient. Watching.

His gaze shifted from the disheveled bed to Lucy, who looked ready to collapse under the weight of her own horror.

"Is this what you brought me to see?" His voice was low, almost bored.

Lucy snapped her gaze to him, heart thundering. Panic clawed up her throat.

She forced a shaky laugh, though it sounded painfully unnatural.

"I-I thought..." she stammered, "I thought something was wrong here. I heard rumors after the gathering... I—I was only trying to help, Your Majesty. To protect your court’s dignity..."

Leander tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes pinning her where she stood.

"A noble act," he murmured, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

Lucy felt her palms grow clammy, sweat beading at her temples.

The silence after Leander's words was heavier than any shout.

He glanced briefly at Thomas, his tone even but commanding.

"Come see me this afternoon," he said simply.

Thomas stiffened, confusion flashing across his face. "Yes, Your Majesty," he muttered.

Leander then turned, giving Lucy a single, sharp glance — a glance full of quiet warning — before walking out of the room, the door closing softly behind him.

Lucy hesitated, her face burning with embarrassment, then hurried after him.

She didn’t dare linger. Not after that failure.

The door clicked shut again.

And then there were only two left.

Lyla sat hunched on the edge of the bed, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, her face pale, her hair a wild, tangled mess around her shoulders. The pain she's feeling all over her body, most especially between her legs, was nothing compared to this situation.

Tears clung to her lashes, but she furiously blinked them away, refusing to let them fall.

Thomas stood a few feet away, arms crossed tightly over his chest, jaw clenched so hard a vein pulsed visibly at his temple.

The air between them crackled with tension.

For a long moment, neither spoke.

Then Lyla broke the silence, her voice trembling with anger and humiliation.

"What did you do to me?" she hissed, glaring up at him.

Thomas's brow furrowed deeply. "What the hell are you talking about?" he snapped. "I should be asking you that!"

"I woke up here!" she shouted.

Pain and confusion twisted her face. "In your bed! How did I get here?!"

Thomas raked a hand through his hair, paced a few steps, and then turned back to her.

"How did you expect me to know?"

He trailed off, frustration tightening every line of his body.

"You took advantage of me!" Lyla accused, her voice cracking.

Thomas's eyes darkened dangerously.

"Don't you dare," he growled.

"I would never—never—force myself on a woman."

Lyla flinched, but stubbornness and hurt kept her upright.

"Then explain this!" she spat, gesturing wildly at the bed.

"Explanation for what?" Thomas shouted back, the veins in his neck standing out.

Lyla sat frozen, the full horror of what had happened crashing down on her.

Her plan with Lucy — her beautiful, careful plan — had turned into her own ruin.

No king would ever touch her now.

A woman caught in such disgrace was as good as discarded.

Tears welled up again, hotter this time, brimming with rage, shame, and the purest despair.

Thomas's arms were crossed, and he was breathing hard through his nose, his shirt still rumpled and half-open, his expression hard to read — a mix of anger and disgust.

"You," Lyla choked out, pointing a trembling finger at him. "You ruined everything!"

Thomas's brows snapped together in fury.

"Me?!" His voice was like a whip crack in the silent room. "You're out of your mind if you think I planned this."

She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling very small.

I didn't want this," she whispered.

Thomas’s anger faltered for a moment at the brokenness in her voice.

"And you think I did?" he said, softer but bitter. "You think this will do me any favors?"

Silence again.

Heavy. Crushing.

Lyla wiped her face roughly with the back of her hand. Her entire body ached — inside and out.

A deep shame curled in her gut, twisting painfully.

Everything had gone wrong. Everything.

Thomas let out a breath, running both hands through his hair again, looking utterly exhausted.

"I don't know who set this up," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "But I'm going to make sure I find the person."

Lyla stared down at her hands in regret, her fingers curling into fists against the blanket.

Neither of them spoke again.

The early morning light grew brighter, throwing long shadows across the cold stone floor.

Two broken, confused souls sat there — bound now by a mistake just one of them fully understood.