(The King's Study)

The heavy doors of the king's study creaked open, and Thomas stepped inside.

“Took you long enough,” Leander said casually, as he didn't look up.

Leander sat there, lounging in a wide leather chair behind the grand desk, one leg stretched out lazily, a glass of blood in his hand even though the hour was early.

Thomas gave a breathless laugh, rubbing a hand through his disheveled hair. “Yeah, well... wasn't exactly looking forward to this.”

Leander finally lifted his gaze, a sharp, knowing glint in his eyes.

“Sit,” he said simply, nodding toward the chair across from him.

Thomas dropped into the seat.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“So?” Leander prompted.

“How the hell did you manage to wake up with a woman in your bed?”

Thomas groaned and dragged his hands down his face.

“I wish I knew,” he muttered. “ I asked for a coffee, which a maid brought to my room. Just after I drank the coffee, I started preparing for the event. Then all of a sudden I started feeling weird, thinking it was something I could brush off, not until it started getting out of hand.”

He shook his head, remembering the hazy, drugged sensation that had stolen his senses.

“I don’t even remember undressing. I woke up and...”

His jaw tightened. “She was there. In my bed. I”— He broke off, the shame too thick to put into words.

Leander’s expression didn’t change. He just leaned back, watching him carefully.

“You couldn’t fight it?” he asked, voice low.

Thomas gave a short, bitter laugh.

“You know what it’s like when something’s in your blood... when your body won’t listen?”

He looked up, eyes burning. “I’m sure that someone drugged the coffee I drank because before I drank it, I was alright.”

Leander studied him a moment longer, then gave a slow, tired sigh.

“The girl is devastated,” he said, almost thoughtfully.

Thomas bowed his head.

“I know.”

Silence stretched again.

Finally, Leander stood, and he crossed the room to pour himself blood from a heavy decanter.

“You know the law,” he said over his shoulder, more like a tired brother dealing with a mess.

“You have sex with a woman ... even by accident... you marry her.”

Thomas stiffened in his chair. His fists clenched tight.

He had known. Of course he had.

But hearing it spoken aloud made it real. Final.

Leander turned, leaning against the table.

"You'll be tied to her forever," Leander said, voice flat. "Whether you want to or not."

“It’s not that I hate her,” he muttered. “It’s just—”

He dragged a hand through his hair again.

“It’s not the life I have plans for. Not like this.”

Leander shrugged, unbothered.

“Life rarely listens to your plans.”

Another beat of silence.

Thomas sat up a little straighter, his eyes hardening.

“But someone did this. Someone planned it.”

Leander lifted an eyebrow.

“Huh. Who do you suspect?”

“Lucy. She brought you to my chamber like she knew.”

Leander’s mouth twisted into something like a half-smirk, half-sneer.

"Lucy," he said thoughtfully, swirling his drink.

“Yes, she’s dangerous, Leander. Always sniffing around places she shouldn't be.”

“You have to make your finds. Before you can bring her down, you need evidence against her.”

Thomas exhaled slowly, "I will make sure I find all evidence."

“For now,” Leander said without turning around, “you prepare for your wedding.”

Thomas grimaced.

“When?”

Leander gave a wicked little grin over his shoulder.

“A fortnight. And Thomas...”

“Yeah?”

Leander’s golden eyes glowed faintly in the dim light.

“Smile a little at the ceremony, would you? You’re going to scare the guests otherwise.”

Thomas barked a short laugh despite himself, rising from his seat.

“Only if you don’t throw me into the fire first.”

Leander chuckled low in his throat, a rare sound.

Thomas left the room quietly, his heart still heavy — but his purpose sharp and clear.

He would marry Lyla.

He would find out who orchestrated this.

And he would make damn sure they regretted it.

****

Later at night the grand dining hall of the palace, usually alive with the low hum of conversation and the soft clatter of silverware, was drowning in an eerie silence.

At the head of the long table, King Leander sat with his usual composed stillness. His eyes were unreadable, flicking over everyone seated before him.

Moira sat near him. She kept stealing anxious glances toward her sister, her heart twisting painfully.

Lyla, seated across from Thomas, looked a wreck.

Her once-bright face was pale, her hands trembling slightly as she toyed with the untouched food on her plate. She didn't have the intention of coming down for dinner, but the king sent for everyone, which means after or before the meal he's going to announce it.

She wouldn’t even look in Thomas’s direction.

Thomas, on the other hand, was stiff and distant, his jaw clenched hard enough that a muscle ticked in his cheek. His plate sat nearly full.

His black hair was tousled from running his fingers through it too many times. He didn’t look at Lyla either.

Lucy, seated farther down the table, looked furious. She watched Leander quietly, her mind racing for a way to fix the disaster.

No one spoke.

The only sounds were the scrape of a fork.

Even the servants moved like shadows along the walls, sensing the tension in the room.

Finally, after what felt like an endless stretch of suffocating silence, Leander set down his goblet with a soft thud.

The sound made everyone jolt slightly.

Clearing his throat, he spoke — his voice slicing cleanly through the thick, oppressive air.

“As you all know,” he began, his gaze sweeping across the table, lingering slightly on Thomas and Lyla, “an incident occurred.”

Moira instinctively reached under the table, squeezing Lyla’s trembling hand.

Lyla stiffened but didn't pull away. Tears glistened in her eyes, threatening to spill.

Leander continued, his voice cool, almost detached.

"According to the law of the land... a man and a woman found or caught in such... compromising circumstances... must wed."

Lyla gave a tiny gasp, barely audible.

Thomas remained silent, though the knuckles gripping his goblet turned white.

Lucy shifted in her seat, clenching her teeth.

Leander let the silence stretch a beat longer, savoring the weight of his next words.

“In two weeks’ time,” he announced, each word crisp and final, “Thomas of House Darrow will marry Lyla Miller before the court and the gods.”

The hall seemed to shrink.

Somewhere, a servant dropped a tray with a loud clatter, quickly scooping it up and fleeing the hall.

Lyla bowed her head so low her dark hair fell across her face, hiding the silent tears that rolled down her cheeks.

No... no... this wasn’t supposed to happen, she cried inwardly.

Her heart screamed in rebellion. She didn't want this. Not Thomas.

Her dreams of Leander — of being his queen — crumbled to ash inside her.

She instantly regretted scheming with Lucy against her sister.

Moira squeezed her hand tighter, leaning closer.

“Lyla...” she whispered urgently, her voice filled with pity and helplessness.

“You have to stay strong. Maybe the king will reconsider... Maybe—”

Thomas shifted in his seat, finally daring to look at Lyla — but she didn’t meet his gaze. He felt the urge to embrace her and take her sadness away. Surprisingly, as he felt something strange—pain in his heart as he stared at her.

He inhaled deeply through his nose, schooling his features into impassiveness.

He would not show weakness here. Not now.

Across the table, Lucy stares quietly.

Her plan had failed, but at least Lyla is out of her way now; she just has to deal with Moira only, she thought inwardly.