Marlowe and Easton worked quickly, their breaths ragged, their hands stained. The night was their shield as they dragged the lifeless body through the hidden passageways beneath Drach Castle. Every step felt heavier than the last, but neither spoke of hesitation.
The body was that of a noble—one of the men who had conspired against Easton. His blood had barely cooled, and yet, there was no time for remorse. Only action.
Marlowe’s fingers trembled slightly as she wiped sweat from her brow, smearing dirt and crimson across her cheek. “We have to go farther,” she whispered. “If they find even a trace of him near the castle, suspicion will turn to you.”
Easton gave a short nod, his jaw clenched. “The ravine,” he said after a moment. “No one will search there.”
She didn’t question him. Instead, she tightened her grip on the noble’s arms and helped Easton carry the weight through the thickening darkness.
By the time they reached the ravine, dawn threatened to break on the horizon. Marlowe wiped her hands on her cloak, staring down into the abyss below. It was deep—deep enough that nothing would be found.
Easton exhaled, his body tense. “On three.”
They pushed together.
The body tumbled into the shadows, swallowed whole by the depths below.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.
Then, Easton turned to her. “You don’t have to do this for me.”
Marlowe met his gaze, her expression unreadable. “I already have.”
And with that, they disappeared into the darkness, bound by a secret that could cost them everything.
_
A few hours later, Easton and Marlowe returned to the castle through a hidden side entrance. Their clothes were stained with dirt, their bodies weary, but they moved with silent understanding.
Inside the dimly lit corridors, they parted ways—Easton heading to his private chambers and Marlowe to the guest quarters assigned to her.
Marlowe entered her room, bolting the door behind her. She peeled off her cloak, the weight of the night pressing onto her shoulders. As she washed the filth from her hands, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her fingers trembled slightly as she scrubbed the last remnants of blood from her nails.
“What have I done?” she whispered to herself.
Meanwhile, in his chambers, Easton stood beneath a basin of cold water, letting it wash away the evidence of his crime. His mind was a whirlwind—rage, guilt, and something else entirely.
Marlowe had helped him. Without question. Without fear.
As the water trickled down his face, he exhaled deeply. She had seen the darkness in him, and yet, she stayed.
Dressed in fresh clothes, they both met again in the halls of the castle, their eyes locking briefly. No words were spoken, but the air between them was thick with unspoken truths.
They had crossed a line together. And now, there was no turning back.
_
Marlowe changed into clean sleep clothes, the fabric soft against her skin, yet she still felt the weight of the night pressing on her. She slid under the covers, curling into herself as she stared at the ceiling.
Her mind raced, replaying everything—the body, the blood, Easton's silent tears. She had never seen him so vulnerable, so lost. And she had helped him without hesitation. Why?
She turned onto her side, gripping the blanket tightly. Because he needed her.
Marlowe let out a shaky breath, trying to calm her racing heart. What if someone found out? What if the truth unraveled? But then she remembered the way Easton had looked at her, the way his shoulders had finally eased under her touch.
That was enough.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. But even in the darkness, she knew—tonight had changed everything.
A few seconds later , she heard a knock from her door , Marlowe's breath caught in her throat as she sat up in bed. The dim candlelight flickered across Easton's face, highlighting the exhaustion in his eyes. He stood in the doorway, gripping a blanket, his usual confidence replaced with uncertainty.
"Can I… can I lay beside you?" His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. "I promise, I won’t do anything."
Marlowe stared at him for a moment. A king—the ruler of Drach—standing before her like a lost boy. She could still feel the weight of his silent tears from earlier, the way he had clung to her when he thought no one else could understand.
She swallowed and nodded, shifting to the side. "Alright."
Easton exhaled as if he had been holding his breath. He walked in, shutting the door behind him before making his way to the bed. Carefully, he laid down beside her, keeping his distance. The warmth of his presence was unfamiliar yet oddly comforting.
For a while, they just lay there in silence, listening to each other breathe. Then, softly, Easton whispered, "Thank you, Marlowe."
Marlowe turned her head to look at him, his face barely visible in the dim light. "For what?"
"For being here."
She felt her heart tighten at his words. Without thinking, she reached out, her fingers brushing against his hand. "You're not alone, Easton."
He squeezed her hand gently in response.
And for the first time in a long while, they both closed their eyes, finding peace in each other’s presence.
_
The room was quiet except for the soft sounds of their breathing. The warmth of the blankets wrapped around them, but the warmth they found in each other was something else entirely.
Then, Easton broke the silence.
“Marlowe,” he murmured, turning his head slightly toward her. “What made you fall for me?”
Marlowe’s fingers instinctively curled around the edge of the blanket as she processed his question. She let out a soft breath, staring at the ceiling before whispering, “I don’t know when it happened exactly. Maybe when I saw the boy behind the crown, the one who carries so much weight but never lets anyone see it.” She turned her head to face him. “Or maybe it was when you let me see your scars, your fears… and trusted me anyway.”
Easton swallowed, his gaze fixed on her. Her words struck deep, like a blade cutting through the layers he had built around himself.
“What about you?” she asked quietly. “What made you fall for me?”
He took a deep breath, staring at the ceiling for a long moment. Then, he finally answered.
“It was when you called me ‘little fox,’” he admitted. “Only my mother ever called me that. For a second, I thought she had come back to me. But then I realized… it was you.” He turned his head to meet her eyes, his voice softer now. “And somehow, I didn’t feel so alone anymore.”
Marlowe’s breath hitched as she listened. She had always known there was something between them, but hearing it from him, feeling the raw honesty in his voice—it made her chest tighten.
A small smile tugged at her lips as she whispered, “Then I guess we were always meant to find each other.”
Easton didn’t respond with words. Instead, he reached out, intertwining his fingers with hers beneath the blanket.
And for the rest of the night, they lay there, hands clasped, hearts open, and completely, irrevocably connected.
_ 
As the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, Easton stirred, the warmth beside him noticeably absent. His hand instinctively reached out, only to find the empty space where Marlowe had been. His eyes fluttered open, and he turned his head, searching the room.
She was gone.
A strange emptiness settled in his chest. He had never slept so soundly before, never felt the peace that came with simply lying beside someone he trusted. But now, waking up without her there, it felt… cold.
Pushing the thought aside, he sat up and ran a hand through his tousled hair before swinging his legs over the bed. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but the castle was already alive with the distant murmurs of servants starting their morning duties.
Shaking off the lingering haze of sleep, Easton stood and stretched before heading toward the washbasin. He splashed cool water on his face, the shock of it chasing away the remnants of drowsiness. With each movement, he pushed himself back into his role—King of Drach.
Marlowe was probably up already, moving through the castle as if last night had never happened. He wasn’t sure why that realization made his chest feel tight.
Brushing aside his thoughts, he dressed quickly in his royal attire and adjusted the heavy cloak draped over his shoulders. He fastened the clasp, took a deep breath, and stepped out of his chambers, ready to face the day.
But as he strode down the halls, his mind kept drifting back to her.
Marlowe stood at the castle's eastern balcony, overlooking the vast lands of Drach as the morning sun bathed everything in golden hues. The crisp morning air filled her lungs as she closed her eyes, savoring the quiet moment before the weight of the day settled upon her shoulders.
She had woken early, slipping out of bed carefully so as not to disturb Easton. He had looked so peaceful, a stark contrast to the burdened king she often saw during the day. The way he had sought her company last night, his quiet vulnerability—it only made her feelings for him stronger.
But love wasn’t supposed to be this complicated.
Marlowe sighed, gripping the stone railing as she let her thoughts wander. The castle, the kingdom, the politics surrounding them—it was all so much bigger than the two of them. And yet, in the quiet of the night, with his warmth beside her, none of that had seemed to matter.
"You're up early."
The familiar deep voice made her tense for a moment before she turned around. Easton stood a few steps away, watching her with an unreadable expression. He was dressed and ready for the day, but there was something softer in his eyes, something that hadn't quite faded from last night.
Marlowe offered a small smile. "I needed some air."
Easton stepped closer, leaning beside her on the railing. "You left before I woke up."
She hesitated before responding. "I thought it would be easier that way."
"Why?" His gaze was unwavering.
Marlowe looked down, unsure of what to say. Because if she had stayed any longer, if she had woken up in his arms, she might never have wanted to leave. And that terrified her.
Instead, she exhaled and said, "Because I needed to clear my mind."
Easton was silent for a moment before he let out a small chuckle. "Did you?"
Marlowe turned to face him fully, her lips curving into a smirk. "Not in the slightest."
For the first time that morning, Easton smiled. A real one.
_
A few months passed, and life in the castle returned to its usual rhythm. No one ever uncovered the truth about the accident, and Easton and Marlowe carried on as if nothing had happened.
But just as they began to settle into a sense of normalcy, a new threat loomed over them.
One evening, a messenger arrived at the castle gates, breathless and battered. He carried a sealed letter, marked with the royal insignia of Everthorns. When Easton broke the seal and read the contents, his face darkened.
The letter was from King Alden.
"To His Majesty, King Easton of Drach,
It has come to my attention that my daughter, Princess Marlowe, remains in your court for far longer than intended. While I have allowed this for the sake of diplomacy, there are matters that require her presence here.
You must understand that Marlowe is not merely a princess of Everthorns—she is promised to Lord Frederick of Mage, and the time for their union is approaching. I expect her safe return to Everthorns within the fortnight.
Do not make me take further action.
—King Alden of Everthorns"
Easton’s grip on the letter tightened. His heart pounded in his chest.
Marlowe was to be married?
No.
Not after everything they had been through.
He looked up at her, standing across the room, her face pale as she stared at the letter in his hands.
“Is this true?” His voice was quiet but sharp.
Marlowe swallowed hard. She had known this day would come, but she hadn’t expected it so soon.
“Yes,” she whispered. “But Easton—”
Before she could finish, Easton turned away, his jaw clenched.
A war was brewing inside him, greater than any battle he had fought before.
There was no way he would let her go.
Marlowe's breath hitched as she heard Easton's words.
"I will follow you," Easton said firmly, stepping toward her. "And when we arrive, I will decline this marriage myself and announce you as my fiancée instead."
Her eyes widened in shock. "Easton, you can't—"
"I can and I will," he interrupted, his gaze unwavering. "No one will take you away from me, not your father, not Frederick, not anyone."
Marlowe's heart pounded. She had always known Easton was bold, but this—this was reckless. If he openly defied King Alden in his own court, it could lead to war.
"Easton, please think about this," she whispered, placing a hand on his chest. "My father won’t simply accept this. And if you do this, you'll be challenging the entire kingdom of Everthorns."
"I don't care," Easton said, his voice fierce. "Marlowe, I have lost too much already. I won't lose you too."
Tears welled up in her eyes. He meant every word. He was willing to risk everything—for her.
She closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded. "Then I will stand by your side."
Easton took her hand, squeezing it tightly. "We leave at dawn."
As dawn broke over Drach, Easton and Marlowe prepared for their secret departure to Everthorns. He had already sent word to his most trusted men, ensuring they could travel discreetly without alerting the court. Marlowe, wearing a dark cloak over her riding dress, glanced at him with determination.
“You’re really coming with me?” she asked, her voice steady but her eyes filled with hidden emotions.
Easton mounted his horse, meeting her gaze with unwavering certainty. “I gave you my word, didn’t I?” He adjusted his cloak. “I will not let them decide my fate. Nor yours.”
With that, they rode off into the quiet morning, the only sound being the rhythm of hooves against the earth.
The Journey to Everthorns
The trip took several days. Along the way, they passed through dense forests and quiet villages, where Easton, for the first time in years, felt like a man free from the burdens of the throne. Marlowe, too, seemed different—less guarded, more herself. At night, they would camp under the stars, talking in hushed tones about their past, their fears, and their uncertain future.
One evening, as they sat by the fire, Easton watched Marlowe tend to her horse. “When we arrive,” he said, “what do you think your father will say?”
She sighed. “My father will weigh the political advantage. My mother… she will try to break us apart.”
Easton clenched his jaw. “I won’t let that happen.”
Marlowe smiled slightly, sitting beside him. “You don’t know my mother, Easton. She gets what she wants.”
Easton turned to her, his voice firm. “So do I.”
Arrival at Everthorns
As they neared the castle, Easton could feel the shift in the air. Everthorns was different from Drach—its towers loomed high, wrapped in climbing ivy, and the scent of blooming roses lingered even in the cold air.
The gates opened, and inside, guards were already waiting. A rider must have gone ahead to alert the royal family. Marlowe’s heart pounded. She knew her arrival would cause a stir, but bringing Easton with her? That would shake Everthorns to its core.
King Alden stood at the entrance, his expression unreadable. Queen Evera was beside him, her sharp eyes scanning Easton with suspicion.
“Marlowe,” her father greeted, though his gaze soon landed on Easton. “And the King of Drach.”
Evera stepped forward. “To what do we owe this… unexpected visit?”
Easton dismounted his horse, standing tall before them. His voice was clear, unwavering.
“I have come to formally announce my betrothal to Princess Marlowe of Everthorns.”
Silence.
Marlowe braced herself for what was to come next.
_
Easton stepped forward, his royal presence commanding attention. He met King Alden’s gaze with respect but unwavering determination.
“I would like to request a formal meeting with the King and Queen of Everthorns,” Easton declared. “I understand the political weight of this matter, and I am prepared to discuss all terms necessary. I will review every proposal made by Lord Frederick—” his voice grew sharper, “—and I will present an even greater offer for the prosperity of Everthorns.”
King Alden studied Easton carefully, his expression unreadable. The room was heavy with silence as the weight of the moment settled over them. Queen Evera, sitting beside her husband, narrowed her eyes ever so slightly.
“And what offer would that be, King Easton?” Alden finally asked, his tone neutral, yet laced with curiosity.
Easton stood firm. “A future alliance, not built on forced arrangements but on mutual trust and strength. I will wed Princess Marlowe, and in doing so, our kingdoms will unite not just by politics, but by true leadership. I will ensure Everthorns’ security, its wealth, and its influence.”
Queen Evera scoffed, folding her arms. “Bold words from a young king. But what proof do we have that your promise is greater than Lord Frederick’s?”
Easton didn’t flinch. “Proof? I am the ruler of Drach. I do not speak empty words. If Everthorns stands with me, I will make certain that neither Frederick nor any other lord dares to challenge this kingdom again. My army, my resources, my throne—will stand alongside yours.”
Marlowe watched silently, her heart pounding. She had never seen Easton like this—so confident, so relentless in his pursuit.
King Alden exchanged a glance with his wife. Then, leaning forward, he spoke with measured caution.
“This is not a decision to be made lightly, King Easton. But I will hear you out in council.”
Easton nodded. “That is all I ask.”
The meeting was set. The fate of Marlowe—and the future of both kingdoms—was about to be decided.
_
That night, before the council convened to discuss Easton’s proposal, King Alden summoned Marlowe to his private chambers. The atmosphere was tense, filled with an unspoken weight that pressed upon Marlowe as she stepped inside. Her father sat by the grand window, gazing at the moonlit gardens below, lost in thought.
“You called for me, Father?” Marlowe asked cautiously.
Alden turned to her, his expression unreadable. “Come, sit.”
She obeyed, settling into the chair across from him.
“There is something you must know before any decision is made,” Alden began. “Something that has been hidden from you… from many.”
Marlowe stiffened. “What do you mean?”
Alden let out a slow breath, as if preparing himself. “The bond between Everthorns and Drach was once stronger than anyone realizes. Your grandfather—my father—was not just an ally to King Aldric, Easton’s father. He was his blood.”
Marlowe’s breath hitched. “You mean…?”
“Yes,” Alden confirmed. “Easton and you… are distant kin.”
The revelation sent a shiver down her spine. It was not uncommon for noble families to intermarry for power, but this truth had never been spoken before.
“That is not all,” Alden continued. “There was a time when Drach and Everthorns stood as equals, but that balance was broken. King Aldric was betrayed… by his own court. Assassins were sent after him. He was supposed to be saved, but—” He paused, his voice heavy with regret. “Everthorns did not act in time. My father hesitated, and in his hesitation, Aldric was lost.”
Marlowe felt her pulse quicken. “Are you saying… Everthorns could have prevented his death?”
Alden nodded solemnly. “And Easton does not know this.”
A cold realization settled over her. If Easton ever discovered that Everthorns had played a part, however unwilling, in his father’s downfall… would he still look at her the same way? Would he still trust her?
Alden studied her closely. “That is why you must think carefully, Marlowe. If you choose Easton, you must be prepared for the truth to surface. And when it does… will he still stand by you?”
Marlowe clenched her fists. She