The person who watching them was ,
Queen Evera of Everthorns stood in the shadows, hidden beneath the towering trees. The gentle breeze carried her daughter's laughter to her ears—a sound she had not heard in years.
She had followed Marlowe out of curiosity, her sharp instincts sensing something unusual about her daughter's recent behavior. And now, as she watched the scene before her, understanding settled deep in her chest.
Marlowe was radiant, her guarded expression replaced with something softer, something freer. And beside her, King Easton—the boy who should have been her enemy—looked at her with eyes full of something he did not yet understand.
The queen’s lips pressed into a thin line.
So, this is how it is.
She had suspected something when Marlowe first returned home, but now she was certain. Her daughter had fallen for the King of Drach
And what was worse…
Queen Evera could see it in Easton’s eyes.
He was falling, too.
Yet, love between them was dangerous. Their kingdoms were bound by history, tangled in secrets and bloodshed. A single misstep could turn this fragile peace into war.
The queen exhaled softly, stepping back into the shadows. She would say nothing—for now.
But when the time came, she would be ready.
-
King Alden sat alone in his chambers, staring into the flickering candlelight. His fingers drummed against the armrest of his throne, his mind a battlefield of calculations and uncertainty.
Marlowe had returned earlier than expected. That alone was troubling. She had been sent to uncover the truth about King Easton's rise to power, yet she had come back with more than just knowledge—she had come back changed.
And now, Easton himself stood within the walls of Everthorns, unarmed, seeking words instead of war.
Alden’s jaw tightened. Why?
He had spent years preparing for the worst, for the moment Drach would turn its gaze toward Everthorns with conquest in mind. Yet, instead of aggression, Easton brought confusion. He confronted Marlowe not as a king accusing a spy but as a man seeking answers.
And his words…
"Who knew my beloved uncle from my father's cousin would send his second-born daughter to discover the truth about my kingdom? The thing here is, why? Why, and what does my family business have to do with you?"
Alden clenched his fists. The boy was sharp. He saw more than Alden had anticipated.
And yet, that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was the way Marlowe had looked at Easton.
Alden had raised his daughter to be many things—strong, calculating, unshaken. Yet, when she stood before Easton, she hesitated. And Queen Evera, his wife, had not missed it either.
He feared he already knew the answer to Easton's question.
This was no longer about kingdoms.
It was about Marlowe.
And if she had truly given her heart to Easton, then everything Alden had planned was about to become far more complicated.
- 
King Alden exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers together as he leaned back in his chair. His thoughts drifted to a time long before Easton’s rule—a time of blood, betrayal, and fractured alliances.
There had always been a history between Everthorns and Drach , but not the kind written in treaties or celebrated in ballads. It was a history hidden beneath layers of deception, spoken of in whispers by those old enough to remember.
- The Fall of King Aldric.
Alden’s cousin, Aldric, had once ruled Drach —a strong but merciful king. But mercy had no place in a kingdom filled with vipers. Betrayal came from within, orchestrated by those who saw Aldric’s kindness as weakness. He was overthrown, not by a foreign enemy but by his own blood.
Alden had been a prince of Everthorns then, watching from afar as Aldric was imprisoned in an undisclosed location, exiled far from his kingdom, his queen executed, and his son—Easton—raised by those who had taken everything from him.
At the time, Everthorns had been powerless to intervene. Their forces were strong, but not strong enough to stand against the usurpers of Drach. Alden had been forced to stay silent, watching as his cousin’s kingdom fell into unfamiliar hands.
But then something unexpected happened.
The boy—Easton—survived. He not only survived, but he took back his throne with a force so ruthless it sent tremors through the entire continent.
Now, that very same boy stood in Alden’s court, seeking answers.
And Alden knew the truth could not be avoided much longer.
If Easton ever uncovered what truly happened to his father, the fragile peace between their kingdoms might shatter before his eyes.
- 
King Aldric had been betrayed by those closest to him. His advisors—men he had trusted—conspired with noble families who sought more power. They feared his rule was too soft, too merciful, and that Drach would weaken under his reign. They staged a coup, stripping him of his crown and imprisoning him in a distant fortress, far beyond the reach of his loyalists.
To ensure no one would try to restore him, they spread a lie—that Aldric had died in exile. His queen, Easton’s mother, had not been as fortunate. She was executed publicly as a warning to anyone who might still hold loyalty to the fallen king.
But Aldric lived.
For years, he wasted away in that remote prison, cut off from the world. No one knew if he was even still alive.
Alden had known the truth. He had received word of Aldric’s imprisonment, but there had been nothing he could do. Everthorns had been strong, but not strong enough to wage war against the nobles of Drach. He had waited, hoping for an opportunity that never came.
Then Easton rose to power.
The boy who had lost everything became a king who reclaimed his throne through blood and steel. He executed those who betrayed his father, but the ones who had hidden Aldric never spoke of his whereabouts.
Even now, Alden did not know if Aldric was alive or if he had perished in his lonely prison.
And if Easton ever found out the full truth—that Everthorns had known and done nothing—Alden feared what would come next.
- Secret Comfort Place -
Marlowe sat on the edge of a moss-covered rock, her fingers absentmindedly brushing against the petals of a wildflower. The hidden garden behind Everthorns Castle had always been her sanctuary, a place where the weight of duty could not reach her.
But tonight, she was not alone.
Her mother, Queen Evera, stood a few feet away, watching her with a knowing gaze. The silence between them stretched, heavy and unspoken, until Evera finally spoke.
“You care for him.” It was not a question.
Marlowe flinched, her fingers tightening around the flower’s stem. “He is… different from what I expected.”
Evera tilted her head slightly. “Different? Or exactly what you feared?”
Marlowe exhaled, closing her eyes for a brief moment. “I thought he would be a tyrant. A ruler who took his throne by force, a man who lived only for power. But he is not just a king, Mother.” Her voice softened. “He is a boy who lost everything.”
Evera stepped closer, her expression unreadable. “And yet, he is still a king. Do not let yourself forget that.”
Marlowe looked up at her mother. “I know. But when I look at him, I see someone who carries the same burdens I do. We were never given the chance to be anything but heirs to our kingdoms.” She let out a quiet laugh. “But today, for a moment, we were just… two people.”
Evera sighed, sitting down beside her daughter. “Marlowe, you must understand something.” Her voice was gentler now, but firm. “No matter how much you might see him as just a man, he will always be a king first. And you will always be a princess of Everthorns. The history between your kingdoms cannot be erased, not even by the two of you.”
Marlowe looked down at the flower in her hand. “I know.”
Evera studied her daughter for a long moment. Then, she reached out and brushed a strand of hair from Marlowe’s face. “Do you?”
Marlowe did not answer. Because deep down, she wasn’t sure anymore.
-
The history between Everthorns and Drach was one of fractured trust
hidden betrayals, and a past that neither kingdom could fully let go of.
The Forgotten Alliance & The Fall of King Aldric
Decades ago, Everthorns and Drach had once been bound by an unspoken alliance, not through treaties, but through blood. King Aldric of Drach and King Alden of Everthorns were cousins, their fathers having been brothers. Though their kingdoms remained separate, their bond had been strong—until the day Drach fell.
Aldric had been betrayed, not by enemies from distant lands, but by his own council and noble houses who feared his rule would weaken their grip on power. They staged a coup, imprisoning him in a secret fortress far away and executing his wife to ensure no one would rally for his return.
At the time, Everthorns had stood at a dangerous crossroads. King Alden had received word of Aldric’s imprisonment, but intervening meant war—one that Everthorns was not prepared to fight. With no clear way to help his cousin without endangering his own kingdom, Alden did what many considered an act of cowardice: he stayed silent.
And that silence sealed the fate of both kingdoms.
The Rise of Easton & the Unspoken Tension
Aldric’s son, Easton, had been left alone in a kingdom ruled by those who had murdered his mother and stolen his father’s throne. He grew up under the rule of his enemies, watching and waiting. And when the time came, he reclaimed his kingdom in a storm of blood and fire, executing those responsible.
But there was one thing Easton never found: his father.
The men who had imprisoned Aldric took their secret to the grave, and no matter how much Easton searched, the old king’s fate remained unknown.
What Easton did not know was that Everthorns had known all along.
Alden had received messages—letters that spoke of Aldric’s imprisonment, hints of where he had been taken. But he had done nothing. By the time Easton took his throne and wiped out his enemies, Alden feared that the truth, if revealed, would bring war to their doorstep.
Marlowe’s Mission & the Risk of Truth
This was why Alden had sent Marlowe to Drach. Not just to learn what kind of king Easton had become, but to see if he had any knowledge of his father’s fate. To see if the past was truly buried—or if it would come back to haunt them.
And now, watching his daughter play and laugh with the very king who might one day turn on them, Alden feared the consequences of the truth.
Because if Easton ever discovered that Everthorns had known the truth about his father and had done nothing…
There would be no peace between their kingdoms.
-
Marlowe stiffened at her mother’s words, the warmth of the hidden garden suddenly feeling distant, cold.
“Lord Frederick?” she echoed, her voice quieter than she intended.
Queen Evera’s gaze remained steady. “Did you think I would forget? Did you think your father would forget?”
Marlowe turned away, staring at the mountains beyond the garden. She had known this moment would come. She had been promised to Lord Frederick of Mage since she was a child, a political arrangement meant to strengthen Everthorns’ ties with the powerful Mage Kingdom. She had never met the man, only heard of him—ruthless, ambitious, and far older than her.
“I never agreed to it,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm.
“You were never given the choice,” Evera replied, her tone unwavering. “This is not about what you want, Marlowe. It is about what Everthorns needs.”
Marlowe clenched her fists, the joy she had felt earlier vanishing under the weight of her mother’s words.
“Everthorns needs me to be a pawn?” she asked bitterly.
Evera sighed. “Everthorns needs security. A future. Lord Frederick offers us both. Do not let yourself be blinded by foolish emotions, Marlowe. Your duty will always come before your heart.”
Marlowe turned sharply to face her mother. “Is that what you think this is? Foolish emotion?” Her heart pounded as she thought of Easton—his voice, his laughter, the way he looked at her like she was more than just a princess with a duty to fulfill. “Do you know what it’s like to feel truly seen? To forget, even for a moment, that your life has already been decided for you?”
Evera’s face softened, but only slightly. “And do you think he feels the same way?”
Marlowe froze.
The queen stepped closer, her voice quieter now, but no less firm. “Easton is a king, Marlowe. His heart may long for freedom, but his throne will always demand sacrifice. Just as yours does. You are a princess of Everthorns, and you will wed Lord Frederick.”
Marlowe turned away again, gripping the folds of her gown.
She had spent so much time pretending she was free. That she could be something other than what was expected of her. But her mother’s words were a cruel reminder—her life was never her own.
Evera sighed, placing a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “The sun is setting, Marlowe. Return to the castle before your father grows impatient.”
Then, without another word, the queen walked away, leaving Marlowe standing alone in the garden, watching the last light of the day disappear behind the mountains.
-
Easton remained hidden behind the tall stone tower, his back pressed against the cool surface. His breath was steady, but his heart pounded in a way that felt foreign to him. He had only meant to follow Marlowe—to tease her for calling him little fox, to demand how she knew a name that only his mother had spoken.
But instead, he had heard everything.
His jaw clenched as the weight of the conversation settled over him. Lord Frederick of Mage. The name left a bitter taste in his mouth. Marlowe was promised to another. Her life, her future, had already been decided by her father, just as his had been long ago.
Easton exhaled slowly, his gaze lifting to where Marlowe stood in the fading light. She was frozen in place, her fingers curled tightly at her sides, her head slightly bowed as if struggling against a truth she did not want to accept.
And then, for the first time, Easton realized something—something he had not dared to name until now.
He did not want her to belong to someone else.
The thought unsettled him. He had spent his life knowing that love was a weakness. His father had loved his mother, and look where it had left him—betrayed, imprisoned, powerless. Love was something that could be used against you, something that clouded judgment.
And yet…
He had never felt as free as he did when he was with Marlowe. Never had he allowed himself to just be—not the king, not the avenger of his fallen parents, but simply Easton. And she had done that. With her laughter, her sharp wit, the way she challenged him as if he were not a king but just a boy who needed to be reminded that he was alive.
But now, reality threatened to steal that away.
His hands curled into fists. He should walk away. He should not care.
But deep inside him, something rebellious burned—something fierce, something he did not yet fully understand.
And for the first time since taking his throne, Easton felt powerless in a way he never had before.
Marlowe cried silently after her mother left her alone , Easton took the opportunity to go to see her , he ran as fast as could to go to her without his own realization , he felt like his body move by itself , he come near to Marlowe and lower him self and hugged her . Who knew that would happen even Easton is shock by himself
Marlowe stiffened as she felt arms wrap around her, strong and steady. She hadn’t even heard him approach. Her first instinct was to pull away, to keep her walls up—but the warmth surrounding her, the quiet steadiness of his presence, made her falter.
Easton didn’t speak. He didn’t offer words of comfort or try to pull her from her sorrow. He just held her, his breath uneven against her hair, as if he was just as surprised as she was.
Marlowe squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing the sob that threatened to escape. She had never allowed herself to be this vulnerable in front of anyone, not even her family. But with Easton, something inside her cracked. The weight of expectation, the chains of duty—just for a moment, she let them slip away.
Her hands gripped the fabric of his coat as she buried her face into his shoulder, trembling. Easton’s hold on her tightened slightly, and that simple gesture undid her completely.
They stayed like that, lost in the silence of the hidden garden, with only the whisper of the wind and the distant hum of the castle behind them.
Easton didn’t understand what had come over him. He had spent his life controlling his emotions, burying them under the weight of his crown. And yet, when he saw her standing there alone, when he saw the silent tears slipping down her face, he had moved before his mind could stop him.
His arms had wrapped around her before he even realized what he was doing.
And the strangest part?
He didn’t want to let go.
For the first time in his life, he wasn’t thinking about war, power, or revenge. He wasn’t thinking about duty or the consequences of his actions.
For the first time, he was just Easton.
And she was just Marlowe.
No titles. No kingdoms. No burdens.
Just the two of them, holding on to something they weren’t ready to name yet.
Easton held her closer, his grip firm yet careful, as if she might slip away like a dream. He wasn’t sure what came over him, but the moment Marlowe collapsed into his arms, sobbing silently, something deep inside him broke.
It was familiar—this warmth, this fragile moment. It reminded him of when he was a boy, when his mother had held him close, shielding him from the cruel world. He had forgotten what it felt like to be held without expectation, without duty hanging over his head like a blade.
And now, here he was, holding Marlowe the same way.
He exhaled, his breath unsteady. "Marlowe," he murmured, his voice lower than usual. She didn’t move, only tightened her grip on him, her fingers curling into his coat.
Easton shut his eyes for a moment before he pulled back slightly, just enough to see her face. Her eyes were red, her cheeks damp, but even in her sadness, she was breathtaking. His heart clenched.
“I don’t care about your duty,” he said, voice firm. “I don’t care about Lord Frederick, about Everthorns, or what anyone expects from you.”
Marlowe blinked up at him, her lips parting slightly in surprise.
“I only care about you.”
She sucked in a breath, her entire body tensing in his arms.
“I don’t know what this feeling is,” he admitted, his jaw tightening. “I’ve never cared for someone like this before. Never wanted someone like this before. But when I see you hurting, it makes me feel—” He clenched his fists. “Like I would do anything to take that pain away.”
Marlowe’s lips trembled. “Easton—”
“No,” he cut her off gently. “I need you to hear this. You call me a straightforward man, so let me be just that.” He cupped her face, his thumb brushing away a tear. His voice softened, but the intensity in his gaze did not waver.
“I want you, Marlowe. Not as a spy, not as a princess of Everthorns. Just you.”
Marlowe felt her breath catch in her throat. No one had ever spoken to her like this. No one had ever seen her like this.
Her heart pounded violently against her ribs.
She should tell him this was impossible. That duty came first, that she couldn’t belong to him, that their kingdoms and families would never allow it.
But when she looked into Easton’s eyes—so raw, so determined—she found that, for once, she had no words at all.
Easton stiffened for a moment when Marlowe suddenly pulled him into a deeper embrace. It was different from before—this was softer, warmer. It wasn’t desperation or sorrow. It was something else entirely.
Something he had long forgotten.
The way her arms wrapped around him, the way her hand gently rested on his back, felt like home. A warmth spread through his chest, something unfamiliar yet soothing. For the first time in years, he felt cared