The horses galloped through the misty morning, hooves drumming a warning into the earth.
Elara didn't blink.
Her jaw clenched. Her hands tight around the reins. Her mind raced.
Somewhere in the northern mountains, in a forgotten monastery wrapped in snow and secrets, her twin brother—the kingdom's rightful heir—was alive.
And he might be her greatest threat.
The Journey to the Forgotten Monastery
Lina rode side-saddle in a velvet cloak, sipping from a flask of something suspiciously fruity.
"I brought poison, perfume, and pastries," she chirped. "In case we need to kill him, seduce him, or distract him with dessert."
Arian rolled his eyes. "Let's try not to murder anyone today."
"Fine," Lina said. "But only because you're pretty."
Snow began to fall as they climbed the rocky path to the monastery.
It stood tall and silent—gray stone carved into the side of the cliff, like a secret keeping watch.
As they dismounted, the doors creaked open.
And there he was.
Enter: Rowan
He stepped into view like a ghost—tall, dark-haired like Elara, with ice-gray eyes and a scar down his jaw.
He wore simple black robes, but his presence was… regal. Dangerous.
Elara's breath caught.
He looked like her.
He looked like the King.
"You came," he said.
His voice was smooth and cold.
"You're my brother," she whispered.
"I was," he replied. "Until they threw me away."
Arian stepped forward, protective.
"Careful," Rowan said, eyes flashing. "I don't like pretty boys with swords."
"Perfect," Lina purred. "He has an attitude. I'm already attracted."
The Tension Explodes
Inside, they sat by a fire in a stone-walled room that smelled of ash and ink.
"I got your letters," Elara said. "Why now?"
"Because I'm tired of hiding," Rowan said. "And because Cassian was only part of the problem."
He dropped a scroll on the table.
A royal decree.
"Signed by Father," Rowan said. "Naming me heir. Two days before he died."
Elara went cold.
"That's a forgery," Arian snapped.
Rowan leaned in. "Is it?"
Then—BOOM.
The window shattered.
An arrow thudded into the wall—inches from Elara's head.
A second arrow hit the scroll, pinning it to the table.
They hit the floor.
"WE'RE UNDER ATTACK!" Lina shouted, flipping a table like a true warrior queen.
The Assassin in the Snow
Arian dragged Elara behind the bookcase.
Rowan pulled a dagger from his robes.
Lina? She chased the archer in six-inch heels.
Outside, they saw him—masked, black-cloaked, running toward the edge of the cliff.
Rowan tackled him.
A struggle.
A knife glinted.
Then the assassin tumbled over the edge—gone.
Rowan stood, breathing hard, blood on his knuckles.
"They sent him for me," he said.
"No," Elara replied, lifting the arrow that nearly killed her.
Tied to the shaft: another note.
> Only one heir can live.
Choose.
Back at the Palace
That night, Elara stared into the mirror, Rowan's words echoing in her head.
She wasn't just fighting for love anymore.
She was fighting for the throne.
For her life.
And for a brother who might just become her enemy.
Behind her, Arian wrapped his arms around her waist.
"You're shaking," he said softly.
"Not from fear," she whispered. "From fury."
She turned to him.
Their kiss was hungry. Desperate.
Clothes fell. Bodies collided.
He worshipped every inch of her like it was the last night on earth.
Afterward, tangled in sheets and secrets, she whispered:
"I think I just fell in love with a man who could be executed for treason."
Arian kissed her hand. "Lucky me."