The envelope was thick, embossed with the Ravensford royal seal, the kind of letter that carried weight before it was even opened.

  Theo sat in his study, fingers gliding over the seal before breaking it open with deliberate care. He unfolded the letter and began reading.

  To Theodore Harrington,

  In accordance with historical preservation rights and under the Treaty of Royal Lands, the Kingdom of Ravensford formally lays claim to the heritage site recently identified on the land currently occupied by your foundation.

  Preliminary research suggests that the structure predates national border agreements, thus falling under Ravensford jurisdiction.

  Therefore, we request the immediate cessation of all activities on-site and the demolition of unauthorized buildings to preserve the integrity of this newly rediscovered landmark.

  We trust that the Bellemont government will respect historical precedent and comply with international agreements.

  Sincerely, The Ravensford Royal Historical Council

  Theo stared at the words, his mind working through them one by one. Cessation. Demolition. Compliance.

  It was cleanly written, as if his foundation was nothing more than an inconvenient stain on their history. A place built from the ground up with his blood and sweat, reduced to a footnote in Hartwell's claim.

  His jaw clenched as he refolded the letter.

  He needed answers.

  And he knew exactly where to get them.

  Theo pushed open the heavy doors of the royal study without knocking. The scent of parchment and polished wood filled the air, the same as it always had, but Theo barely noticed.

  Edric was at his desk, pen in hand, scanning a document. He didn’t look up.

  “You already know, don’t you?” Theo’s voice was steady, but sharp.

  Edric finished writing before finally lifting his gaze. He took one look at Theo, then at the letter in his hands, and sighed. “Yes.”

  Theo let out a dry chuckle, stepping forward. “Of course you do.” He placed the letter on the desk, fingers pressing into the paper. “And you weren’t going to tell me?”

  Edric leaned back, watching him carefully. “I had it under control.”

  Theo’s fingers curled into fists. “Under control? You mean you were keeping it from me.”

  Edric exhaled. “I was handling it through the proper channels.”

  Theo scoffed. “That’s rich. And what, exactly, is the ‘proper’ way to tell me my foundation is being erased?”

  Edric’s expression remained unreadable. “Hartwell's claim isn’t set in stone. We’re contesting it.”

  Theo folded his arms. “Good. Then let me help.”

  Edric’s jaw tightened. “No.”

  Theo’s lips parted slightly. “Excuse me?”

  “This isn’t your fight,” Edric said evenly. “It’s a royal matter between Bellemont and Ravensford. I need you to stay out of it.”

  Theo laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You can’t be serious.”

  Edric met his gaze. “I am.”

  Theo shook his head. “This isn’t just some political dispute, Edric. This is my work. My people.”

  “I know that.”

  “No, you don’t.” Theo’s voice sharpened. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be telling me to sit back while Hartwell tears it all down.”

  Edric’s hands curled into fists. “Do you think this is easy for me?” His voice remained measured, but Theo caught the flicker of frustration beneath it. “I am the heir to Bellemont, Theo. I don’t have the luxury of acting on personal attachments.”

  Theo’s jaw clenched. “And I don’t have the luxury of ignoring the people who depend on me.”

  Silence stretched between them.

  Edric exhaled. “I’m asking you—no, I’m telling you—to leave this alone.”

  Theo let out a slow breath, his eyes never leaving Edric’s. “I can’t do that.”

  Edric stared at him for a long moment. Then, softer, he murmured, “I figured as much.”

  The weight of unspoken words hung between them.

  Theo ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “I miss it, you know. When we actually talked. When I wasn’t just another problem for you to manage.”

  Edric’s gaze flickered. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say something—but in the end, all he did was nod.

  Theo turned toward the door. “I’ll handle it myself.”

  Edric didn’t stop him.

  Theo left the palace with a weight pressing against his ribs.

  Stay out of it.

  Edric’s words rang in his ears, but he knew better than to listen. If he let the royals handle this, it would become another bureaucratic tug-of-war—one that his foundation would lose.

  And he wasn’t about to let that happen.

  His name, his title—none of that had built his foundation. His work had. His people had. So he would handle this the way he handled everything else. By thinking his way through.

  But first, he needed a place to start.

  His first call was to Dr. Evelyn Marks, an old university professor of his. If anyone knew whether Ravensford had a legitimate historical claim, it was her. But theory wasn’t enough. He needed something more concrete.

  Next, Theo tracked down Julian Ford, a legal expert who specialized in international land disputes. They weren’t exactly close—Julian had once been a lawyer for Bellemont's government before turning independent, and Theo had butted heads with him over zoning laws more than once.

  Still, he was damn good at his job.

  Theo found him in a crowded law office, drowning in paperwork.

  “I need your help,” Theo said, dropping a stack of documents on his desk.

  Julian raised a brow. “You? Asking nicely? Must be serious.”

  Theo didn’t rise to the bait. “Tell me if this holds up legally.”

  Theo rubbed his temple. So even if he won the legal battle, he could still lose the war.

  He needed more.

  Until he found it. He know when he can use it.

  The royal study was dimly lit when Theo walked in unannounced for the second time that week. Edric barely looked surprised.

  Theo dropped a thick folder onto his brother’s desk. “Read it.”

  Edric glanced at the papers, then up at Theo. “You didn’t listen.”

  “Of course not.” Theo crossed his arms. “Go on. Read it.”

  Edric sighed but picked up the first page. His expression shifted almost instantly—brows knitting, eyes scanning faster. By the time he reached the 1502 Accord, his fingers had tightened around the paper.

  Theo watched him carefully. “So? Are you going to tell me I should have stayed out of it?”

  Edric’s jaw clenched. “Where did you get this?”

  “Does it matter?”

  Edric exhaled sharply, setting the papers down. “This complicates things.”

  Theo smirked. “For Ravensford, yeah. Not for us.”

  Edric shot him a look. “You’re impossible.”

  “I know.” Theo sat on the edge of the desk. “So, what now?”

  Edric ran a hand over his face. “I’ll have to bring this to the council. If this agreement holds weight, it changes the entire negotiation.”

  Theo tilted his head. “And?”

  Edric sighed. “And you were right to look into it.”

  Theo’s smirk softened slightly. “That almost sounded like an apology.”

  Edric shook his head, but there was the ghost of a smile. “Don’t push it.”

  Theo chuckled. “Fine. I’ll settle for a thank you.”

  Silence stretched between them, not tense this time, just… familiar.

  Edric exhaled. “I hate how we keep ending up on opposite sides.”

  Theo looked at him, really looked at him. “Me too.”

  For a moment, it felt like they were just brothers again. No politics. No royal burdens. Just them.

  But it wouldn’t last. It never did.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  So Theo did what he always did—he stood, stretched, and made for the door.

  “This isn’t over, by the way,” he tossed over his shoulder.

  Edric let out a tired laugh. “It never is with you.”

  And for once, it didn’t feel like a bad thing.

  ---

  He reached his office, the familiar scent of old books and worn leather grounding him. The documents he had collected still lay scattered across his desk, but he ignored the legal papers, the treaties, the formal records. Instead, he reached for a different set of pages—aged, fragile, written in a hand long forgotten.

  A series of letters.

  They had been buried in the archives, hidden among land agreements and royal decrees, as if they were nothing more than old correspondence. But as Theo read them, he had realized what they truly were.

  A secret. A story erased by time.

  A love that had never been allowed to exist.

  The letters were between Luciel of Bellemont and Adrien of Ravensford, two young men separated by duty, by bloodlines, by the expectations that weighed heavier than crowns. Their words were careful, never explicit, but Theo could read between the lines.

  The way Adrien wrote about missing the moonlight on Bellemont's hills—a longing so painfully personal. The way Luciel spoke of a future that was never theirs to take—regret laced in ink. The way they signed their names not as princes, but as something else.

  Yours, always.

  Theo traced the faded words, a strange ache settling in his chest.

  History had recorded them as allies, rivals, political players in the endless game of power. But history had never told the truth.

  They had loved each other. And the world had never known.

  A soft knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.

  “Your Highness?”

  It was James, one of his closest advisors at the foundation.

  “Everything’s stable?” he ask, stepping in. Theo nodded, setting the letter down. “Yes. Don't worry everything is fine. The foundation is safe.”

  James glanced at the scattered pages. “What are you reading?”

  He just smiled faintly. “Something forgotten.”

  He didn’t push.

  As he left, Theo leaned back in his chair, his fingers still resting on the fragile letters.

  ---

  The palace was quiet by the time Theo returned to his room. The weight of the day still sat heavy on his shoulders, but his mind wasn’t on the politics, the arguments, or even the victory he had won for his foundation.

  It was on them.

  Luciel and Adrien.

  Theo set the bundle of old letters on his desk, fingers brushing over the delicate pages. The edges were frayed, the ink faded, but the words—the words still held something alive. Something unspoken, something aching.

  He sat down, exhaling slowly, and carefully unfolded the first letter.

  Luciel to Adrien

  'My Adrien,

  They say the hills are more beautiful in Ravensford, but I disagree. Have you ever seen the way the mist rolls over the Bellemont cliffs at dawn? It reminds me of the mornings we spent by the river, when the world still belonged to us—before duty came calling.

  I rode there today, hoping to catch a glimpse of something familiar, something untouched by the weight of our names. But the river no longer sings the way it did when you were beside me.

  I wonder—do you still think of that night?

  You laughed when I said the stars must envy you. You called me a fool. Perhaps I was. Perhaps I still am. Because even now, when I close my eyes, I see nothing but you.

  I would ask if you miss me, but I already know the answer.

  Yours, always, Luciel"

  Theo exhaled, something tight curling in his chest. He reached for the next letter, the one written in a different hand—Adrien’s hand.

  Adrien to Luciel

  "Luciel,

  You are a fool.

  Not because you think the stars envy me, but because you believe they do not envy you.

  I dreamt of you again. I should not write this—I should not let these words exist beyond my own thoughts—but I am weak, and you have always been my greatest weakness.

  Ravensford is colder without you. The halls of my home feel hollow. The walls are taller, the shadows longer, and I find myself waiting for the sound of your laughter—only to remember that you are miles away, and I am here, as I must be.

  Tell me, does Bellemont still remember me? Do the cliffs whisper my name, the way they whisper yours in my dreams?

  You ask if I miss you.

  Every second.

  But we are not boys by the river anymore. We are men of duty, and duty is a cruel thing.

  I cannot ask you to stay, Luciel. But if I could—if the world were different—if we were free—

  Would you?

  Yours, in silence, Adrien"

  Theo shut his eyes.

  He could feel it in every word. The weight, the yearning, the quiet devastation of two people who were never allowed to exist as they truly were.

  He knew what Luciel’s answer had been. He didn’t need another letter to tell him.

  But he still reached for the next one.

  And then the next.

  And the next.

  As the night stretched on, Theo sat in silence, reading a love story the world had forgotten.

  The night had deepened, shadows stretching long across Theo’s desk. His fingers trembled slightly as he unfolded the next letter, the parchment thinner, the ink darker—like the weight of its words had sunk deeper into the page.

  This one felt different.

  It was from Luciel.

  Luciel to Adrien

  "My Adrien,

  I have spent hours with this letter before me, the ink smudging beneath my fingers, and yet I do not know how to begin. How does one write the last thing they will ever say to the person who owns their soul?

  Perhaps there is no right way.

  You once asked me if I would stay. If the world were different, if we were free—would I?

  I have spent every waking moment since then trying to carve out a different answer, one where I am stronger, where I fight for us, where I do not surrender to duty’s hand. But I have failed you.

  I cannot stay.

  Not because I do not love you—Gods, I love you more than life itself—but because loving you is no longer enough. They are watching us now. Watching me. Watching you. And I fear what they will do if we do not put an end to this.

  We are no longer just Luciel and Adrien. We are Harrington and Hartwell. And our names—our cursed, noble names—are greater than the love between us.

  So I must let you go.

  Not because I want to. Not because I can. But because I must.

  Do not write to me again.

  Do not speak my name where others may hear.

  Do not wait for me by the river, where we once swore to meet again.

  Forget me, Adrien.

  Please.

  Yours, once and never again, Luciel"

  Theo swallowed hard, his throat burning.

  His hands tightened around the paper as if he could change the past by holding it closer.

  But there was another letter. A response. The last words Adrien ever sent.

  Adrien to Luciel

  Luciel,

  You ask me to forget you.

  How cruel you are, to make a request you know I can never grant.

  You tell me we are being watched. That there is no place for us in this world. That we are too much and too little all at once.

  You are right.

  But that does not make it easier.

  I will not write again.

  I will not go to the river.

  I will live the life that is expected of me, and you will do the same.

  But I will never forget you.

  And I hope, even as you try, you will never forget me either.

  Yours, in silence and in sorrow, Adrien"

  Theo let out a shaky breath, setting the letter down with a care that felt almost reverent.

  He pressed his fingers against his temple, eyes shut.

  They were gone. Centuries had passed. Their story was nothing more than ink and memory.

  But he felt it—felt them.

  And for the first time in a long, long while, he wondered if history was trying to tell him something.

  ---

  Dust swirled in the dim light of the basement archives. The air was thick with the scent of aged paper, ink long faded but still whispering secrets across time. Theo’s fingers were smudged with centuries-old dust, his eyes burning from sleepless nights of searching.

  He had lost track of the days.

  The world outside had faded. His meals were packed and forgotten, his only breaks taken to clean himself before he returned to the endless shelves of history.

  Then —

  A name.

  Luciel Sear Harrington.

  Theo’s breath caught. His heart pounded. He traced the inked words with shaking fingers, hardly believing what he was seeing.

  Luciel Sear Harrington —the warrior of legend, the unbreakable shield of their kingdom, the man who was both feared and revered. Every history book spoke of him, yet none had told the truth.

  Theo’s eyes darted across the page, reading, absorbing, unraveling the truth of Lucien’s final battle.

  The Last War. The Last Stand.

  Luciel had fought against Hartwell. He had carved through enemy lines, unstoppable, a force of nature in human form. But in the end, he had fallen—not to an army, not to a betrayal from his own, but to a single blade.

  Adrien Truman Hartwell's blade.

  Theo’s pulse thundered in his ears as he read the words scrawled in the official record.

  "Luciel Sear Kensington fell upon the sword of Adrien Truman Hartwell. The battlefield fell silent as he collapsed into the arms of his greatest rival."

  Theo swallowed, his throat dry, his fingers gripping the fragile parchment as he read on.

  "Before his soldiers could reach him, Adrien Truman Hartwell turned his blade upon himself. With Luciel still in his arms, he drove the sword into his own heart. They died together, bound by war, buried as enemies."

  Silence.

  The room felt colder, the weight of centuries pressing against Theo’s chest.

  And then—he remembered.

  The letter.

  One of the many hidden away, the ones that no historian had acknowledged as anything more than poetic musings.

  Adrien’s words: "If I am to die, let it be by your hands."

  Lucien's reply: "I would sooner let you kill me than raise my sword against you. If ever we must choose, I will fall first, so I may rest forever in your arms."

  Theo exhaled sharply, his hands trembling. The ink on the letter was faded, but the meaning was clear.

  This wasn’t just war. This wasn’t just politics.

  It was love.

  A love erased by time, rewritten by history, buried beneath duty and bloodshed.

  Theo closed his eyes, pressing his fingers against them, willing himself to breathe. His body ached from exhaustion, but his mind was sharper than ever.

  This—this truth, hidden in the archives of his own kingdom—changed everything.

  And now, he held it in his hands.

  Theo sat there, overwhelmed.

  He could see the cracks in the legend, the sorrow hidden beneath duty, the love buried beneath war.

  The final battle had been more than just a fight for land, more than victory or loss. It had been a release. A quiet, tragic ending written long before either of them raised their swords.

  Theo pressed his hands against his temples, his breath uneven.

  Adrien had killed Luciel. That was what the records said, what history had declared. But Theo could see beyond the ink, beyond the words that had been stripped of their truth.

  Luciel had let him.

  The letters made it clear.

  "If ever we must choose, I will fall first, so I may rest forever in your arms."

  It had not been a battle—it had been a farewell.

  Theo imagined the battlefield, not in the chaos that history painted, but in the silence after. The way Luciel must have fallen into Adrien’s arms, the way Adrien must have looked down at him, knowing there was only one choice left. The sword turned inward, the final act of devotion.

  An ending only they would understand.

  Theo swallowed hard, his throat dry. His fingers curled tightly around the parchment as if he could hold onto something beyond time itself.

  The world outside the archives felt distant, unreal.

  The grand chamber was silent.

  Theo stood before the grand doors of the royal chamber, the weight of the past few nights still clinging to him. He had spent days buried in the archives, unraveling the truth of Luciel and Adrien, but now—now, he had to step back into reality. The Hartwell delegation had arrived.

  ---

  As the heavy doors swung open, he stepped inside, his presence an unexpected disruption to the carefully orchestrated political meeting.

  Inside, the meeting was already in motion. The long, polished table was lined with Bellemont's top officials. At the head sat King Edward of Ravensford, his presence commanding, his expression unreadable. Beside him, Prince Cassius, straight-backed, his sharp gaze assessing the room. And at the opposite end—his dad King Alistair and Edric, sat beside him.

  The moment Theo took a seat—not with Bellemont's royal representatives, but on his own—King Edward finally acknowledged him.

  “I wasn’t aware we would be negotiating with all of Harrington's sons today.”

  King Alistair’s gaze flickered toward Theo, unreadable. “Neither was I.”

  Edric inhaled sharply. “Theo, leave—”

  “I have every right to be here,” Theo interrupted smoothly, setting his hands on the table. “Ravensford isn’t negotiating with a prince today. You’re negotiating with me—the legal owner of the Harrington Humanitarian Foundation.”

  A slow, simmering tension filled the air.

  Theo leaned forward slightly, his voice even. “You want my land. So talk to me.”

  The Ravensford advisors wasted no time, laying out their claim—the ancient site, the newly discovered structure, their assertion that it fell under Ravensford's historical jurisdiction.

  King Alistair remained impassive. Edric countered their claim with calculated precision, stating Bellemont had no legal obligation to surrender anything.

  Theo listened, silent, biding his time.

  And then, he struck.

  Without a word, he reached into his bag, retrieving stacks of documents. One by one, he spread them across the polished table—pages upon pages, maps, land records, royal correspondences. The Ravensford advisors’ expressions barely flickered at first—until they saw just how much he had brought.

  Too much.

  Too complete.

  King Edward's gaze sharpened as Theo finally spoke.

  "Your claim is flawed." His voice was controlled, deliberate. "And I can prove it."

  One of Ravensford's legal advisors scoffed. "Prince Theo, we have historical evidence that—"

  "No, you don’t," Theo cut in sharply. He tapped the first document. “Your earliest record of this land dates back to 1724. That’s two centuries too late.”

  Silence.

  Theo pulled out another stack of records. "Bellemont's records? 1502. You cannot claim ownership over something that was never legally Ravensford's to begin with."

  A Ravensford advisor cleared his throat. "We have reason to believe some of those early records were falsified—"

  "By whom?" Theo’s voice was dangerously soft.

  "The Bellemont royal court? The international council that recognized the land centuries ago? Or perhaps by the Ravensford officials who conveniently ‘discovered’ their claim only after my foundation was built?”

  A flicker of unease passed through the Ravensford delegation.

  Theo didn’t stop. He spread more papers onto the table.

  “Here’s a 1703 agreement from Ravensford's council at the time—confirming that this land was under Bellemont rule.” He pulled out another. “Here’s an independent legal review from the modern international courts.” Another paper. “And here’s a contemporary map, drawn and signed by Ravensford's own cartographers, acknowledging the Bellemont border as far back as the 1600s.”

  The sheer volume of evidence was overwhelming.

  The Ravensford advisors scrambled to read through the pages, but there were too many. Too much truth to ignore.

  Cassius, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, his voice low. “Where did you find all of this?”

  Theo met his gaze without hesitation. “By doing the research you should have done.”

  For the first time, there was no immediate response.

  King Edward’s expression had not changed, but Theo saw it—the faintest trace of irritation in the king’s otherwise impassive demeanor.

  Theo pressed forward.

  “Even if Ravensford had a historical claim—which they don’t—the land is already under private ownership. You would have to forcibly seize it from a registered humanitarian foundation.” He tilted his head. “Are you really prepared to justify the forced removal of a non-profit organization on the world stage?”

  The tension in the room spiked.

  No one spoke.

  Edric remained silent, his expression unreadable, but Theo knew his brother well enough to recognize when someone was holding back a smirk.

  King Alistair finally moved, resting his forearm on the table. “You have heard Bellemont's position.” His voice was like steel—cold, unwavering. “We deny Ravensford's claim. If Ravensford wishes to challenge this further, they will find us ready.”

  Theo watched as King Edward exhaled slowly.

  They had lost.

  Not officially, not yet, but this battle was already over.

  King Edward rose, his posture still regal, though there was no mistaking the shift in the air. “We will consider our position.”

  Cassius hesitated before standing as well. But as he passed Theo, he stopped, just for a moment.

  Then, quietly, he said, “That was impressive.”

  Theo didn’t answer.

  He didn’t need to.

  The moment the doors shut, silence reigned.

  Then—

  “What the hell was that?”

  Edric’s voice cut through the quiet.

  Theo leaned back in his chair, stretching slightly.

  “That,” he said calmly, “was me ensuring Ravensford doesn’t bury my foundation under fabricated history.”

  King Alistair regarded him for a long, silent moment.

  Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he said,

  “You took a risk today.”

  Theo met his father’s gaze without flinching. “A calculated one.”

  There was a pause.

  And then—so subtly it was almost imperceptible—Alistair nodded.

  No approval. No praise.

  But a nod.

  Edric sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

  “Theo, you can’t just—” He stopped. Exhaled. “You—” He shook his head.

  Theo smirked. “You can thank me later.”

  Edric groaned.

  But even he couldn’t deny it.

  Theo had just made himself impossible to ignore.

  ---

  The echoes of the royal meeting still lingered in Theo’s mind, but out here, in the quiet sanctuary of the palace gardens, he could finally breathe.

  Here, the air was different. Fresh. Undemanding.

  Theo let out a slow exhale, leaning against the stone railing of the garden terrace, gazing over the neatly trimmed hedges and cascading fountains. The sun hung low, casting golden streaks through the leaves.

  Then—footsteps.

  Unhurried. Measured. Purposeful.

  Theo didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

  Cassius Hartwell always had a way of finding him.

  “I see you survived,” Cassius mused as he stepped beside him, glancing over the garden as if he, too, were here for the peace. But Theo knew better.

  “I could say the same about you,” Theo returned smoothly. “Considering how I just dismantled your kingdom’s claim in front of your father.”

  Cassius let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

  “You did.” He turned to face Theo fully, crossing his arms. “And I have to admit… it was more entertaining to watch live than on a screen.”

  Theo arched a brow, amused. “You watch me on a screen?”

  Cassius rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself. Your debates tend to make the rounds in diplomatic circles. But watching you eviscerate my father’s advisors in person?” He let out a low whistle. “That was something else.”

  Theo smirked. “Glad I could put on a show for you.”

  “Oh, you did.” Cassius leaned against the railing, tilting his head as he regarded Theo. “It’s rare to see someone hold their ground like that. Even rarer to see them win.”

  Theo shrugged. “Ravensford walked into that meeting thinking they had control. I just reminded them that assumptions can be dangerous.”

  Cassius let out a hum of amusement. “And what should I assume about you, Theo?”

  “That depends.” Theo glanced at him, eyes gleaming. “Are you planning to fight me, or admire me?”

  Cassius laughed, low and rich, shaking his head. “I’m still deciding.”

  They stood there for a moment, the tension from earlier replaced by something lighter, something edged with curiosity.

  Finally, Cassius pushed off the railing. “Well, Harrington, it was a pleasure watching you work. I’ll be sure to tell my father how utterly insufferable you are.”

  Theo smirked. “Please do. I’d hate for him to forget.”

  Cassius huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he walked away.

  Theo watched him go, exhaling softly.

  The battle was over—for now.

  But something told him this wasn’t the last time Cassius Hartwell would find him.