Cold Hearts In Love.

The moment Stephen laid eyes upon Aurora, he was seized by a disquieting certainty—if only for a fleeting moment—that she was Lisa.

Yet the Lisa he knew would never grace a soirée with her presence, not even at his invitation. Determined to uncover the truth, he resolved to approach her, despite the mask he was putting on, he knew Lisa would certainly recognize him. 

As she gracefully excused herself from a gentleman who had sought her for a dance, Stephen followed her into the dimly lit corridor.

The faint glow of the chandeliers reflected off the polished marble walls, their golden frames casting soft shadows across the tapestries that adorned the halls.

Before he could utter a word, a sudden sharpness grazed his skin. Her blade was swift, precise, and unmistakable. 

For an instant, he felt certain—this was Lisa, whose instincts often guided her hand faster than thought. Yet something in her gaze felt foreign.

Masking his surprise, Stephen decided to play along with her charade. But as the exchange deepened, his resolve wavered. He hinted at his suspicions, testing her.

Strangely, his ability to discern lies faltered in her presence, as if some unseen force clouded his gift. He swiftly loosen the strings of her mask to see her face, as he suspected she might be someone he knew.

He was asking her a question when the mask fell off her face, and his eyes widened slightly. She looked exactly like the girl he'd been looking for; Aubree.

But Aubree definitely would never do something like this.

It wasn't until his eyes fell upon the pendant she wore—a stone that gleamed faintly crimson under the flicker of the candelabras—that clarity dawned upon him, The Blood Moon Stone.

Its arcane power shielded its bearer from scrutiny, blurring the lines between truth and deception. "Answer me!" he had yelled at her, frustrated at her reluctance to speak.

He had been too distracted to notice the panicked expression on her face, "what is your name?" Yet before he could act, a glint in the shadows warned him too late of another threat. A blade, aimed at his back, would have struck true had she not intervened.

With a desperate shove, she pushed him aside, taking the wound meant for him, he sighed in relief seeing the blade didn't stab her right in the guts.

As the would-be assassin was dragged away by the guards, Stephen's suspicions grew. He had nothing to do with her family, but he could know who did, he knew he had enemies who wanted him dead for no reason at all, but they were getting too bold, and he would have to address the issue sooner or later.

But there was no time to dwell on these thoughts. The mysterious woman before him faltered, her strength waning as crimson bloomed upon her gown.

She collapsed, and he caught her before she met the cold, mosaic floor. The air in the ballroom, once filled with laughter and music, now hung thick with silence. 

Wrapping his arms securely around her, Stephen turned toward the grand entrance of the ballroom. The gilded archways loomed high above, their intricate carvings gleaming faintly in the candlelight. 

"Benedict," he commanded, his voice steady yet firm. "Inform the guests the soirée is over. Send them home." 

The steward bowed low. "Yes, Your Majesty." Without hesitation, he hurried to carry out the royal order. 

Stephen strode purposefully through the corridor, his boots echoing faintly against the marble floor. Turning right, he passed the intricately adorned halls, where silver sconces illuminated portraits of kings past.

At last, he halted before the heavy oak doors of his bedchamber. Pushing them open with care, he entered the room. 

The room was dim, shadows pooling in the corners where the flickering light of the sconces failed to reach. Yet Stephen moved with practiced ease, laying Aurora upon the grand bed.

The mattress sank beneath her weight, the silk sheets whispering as they shifted. Without hesitation, he sat beside her, taking her wrist gently in his grasp. 

Her pulse was faint but steady, a fragile thread tethering her to life. He worked swiftly, drawing the poisoned blood from her veins with deft precision. Each mouthful was spat into a chamber pot, his expression grim yet focused. Careful not to drain her too much, he repeated the process until her breathing evened, her complexion softening. 

Knowing it was too late to call for a Physician, he dressed her wounds himself, before summoning a maid with a single sharp call, he stood as she entered.

"Change her into something more comfortable," he instructed, his voice low but commanding. "She will rest here for the night. Ensure she is undisturbed." 

Turning to the guards stationed outside the chamber doors, he added, "No one enters or leaves without my permission." They bowed deeply, their hands pressed to the hilts of their swords in acknowledgment. 

Leaving Aurora in the care of the maid, Stephen strode through the palace corridors toward one of the guest rooms. The flicker of torches lined the stone walls, casting fleeting shadows over the ornate carvings of griffins and floral patterns that adorned the arches. The guest quarters, though fine in their furnishings, were modest compared to the regal opulence of the king's chamber. 

Inside, he washed himself clean of the dried blood and weariness, the basin of cool water soothing against his skin.

Once done, he wrapped a towel about his waist, his muscles still taut from the night's events. A fresh set of clothes awaited, neatly arranged by another maid, when a soft knock came at the door. 

"Enter," he called, fastening the towel. The door creaked open to reveal a young maid, her cheeks flushing as her gaze faltered. "Y-Your Majesty," she stammered, bowing low. "The Grand Queen Dowager requests your presence." Her hands twisted nervously, betraying her unease. 

Stephen nodded, his expression unreadable. "Very well." Taking her cue, the maid dipped into another bow and hurried out, closing the door behind her. 

After dressing quickly, he left the guest room, his boots tapping lightly against the marble floor as he made his way toward the Queen Dowager's quarters. The palace grew quieter at this hour, the grand tapestries swaying slightly in the draft of the long halls. 

Stopping before the heavy oak doors of the Grand Queen Dowager's chambers, he knocked once, his knuckles echoing against the wood before pushing the door open. 

The room was both stately and intimate, bathed in a warm golden glow from the hearth. She sat reclined on a dark green velvet couch, a silver tray of tea and delicate pastries laid before her. The deep hues of her gown complemented the room's verdant drapery and gold accents. 

"Strange of you to summon me at such an hour," Stephen remarked, his tone faintly teasing as he leaned against her gilded dressing mirror.

"I trust it is worth my time." 

The Grand Queen Dowager, unperturbed, smiled, her wrinkled features softening with amusement. "I should hope so." She lifted her tea, taking a deliberate sip before setting the cup down. 

"Did you find her?" she asked, her voice tinged with quiet hope. 

"Who are you speaking of?" Stephen replied, his tone feigning ignorance. But she knew him too well. 

She squinted at him, her sharp gaze narrowing.

"You know who I mean. Wasn't that the reason you organized this ball in the first place?" 

"Grandmother, have you been spying on me?" he countered, one brow arched in mock accusation. 

"Spying? On my king? Surely not." She feigned offense, her lips forming a slight pout. Her act only amused him further. 

He chuckled softly.

"Knowing you, I wouldn't put it past you to do much more than that." 

Her expression grew impatient, the playful mask slipping. "You found her, didn't you?" 

"Hm." He offered no clear answer, only the faintest smirk. "You'll find out in due time. If that is all, have a peaceful night, Grandmother." 

He stepped toward her and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. She smiled at the gesture, her suspicions nearly confirmed. As he strode to the door, his presence as commanding as ever, she watched him leave, her thoughts filled with anticipation.

"Goodnight, grandson." 

Stephen returned to his chamber, his steps quiet against the polished marble floors. As he entered, his gaze fell upon Aurora, still lying motionless upon the grand canopy bed.

The soft glow of moonlight streamed through the tall arched window, casting silvery streaks across her peaceful face. Something within him stirred as he watched her, a mix of relief and disbelief.

To find her now, under such strange and dangerous circumstances, felt almost surreal. He allowed himself a small, ironic smile.

Gently, he brushed a strand of her black wavy hair from her face, lingering for a moment before turning to leave the room. 

At the door, the guards stationed outside bowed respectfully as he stepped into the corridor.

Their polished armor gleamed faintly in the torchlight lining the hall. Just as he made his way toward the guest rooms, he heard the hurried patter of bare feet. 

"Careful, Sapphire," he said as his younger sister darted toward him, barefoot on the cold stone floor. 

"Are you all right, Brother Stephen?" she asked, her face a picture of worry. "I heard someone tried to attack you at the soirée." 

Her concern softened his features, and he smiled.

"I'm fine. I'm a very lucky man, it seems." 

She sighed in visible relief, though her gaze flickered toward the space beside him, searching for someone. 

"He's fine," Stephen said, noting her curious look. "He is probably resting in his room or taking a smoke somewhere," 

Her cheeks reddened instantly, her demeanor turning flustered. "I didn't ask! And I do not care," she replied quickly, spinning on her heel to walk away. 

Stephen couldn't help but chuckle. "Don't forget to wear your shoes, Sapphire, or you'll catch a cold," he called after her. She didn't respond, though he noted the slight stiffening of her shoulders. 

He shook his head with amusement as he continued down the hall, thinking of her barely concealed affection for his closest companion, Zayd. Yet he knew the truth—Zayd held no such feelings for her. Unless, of course, Stephen had missed something. 

Reaching the guest room two doors away, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The chamber was modest but comfortable, with a four-poster bed and a single tapestry depicting the founding of their kingdom. The quiet of the night enveloped him, and soon, the day came to an end. 

---

For the next week, Stephen devoted his efforts to Aurora's recovery. Each evening, he carefully drew the poisoned blood from her veins, ensuring her life was preserved, though she remained unconscious.

Only his grandmother, the Grand Queen Dowager, knew of Aurora's presence within the palace.

During the day, his time was consumed by court affairs, meetings with allied kingdoms, and family meals. Though the days were busy, his thoughts often returned to the enigmatic woman resting in his chamber. 

On the tenth day, word arrived of his twin brother, Kayden's triumphant return.

The prince had successfully led the kingdom's forces to victory, driving back an opposing nation that had sought to invade their borders. 

The royal court was adorned with banners of white and gold, symbolizing peace and triumph. Ministers and courtiers lined the grand hall, their voices rising in celebration as Kayden rode into the palace courtyard atop a white horse. His victorious armor gleamed in the sunlight, and his expression was one of quiet pride. 

Inside the throne room, Stephen sat upon the gilded throne, his posture regal and composed. The vaulted ceiling above was supported by ornate columns carved with the sigils of Corinthian royalty. As Kayden entered, the ministers and courtiers burst into praise. 

"Prince Kayden!" they cried, their voices echoing through the chamber. "Long live the victorious prince!" 

Kayden approached the throne, his steps deliberate as he knelt before his brother. "Your Majesty," he said solemnly. 

Stephen rose, his voice carrying authority as he addressed the court.

"As you all know, Prince Kayden was sent on a most critical mission. Today, he returns to us in triumph. Let us honor his courage and victory." 

"Congratulations to Your Majesty!" the courtiers chorused, bowing deeply. 

Stephen continued, "As a token of my gratitude, I gift Prince Kayden one thousand gold coins and grant him any position of his choosing." 

Kayden's head dipped in respect. "I am grateful for your generosity, Your Majesty. However, I am content to remain as I am—Commander of the Royal Guard, serving you and our kingdom. It is my duty, and my honor." 

Stephen's lips curved into a faint smirk.

"Very well, then. Someone, see to it that the gold is delivered to Prince Kayden's chambers without delay." With that, he dismissed the court.

"This concludes today's audience. " 

"Long live the King!" they all chanted, bowing as Stephen rose from his throne. The grand hall resounded with their voices as Kayden stood once more, a shared glance passing between the brothers. 

The meeting concluded, and the ministers and courtiers remained gathered in the throne room, showering Prince Kayden with praise. Kayden, ever the image of humility, smiled graciously, engaging in polite conversation and receiving their admiration with practiced ease. 

King Stephen rose from his throne, his movement calm yet commanding. Zayd, his trusted companion, followed close behind as they exited the grand hall.

The marble floors gleamed beneath their boots, and the intricate gold accents on the towering arches reflected the light of the chandeliers above. 

"I daresay he must have been schooled in the art of pretense within the little time he was gone." Zayd muttered, casting a wary glance over his shoulder at Kayden, who stood amidst the ministers, dazzling them with a practiced smile.

"You worry too much, Zayd," Stephen replied with a tone of indifference. "Now, tell me—what did you discover about her?" 

Zayd's expression shifted, his usual confidence replaced with a shadow of concern.

"Not much is known of her; it has been so long that few recall anything at all. Yet, there was once a widely spoken rumor—of how the king slew a young girl's family, forcing her to flee to another town." Stephen's jaw tightened.

"And this happened during my father's reign?" he asked, his tone low but deliberate. 

"Precisely," Zayd confirmed. "Which is why it was likely nothing more than an idle tale." 

Stephen's brow furrowed in thought, his voice reflective. "A baseless rumor, perhaps." But he didn't sound sure after all, there was no smoke without a fire.

Zayd gave a slight shrug. "After that, she disappeared. None ever saw her again. It is said she left with an elderly woman to another town." 

Stephen's gaze grew cold, his eyes narrowing. "And you uncovered nothing further?" 

"Nothing of note," Zayd admitted. 

"It's possible she changed her name," Stephen murmured, his jaw clenching once more as his thoughts turned grim.

Why she hadn't come to him when she needed help would forever be a mystery to him. Had she truly believed she had no one to turn to? He clenched his fists briefly, remembering the anguish of her sudden disappearance years ago. 

When she left without a word, it had left him wounded—hurt, angry, and questioning everything. Yet he hadn't sought her out. He couldn't. The battle for the throne had consumed him entirely, and once it was over, the threats that loomed over him had made it too dangerous to bring her back into his life, not that he was able to find her.

Any association with her would have made her an easy target for his enemies, so he secretly looked for her. 

The soirée had been more than a mere celebration. It had been an excuse—a calculated move to gather as many people as possible in the hope that she might appear. And now, seeing her again had unlocked memories he had kept locked away for so long.

He felt a pang of regret that he hadn't searched for her sooner. In fact, right now he didn't care if he had enemies, he just wanted to be with her. 

"Stephen?" Zayd's voice broke through his thoughts, laced with concern.

"Are you all right?" 

Stephen nods, the storm of emotions simmering beneath his composed exterior.

"I have somewhere I need to be," he replied abruptly. 

"And the meeting?" Zayd asked, confused. 

"Cancel it, that will be for later," Stephen ordered, already turning down the corridor leading to his quarters. 

The hall was lined with towering windows, their glass stained with vivid depictions of Corinthian history. As he reached his chamber door, he paused, placing a hand against the cool, carved wood. 

'I found you, Aubree,' he thought, his chest tightening with the weight of both relief and sorrow.

'I'm sorry it took me so long.' 

With a deep breath, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.