Amiya's POV
The wind had picked up, tugging at the edges of her cloak as Amiya watched Ronan dismount, her grip tightening on the hilt of her dagger. Her heart thundered in her chest, but she didn't let it show. Not in her posture, not in her face. She didn't flinch. She couldn't afford to.
Because this man—this stranger who clearly knew Sylas and had the nerve to call her royalty—he wasn't just another complication. He was a threat. And she was so fucking tired of threats.
The word had barely left Ronan's mouth—"royalty"—and it echoed like a slap across her thoughts. She felt Sylas's gaze flick to her, but she didn't meet it. Couldn't. Her stomach twisted, her mind racing to calculate how much he'd guessed, how much he already knew. Because even if she hadn't told him, she'd never exactly hidden it well. The speech, the posture, the way she recoiled from dirt and slept like she expected silken sheets.
She'd given herself away long ago.
But Ronan saying it aloud… that changed everything.
And still, Sylas didn't question her. Didn't turn and demand answers or spit curses at her for dragging him into this shit. He just watched Ronan with that deadly, cold focus she was coming to recognize too well. Like he was sorting through every possible outcome and preparing for the worst.
The tension coiled in her chest threatened to snap.
"I don't know who you are," she said to Ronan, her voice low and steady, "but if you're looking for trouble, I suggest you keep walking."
Ronan chuckled, clearly amused. "You've got fire. I like that. But I'm not here for you, sweetheart. I'm here because your friend has a habit of running from debts."
Sylas didn't deny it. He didn't even blink.
Amiya narrowed her eyes. "Then talk to him. And leave me out of it."
She didn't know if it was true—if Sylas had really brought Ronan down on them. But she didn't care. Because all she wanted now was a path forward. Away from the edge. Away from being found again. Her entire life had been spent dancing around expectations and hiding behind veils of civility. She was done hiding.
And maybe it was time she stopped pretending she wasn't who she was.
So when Ronan stepped forward again, eyeing her like a puzzle he was halfway through solving, Amiya did the only thing she could think of to take control of the moment.
She lifted her chin and said, clear and sharp: "He's right. I'm royalty."
Sylas's reaction was instant—but not what she expected.
He didn't curse. Didn't walk away.
He just exhaled. A slow, steady breath like a storm passing overhead.
"Of course you are," he muttered.
And for a second, it almost sounded like relief.
Sylas's POV
The words hit him like a thrown knife.
"I'm royalty."
It should've changed everything. And in some ways, it did. But it didn't surprise him—not really. The signs had been there from the beginning: the way she carried herself, the sharp tongue shaped by too much etiquette training, the fire behind her eyes that only someone raised to command would ever develop.
What hit him wasn't the truth.
It was the fact that she'd said it.
Out loud.
Here. With him.
Sylas didn't say anything at first. Let Ronan circle like a wolf sniffing for blood. Let Amiya stand her ground like she wasn't already trembling beneath the weight of her own truth. He just watched. Calculated. Sorted through what came next.
Because now they were exposed.
Ronan didn't deal in court politics, but word traveled fast—faster than fire in dry brush. If Ronan suspected she was a noble, and now knew she was royal? There was no taking that back.
He should've left her. Should've walked away back in Selune.
But he hadn't. And now they were here.
He stepped slightly forward, just enough to put himself between her and Ronan.
"Whatever you think you can sell that information for, it's not worth it," he said.
Ronan raised an eyebrow. "Is that a threat?"
"No," Sylas said. "It's a guarantee."
They stared at each other for a long moment—two men who knew the cost of secrets, of alliances forged in fire and desperation. Then Ronan laughed.
"Still the same Sylas," he said. "Fine. I'll leave. For now. But next time? You'd better have something worth my trouble."
He turned, mounted his horse, and disappeared into the trees as suddenly as he'd appeared.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Sylas didn't turn to face Amiya. Not yet.
"So," he said finally, voice low, steady. "Princess."
She bristled.
"Don't call me that."
He turned then, eyes meeting hers.
"Then what should I call you?"
A beat.
"Amiya," she said quietly. "Just Amiya."
He nodded. "Alright. Just Amiya. Let's get moving."
He didn't push her. Didn't ask what she'd done, or why she'd run. But as they set off again, side by side now instead of one trailing behind the other, he knew one thing for certain:
The road ahead had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.
And he wasn't walking away.
Not now.
Not yet.