Chapter 3 Whispered Promises in the Moonlight.

The torches lining the marbled corridors flickered with golden flames, casting long shadows across the palace walls of Solare.

Prince Zavian strode through the west wing, his steps firm, yet laced with tension.

His crimson cloak billowed behind him like a dying flame.

Servants scurried out of his way, their heads bowed low.

Even the guards, trained to stand still as statues, shifted subtly when he passed.

He had just come from the King's council chamber, where his bold declaration still hung in the air like a thunderclap.

"I intend to make the girl my wife."

Silence had followed.

The king's advisors had glanced at each other, their mouths agape, as if they had just witnessed Zavian declare war on all the noble houses.

The only one who didn't blink was King Aldric, Zavian's father, who sat reclined on his throne, his calloused fingers drumming the lion-carved armrest.

"A slave girl?" the king asked, slowly.

"The one with the haunted eyes?"

Zavian had nodded. "She is no ordinary slave."

The king had chuckled.

"No girl is ordinary in your eyes when you're twenty-five and unmarried. But fine. If she tames your mood, I'll allow it. Better her than the brats sent from neighboring kingdoms. At least she owes us her life. That makes her easier to command."

Zavian had said nothing in response.

He had no intention of treating Hope badly.

Tonight, he would see her again.

He hadn't since they arrived in Solare.

He had left strict orders that no man was to lay eyes on her and that she be given the royal guest suite in the eastern wing.

There, she would find her voice again.

He slowed as he reached the tall mahogany doors that led to her chamber.

A maid stood outside, nervously twisting the hem of her apron.

"Is she inside?" he asked.

The maid nodded quickly.

"Aye, Your Highness. Bathed and dressed. She hasn't asked for anything, but she... she sings. Softly, like a bird that forgot it had a cage."

Zavian's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Leave us."

The maid bowed and fled down the hallway.

With one quiet breath, he opened the door.

The room smelled of lavender and old parchment.

A large canopied bed dominated the space, and beside the open window stood Hope-her silhouette bathed in moonlight.

She wore a simple nightgown of ivory silk.

Her long hair was bided loosely, and her bare feet pressed lightly against the patterned rug beneath her.

She didn't turn, but he knew she had heard him.

"Did they treat you well?" he asked, his voice low, reverent.

Hope nodded, still gazing out at the stars. "I've never seen the moon so big."

He stepped closer.

"The skies here are clearer than in the borderlands."

She turned then, slowly.

Her eyes-silver and cautious-met his. A flicker of fear still danced in them, but underneath it was something else.

A spark.

"I thought you wouldn't come," she said.

"I had duties. But I never forgot you."

A silence bloomed between them. Then, hesitantly, she asked, "Why did you save me?"

Zavian drew nearer, the distance between them shrinking to only a few paces.

"Because no one else would. And because I saw something in your eyes. Not weakness. Not helplessness. Fire. And pain that mirrors my own."

Her throat moved as she swallowed. "You don't know me."

"I intend to."

Her eyes searched his face, as though trying to understand whether his kindness was a mask.

She had lived among monsters too long to trust easily. But, Zavian didn't flinch under her gaze.

"I don't want to be a slave," she whispered.

"You won't be." He reached into the inner fold of his cloak and drew out a small silver necklace-simple, and elegant.

"This belonged to my mother," he said.

"She wore it before the war took her. Well, my father made me believe we lost her to the war. I'm giving it to you. Not because I pity you, but because I see your worth."

She stared at it, unmoving.

"But I'm no one."

He gently took her hand, pressing the necklace into her palm.

"That may have been true in the eyes of the world. But here, in this kingdom, and in my life-you are Hope."

The name fell between them like a sacred vow.

Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she blinked them away.

"What will your people say?"

"They'll whisper. They'll scoff. But they'll bow."

She exhaled shakily, closing her fingers around the necklace.

"And your father?"

Zavian's jaw tightened.

"He sees value in obedience. But I see value in courage."

She smiled then, soft and unsure, like someone remembering how.

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. Just promise you'll never look at yourself as less again."

The wind drifted through the window, rustling the sheer curtains.

Somewhere in the distance, the palace bell tolled midnight.

"Will you stay?" she asked suddenly, almost shyly.

He met her gaze, startled. "If you want me to."

She nodded.

Zavian moved to sit in the cushioned chair near her bed while she sat on its edge, cradling the necklace in her lap.

The silence was not heavy-it was thoughtful, full of unsaid things.

"Before they took me," she said, after a while, "I was a princess."

Zavian didn't react, didn't interrupt.

"I was the only child of a dying kingdom. My people believed surrender would spare lives. But the moment we opened our gates, they slaughtered the men, enslaved the women. I haven't spoken that name aloud in months. I can barely remember my mother's voice."

Zavian leaned forward, his voice like iron wrapped in velvet.

"They cannot take what's in your blood. Not even the nobels can strip you of who you are."

She looked down. "I don't even know who I am anymore."

"You are Hope. Not because I say so, but because you chose to survive."

A tear slid down her cheek. This time, she didn't hide it.

"I dream of fire," she whispered.

"Of screams. Of chains."

Zavian stood and knelt before her, taking both her hands in his.

"Then let me show you something else. Let me teach you to dream of peace again."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world faded. There was only the prince and the girl who had no name-who had become Hope by the light of the moon.

Then came a knock.

Zavian rose swiftly. "What is it?"

A muffled voice answered through the door.

"Your Highness. A messenger sent word from the border."

Zavian turned back to her.

She nodded.

"It's alright."

He walked to the door, then paused.

"Will you be here when I return?"

"Where else would I go?"

He smiled too, more with his eyes than his lips.

"Good."

And then he was gone.

Hope sat alone in the room, moonlight still spilling across her skin.

She looked down at the circlet in her laps.

Her reflection shimmered in the polished silver, and for the first time in a long while, she didn't look like a slave.

She looked like someone worth remembering.

She looked like Hope.

Zavian stepped out into the corridor, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

His face remained composed, but his heart was doing jumping jacks in his chest.

He had stood before kings, stared down seasoned warriors, and led legions into battle without blinking-yet a single girl in a moonlit nightgown had managed to unravel the steel around his soul.

He was going to make Hope his wife.

The thought struck him like a drumbeat echoing in his bones.

Not someday. Not when the court approved or when the nobles quieted their whispers.

Soon.

In the next few days, if he had his way.

His jaw clenched as he moved through the corridor, nodding at a waiting steward who fell into step beside him.

"Where is the messenger?" Zavian asked.

"Waiting in the War Room, Your Highness. He came from the eastern border. He looks... shaken."

Of course he does, Zavian thought grimly.

Trouble brewed like a storm near the borderlands.

Skirmishes, rebel activity, perhaps even spies.

His responsibilities couldn't wait-not even for her.

He would attend to this crisis quickly. Swiftly.

He would not allow anything to delay his plans.

He reached the War Room doors, his fingers tightening briefly around the hilt of his sword.