A FLASHBACK
The sound echoed like thunder through the obsidian-walled chamber.
Katarina's golden hair spilled across her cheek where her father's hand had struck, the pale imprint blooming like a shadow on her flawless skin. Her head had barely moved. She didn't stagger. She didn't cry. She merely stood there, blinking slowly, as if her body refused to register what had just happened.
Her father, King Aldrien, rarely raised his voice. He had never raised his hand—especially not toward his precious daughter, the Crown Princess of the Northern Realm. Yet tonight, centuries of icy restraint shattered beneath the weight of his fury.
Queen Lysandra stood beside him, her presence cold and severe, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She didn't speak, but her silence thundered louder than her husband's slap. The disappointment in her eyes sliced through Katarina like a blade. No words. Just the hollow space where love had momentarily vanished.
"You have brought dishonor to the bloodline," Aldrien's voice was low, but every syllable weighed a thousand stones. He wasn't just a father in this moment. He was a king, and he was delivering a sentence.
"I don't understand..." Katarina's voice trembled, completely taken off guard. They had never raised their voices at her—let alone their hands. If it had come to this, it must be something earth-shattering.
"Didn't we warn you?" Aldrien's tone sharpened, his control fraying at the edges. "Not once. Not twice. We have told you, since you were old enough to speak—no association with the Southern Realm."
His words crashed into her like cold waves. How did he know? How did they find out?
She wanted to speak, to protest, but the words tangled and died in her throat.
His gaze pierced her like molten iron. "Not only did you forge a friendship with him—you showed him the map of our East Tower."
Her breath hitched.
No. No, no, no.
She forced the thought away, rejecting the only explanation that clawed its way to the surface.
"I—" Katarina's voice cracked, her throat dry as ash. She bit her lower lip hard enough to taste blood.
"How do I explain this?" Aldrien asked, stepping toward her, his fury cooling into something more terrifying—a quiet, deliberate rage. "How do I face the people? The families who died protecting the East Tower because of you?"
Her heart clenched. "Died...?" Her voice was a fragile thread.
His jaw tightened. "They ambushed us last night. They knew exactly where to strike—and how to block reinforcements from reaching the castle." His chest rose and fell sharply, barely leashing the storm within. "The battle rages even now. But the soldiers—they know. The court knows. The nation knows. It was you."
Her entire world cracked.
No. Nicholas would never—
He wouldn't.
He couldn't.
"We were just…" she whispered, her mind scrambling, "we were just… checking—"
But the sentence withered. She had no defense. No ground to stand on.
Katarina had believed in him. In their bond. In their secret childhood meetings, tucked away from the venom of ancient feuds. She had believed their friendship was above the war that raged between their kingdoms.
But Nicholas had betrayed her. He had taken the map she'd shown him, shared it with the Southern Council, and wrapped her trust like a delicate gift only to deliver it as a weapon.
Even immortals could bleed.
And some betrayals cut deeper than the sharpest blade.
"Enough." Aldrien's voice turned cold, the final seal on her punishment. "You will leave."
Katarina stood frozen, her throat burning as her father shoved a stack of sealed parchments into her hands. She unfolded them with trembling fingers—battle plans. Schedules. Detailed accounts of her secret meetings with Nicholas. They had proof.
"I..." she whispered, searching desperately for a flaw, a mistake, something she could cling to. "No. This—he wouldn't—"
Her father's silence roared in her ears.
She fled.
The doors slammed shut behind her, sealing her out of the world she had known.
❖❖❖
Katarina wandered through the stone corridors in a daze, the scrolls pressed tightly to her chest. Each step echoed in the empty halls, too loud, too hollow.
How could he?
How could Nicholas, of all people?
She pressed her back to the cold wall, her legs giving way as she slid to the ground, her breathing ragged.
They had trusted each other. Shared stolen hours as children, hidden from the watching eyes of their kingdoms. He'd promised her that war would never touch them.
Had it all been a lie?
Or had something forced his hand?
Tears blurred her vision, but she forced them back. The guilt clawed at her throat, suffocating her.
How many lives?
How many families?
How many had died… because of her?
She buried her face in her hands. "I didn't mean to…" The words were useless here. They meant nothing now.
Her duty was to protect the Northern Realm. She was the Crown Princess. Her people bled for her kingdom while she had played at friendship.
No.
She would not run from this.
❖❖❖
Later that night, she sought her father again.
He didn't greet her. He didn't speak.
"I will fight them," Katarina said, her voice steady, though her heart was still cracked. "Let me lead the army to the Eastern border."
Aldrien's eyes hardened. "Your mistake is not something you can erase with a sword."
"But I can try." Her shoulders squared, the fire in her blood rising despite the ache in her chest. "If I am to carry this guilt, I will bear it standing. Let me fight for them—for the ones we lost."
For a long moment, Aldrien said nothing. His disappointment hung between them like a thick fog.
Then, finally, he turned away. "Do as you will. But you are not forgiven."
His words stung more than the slap.
❖❖❖
Katarina rode at the head of her army days later, her silver armor gleaming beneath the pale sun. The soldiers followed her, many with eyes that no longer held the same warmth. She had much to atone for.
The Eastern border bristled with tension when they arrived. Skirmishes flared, arrows darkened the skies, and through the chaos, Katarina found him.
Nicholas.
He looked the same—but different. The boy she had trusted was gone, replaced by a Crown Prince wearing the weight of betrayal across his shoulders.
The battlefield roared around them — steel against steel, fire curling through the smoke-choked sky. Amid the chaos, Crown Prince of the Southern Realm. Her childhood friend. Her secret. Her betrayal.
He stood at the edge of the ruined clearing, sword in hand, his armor dirtied with battle. But it wasn't the blood or soot that made her breath catch.
It was his eyes.
Even now, they held guilt. Grief. A silent ache. A quiet, desperate longing that hadn't yet died — even though everything else between them had.
She approached slowly, blade drawn, heart pounding louder than the war behind her. "You."
Nicholas didn't lift his sword. "You shouldn't be here."
Her voice cut like frost. "And you should have never betrayed me."
"I did what I had to," he said, too quickly.
Katarina's jaw clenched. "Don't feed me lies and call it duty. You looked me in the eyes, Nicholas. You smiled at me… while you held the knife behind your back."
He flinched. Just barely — but she saw it.
"I tried to protect you," he said.
"You handed them the East Tower." Her voice broke. "You handed them my people."
"I didn't have a choice!" His voice cracked — not with anger, but desperation. "You don't know what they threatened—"
She drew her sword in a flash, steel gleaming like fury. "You could have warned me."
"If I had," he said darkly, "you'd be dead right now."
Katarina froze. But only for a breath.
"Then maybe I should have died, if it meant not standing here in front of someone, I trusted with my soul only to find a liar in his place."
That was when his gaze changed — like a shutter slamming shut. The softness drained from his eyes. He straightened, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.
"You really thought it was more than a game?" he said coldly. "What did you expect, Katarina? That we'd end centuries of bloodshed with secret forest meetings and childhood whispers?"
Each word was a blade. And she felt everyone.
"You didn't matter," he finished, eyes blank now. "You were just… useful."
She staggered back as if he'd struck her. The air fled her lungs.
Liar.
Liar.
Liar
But his voice was calm now. Hollow. As if he were trying to bury the guilt beneath cruelty.
"Then why do your hands shake?" she whispered.
He didn't answer.
She screamed — not words, but rage — and lunged. Their swords clashed like thunder. The force of her fury sent him stumbling back, but he held his ground.
Strike after strike, she pressed him. Her blade danced in a fury of grief, slicing through the past, through memories of nights under starlight and promises made in breathless laughter.
Nicholas blocked, parried, turned — but he never struck back. Only defended. Always defended.
"Fight me!" she shouted, breath ragged. "Or do you only hurt people when they're not looking?"
"I don't want to hurt you," he hissed, finally raising his sword. "But I will stop you if I must."
"You already did," she spat. "You killed the girl who trusted you."
And then — the sound. A sharp whistle.
An arrow sliced through the air.
Nicholas's eyes widened in horror. "No!"
The arrow struck her side — not deep, not fatal, but enough to jar her. She stumbled back, one hand flying to her ribs.
Her fingers came away glowing.
Golden.
The battlefield fell silent.
Golden blood dripped down her armor like liquid fire. Brilliant. Divine. Impossible.
Katarina looked down, then up — her expression unreadable.
Nicholas stared at the blood with pure dread. "No…" he breathed. "No, not now…"
Katarina gripped the broken arrow, snapping it clean with a hiss. Her breath came hard, but she didn't fall. She stood.
"I am not so easily broken," she said, voice like thunder, rising above the stunned silence.
The armies — Northern and Southern alike — watched in awe and terror. Her power shimmered in the air, ancient and awakening.
Nicholas stepped toward her, eyes wide with fear — not of her, but for her.
"Katarina—"
"Don't speak." Her tone cut like ice. "You lost the right."
"I didn't mean for that arrow—"
"But it hit." She turned away from him, standing tall despite the wound, her golden blood glinting like a curse against her silver.
He reached for her — and then stopped himself. His hands clenched at his sides.
There was still that old warmth in his eyes.
But he'd chosen a side.
And now the storm had just begun...