Chapter 13: Her Father’s Letter

Naya sat alone on the edge of her bed, the folded letter still clutched in her hands. She stared at it for a long moment before finally breaking what remained of the seal and unfolding the paper.

There was no greeting. No Dear Naya. No question about how she’d fared since her wedding, no apology for the dress, the altar, the man she’d been handed over to.

The handwriting was hurried, cramped at the edges like it had been written in a rush and sealed before second thoughts could catch up.

Naya,

Ronan has discovered the truth about the arrangement. We hoped giving him you instead of Elara would be enough to end this quietly. It wasn’t. He knows now, and I fear he intends to move against our territory regardless.

You need to secure your position before that happens.

Get pregnant with his heir.

A child would give our family leverage no matter what he decides. If he attacks, the child protects you and protects us. If the opportunity ever presents itself, and you are certain you can act without being caught, you are to kill him. If you succeed, the threat ends. If you fail but carry his child, we still hold something he cannot ignore.

Either way, our family survives this. ℴ

Do not fail us again.

— Godric Ripley

Naya read it twice before her hands began to shake.

Her father hadn’t written to check on her. He hadn’t written to apologize for sacrificing her to a man who had already put his hands around her throat once. He’d written a set of instructions, cold and calculated, as if she were a piece on a board rather than his own daughter.

Pregnancy. Leverage. Murder.

Survival wasn’t mentioned anywhere in his plan. Not once did he ask whether she would live through any of it.

She thought of Ronan’s hand closing around her neck the night of the necklace. She thought of the punishment, the humiliation at dinner, the council’s cruelty he’d let wash over her without lifting a finger to stop it. Her father knew exactly what kind of man Ronan was capable of being. He knew what had already been done to her.

And still, he was asking her to get close enough to bear his child, then find the moment to end his life.

What had he actually expected? That she would simply survive it? Or had he already decided, the moment he dressed her in Elara’s wedding gown, that her survival was never the priority?

Naya sat with that thought until it turned something cold and hollow in her chest.

Was he even really my father?

She hated the question the moment it formed. But she couldn’t find an answer that made it untrue. No father who loved his daughter would send her into a stranger’s hands knowing the stranger might kill her, then follow it with instructions to kill him first.

Footsteps sounded somewhere beyond her door, and panic cut through her spiraling thoughts instantly. If anyone found this letter — if Ronan found this letter — there would be no explaining it away. He would never believe she hadn’t known.

She crossed to the fireplace and held the paper over the flame, hesitating only a second. It was the only word she’d received from her family since the wedding. Then she let it fall.

The edges curled and blackened, the ink vanishing into ash before she could second-guess herself. She watched until nothing remained.

Knock. Knock.

Her heart lurched into her throat. For one terrible moment, she imagined Ronan standing on the other side, already knowing everything.

It was Mira.

"You need to hurry," Mira said. "Your first Luna lesson starts shortly."

Naya forced her expression into something neutral and followed her out, though her thoughts refused to settle. The instructor spoke at length about the responsibilities expected of the King’s wife, tradition after tradition, duty after duty. Naya heard almost none of it.

Get pregnant. Kill him. Use the child as leverage.

Every time the instructor’s voice rose and fell, Naya’s mind drifted back to Ronan’s face during the dance, the way his hand had rested against her waist, the way he’d looked at her lips like he meant to close the distance between them.

She couldn’t reconcile that man with the one she was apparently meant to murder.

Mira eventually noticed her distraction, glancing at her with quiet concern. "Are you all right?"

"Just tired," Naya said.

By the time dinner arrived, the exhaustion of pretending had worn her down to something brittle. She entered the dining hall and found Ronan already seated, and the moment her eyes landed on him, her father’s words came rushing back all at once.

She looked at him differently now. Not simply as the man who hated her.

As the man she’d been ordered to seduce, carry a child for, and eventually kill.

Her stomach twisted so violently she nearly lost her appetite entirely.

"You’re quiet," Ronan said, studying her across the table. "Are you unwell?"

"I’m fine," Naya said, forcing herself to pick up her fork.

He watched her a moment longer before returning to his meal, though she could feel his attention lingering. Every time their eyes met, she wondered if some flicker of guilt showed on her face, if he could somehow see the ash of her father’s letter still clinging to her thoughts.

Neither of them mentioned the dance. Neither mentioned how close they’d come to something neither of them had a name for. But the memory sat between them anyway, heavy and unspoken.

Naya barely tasted anything. She wanted nothing more than to escape to her room and be alone with the weight pressing down on her chest.

Dinner finally ended. She rose from her seat, already moving toward the door, already counting the steps until she could breathe again.

"Naya."

Her heart stopped. She turned slowly.

Ronan remained seated, his expression giving nothing away. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

She searched his face for some sign, some indication of what he knew or didn’t know. Had the cleaner betrayed her? Had someone seen the letter before she burned it? Had he simply guessed?

"I wonder," Ronan said finally.

Naya’s breath caught in her throat.

His eyes stayed fixed on hers, unreadable and utterly still.

"What it was your father wrote in that letter."

The room went silent around her. Naya couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but stare back at him as the blood drained from her face.

He knew about the letter.