He didn't respond, rigid as a rock as her lips pressed against his in a desperate attempt to distract him. She waited for him to push her off, to restrain her and discover the weapon hidden in her grip.

She needed to act fast. Stab him, now!

Her mind screamed at her to act, but before she could swing the dagger toward his neck, Brandon moved—not to defend himself but to deepen the kiss. His lips parted against hers, catching her completely off guard. One hand cradled the back of her head while the other gripped her waist, pulling her flush against the edge of the desk.

Stella froze at the foreign yet somehow familiar sensation, the blade resting awkwardly against her back as confusion paralysed her.

What the hell was he doing? What HELL was she doing?

His touch was intoxicating, disorienting her as the kiss grew more intense. He tasted of spearmint—clean and sharp—but beneath it lingered something darker, something dangerous. His usual scent was stronger tonight, woody and earthy, though tainted by the faint metallic tang of blood.

She wanted to feel repulsed at the hands that were touching her, knowing they had probably taken a life or two before coming back here. Instead, a heat spread through her body, muddling her resolve. For a fleeting moment, she surrendered to the sensation, to him.

Dammit, this is to distract him, why was she distracting herself?!

She was blanking out. The way his hands moved on her body, the way his lips moved against hers. She couldn't think straight. Stars he was distracting her!

You're here to kill him. Do it.

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself back to reality. She tightened her grip on the dagger, heart racing as she slid her free hand over his shoulder, positioning the blade behind his neck. It would be easy to slice his neck from this angle or at the very least give him an injury that would immobilise him for a while.

Brandon let out a low, breathy sound—not quite a groan, more like a sharp exhale, almost swallowed by the intensity of the kiss. Stella didn't register it, too caught up in the chaos of her own plan.

He masked the wince swiftly, his grip on her waist remaining firm despite the flicker of strain tightening his jaw.

Do it now!

Before she could send the dagger plunging into his neck veins, Brandon let out a soft scoff as he whispered into her mouth, low and mocking, "If you're going to stab me, you should've done it when I walked in, Princess,"

Her eyes widened in shock, and she pulled the dagger back with full force—only for Brandon to duck, seizing her wrist in a swift, practised motion. Pain shot up her arm as he twisted it, forcing her fingers to release the blade. The weapon clattered to the floor, the sound echoing ominously in the room.

In one fluid motion, Brandon pinned her to the desk, her hands wrenched behind her back. She struggled against him, fury burning in her veins.

"You got pretty close there, princess," he murmured with a smirk, his breath warm against her ear. She glared at him menacingly despite being immobilised against his desk, and he flashed her a sinister grin, "Not a half-bad distraction,"

She gritted her teeth, furious he was even mocking her after she put her dignity aside like that to distract him. Furious that in the end, she was the one who almost got distracted.

"Fuck you," she spat, venom lacing her words.

He chuckled—a dark, cynical sound edged with amusement. "Funny. Maybe if you don't try to kill me," His tone was mocking, taunting her as though this entire encounter was some twisted game.

She gave him a look, a look she tried very hard to come off as disgust, but she couldn't bring herself to look at his lips anymore. At least not without imagining what it was like kissing them again.

Stella writhed in his grip, seething. Her pride stung more than her restrained limbs. Why did I kiss him? The thought churned in her mind, making her stomach twist with equal parts shame and frustration.

"Now for a more pressing matter," His smirk vanished quickly, replaced with a more serious expression, "Where did you find that dagger princess?" He asked, and she froze. She knew he caught a glimpse of it, the red handle was striking even from a distance.

They both know that dagger very well, there weren't very many like that.

"None of your damn business," She snapped back, struggling against his grip while he continued to study her face.

He tightened his grip, his jaw ticking. "What else did you find?"

"Get off me!"

His voice lowered, dangerous and uncompromising as he pressed himself against her to keep her from using her limbs, "Princess, don't make me repeat myself."

Giving him one more death glare, she twisted her wrist, attempting to elbow him in the abdomen. Brandon released her just in time to evade the hit but winced as he moved, a flash of pain contorting his face before reverting back to his usual coldness.

Stella stared at him incredulously, frozen and stunned at the most foreign expression that she had ever seen on his face. Pain. She didn't even land the hit.

What the hell-

"Brandon what-"She began in a tone laced with suspicion as she reached out to the same spot on his abdomen that made him react.

He grabbed her hand in mid-air, "It's nothing, go back to your room," He hissed, pushing her back to move her fingers off him.

Stella's lips parted and she slapped his hand away before reaching for the hem of his black mock neck subconsciously about to lift it. It rode up with ease, revealing his toned stomach.

Her breath hitched.

Was that blood?

Brandon snatched her hand immediately and squeezed it tightly, pulling it away from him to stop her from seeing any further, "Go." He gritted out and Stella glared at him.

"Show me," She snapped back and he dropped his head in irritation. Why was she so fucking difficult?

"Enough princess – I said go." He retorted bringing his face close to her with a harsh look in his eyes.

"Brandon show me!" She barked back, bringing her face equally as close to his. The look in her eyes was absolute, challenging and fiery, he felt his body obey without a choice.

This damn girl.

He let out a frustrated growl, slamming his hands on the desk beside her before pulling up his top to his pecs. Stella's lips parted and the gasp that escaped her lips came out louder than she had intended.

Bruises and slashes marred his torso, dark and angry against his usually unblemished skin. Blood seeped from fresh wounds, staining the black fabric he had tried to conceal them with. These weren't battle scars—they were deliberate, brutal. These were intentional cuts and bruises that can only be made by repeated lashes to the same spot.

This was torture.

Stella's fingers unconsciously neared the large slash across his abdomen, but before she could touch it, he flinched, pulling back and dropping his top, "Enough, go back to your room,"

"Who did this?" She whispered, meeting his hard sinister gaze. She didn't need an answer, she already knew who was capable of that. Brandon Silver was the best fighter in Solaria – no, in Magix. He was untouchable on the battlefield and there were not a lot of men he'd willingly let even get a scratch on him. Except one. The way he avoided her gaze gave her the answers she needed, "Why?"

His expression gave nothing away from how cold and guarded it was, "I failed my mission, this is my punishment," He replied stoically, "There were to be no survivors in Linphea's outpost,"

Stella's mind reeled. He was talking about Flora—when she had begged him to let her friend escape. He had spared Flora's life and taken the consequences upon himself.

He had been punished because of her.

A wave of conflicting emotions crashed over her, leaving her breathless. She had always seen High Commander Brandon Silver as the cold-blooded enforcer of Drakari—a ruthless killer who obeyed without question. Yet here he stood, battered and bleeding, bearing the weight of defiance.

Why would he do this? The question clawed at her mind. Brandon had nothing to gain by letting Flora go. Mercy didn't fit the image she had crafted of him—the monster who had taken everything from her. And yet, despite his nonchalant demeanour, his silence spoke volumes.

Stella's throat tightened. For so long, she had convinced herself that hurting him would bring her peace. Hell – she just tried to kill him. But now, seeing him wounded and punished, something inside her shifted. She had wanted to see him suffer—had imagined it countless times—but this? This wasn't a triumph.

It was hollow, unsettling.

She felt sick just looking at it.

Her lips parted, words faltering on her tongue. What could she even say? Gratitude felt absurd; pity felt misplaced. But the rage she'd nurtured for years wavered, cracks forming in its once impenetrable surface.

"This isn't a big deal, go to bed," He murmured coldly, pulling his blazer over his shoulders to cover the evidence. That's why his cologne was strong to keep the smell of blood concealed.

Stella felt her heart pound at the mental image of each slash across his stomach. Deep, glaring and bleeding. "I- How- Why do you allow this?" She whispered, her mouth drying at the thought of how he received each of those wounds.

He didn't meet her gaze but let out a soft sigh, "This is order in Drakar," He murmured, "Failing your mission whether you are a simple soldier or the high commander, the repercussions are the same. This is how to set an example,"

His own father was punishing him to make an example out of disobedience. The idea made her stomach lurch. "But this is barbaric," She whispered, strength finally surging in her voice, "This is wrong!"

She could never stomach torture. The rebellion frequently freed slaves and imprisoned Solarians. Among them, there were always the tortured ones, with wounds that made her sick to her stomach. Noah never let her come on those missions – he knew she couldn't handle it.

"This is how life is, princess," he breathed, his voice awfully soft for a man that was pissed off moments ago, "My father has amassed sympathisers beyond comprehension, there is no winning here. You either serve him or you get executed, it's as simple as that,"

She felt the exasperation build up with all that he said. "But you are his son! I don't understand why he would do this to you – why you let this happen?!"

He was stronger than his shitty father, hell he was one of the strongest fighters alive and yet he allows his father to do this.

Why would he allow his father to do this?!

He didn't say anything. His eyes were guarded once more as he turned away from her, "Go to bed, princess, it's late," He murmured coldly.

"No!" She snapped, "I don't understand why Andreas would do this to his own son! I don't understand why you would let your father willingly do this to you,"

She felt sick just thinking about it. She didn't want to face the fact that it was because of her that he was standing here covered in lashes. No, the heartless commander she knew would've just done what his duty commanded and killed who he needed to when he well and truly knew the repercussions of not completing his mission.

He knew this would happen; he knew the punishment. So why was he standing here after taking the consequences of his defiance? The defiance he did for her.

Why. Why? WHY?!

"Enough," He snapped, his voice sharp and chilling, "Leave."

She stood there, chest heaving with the intensity of her anger and frustration as he faced her with a stoic coldness that only pissed her off more. Stella didn't speak, just obeyed his wish before she stormed out of his study room and slammed the door shut behind her.

She couldn't bear to be in his presence after seeing that.

Stella made it back to her prison with little time to spare before she slammed the door shut behind her loudly to make a point of his lack of response. Her heart was hammering in her chest, battering at her ribcage at the memory of his injuries branded in her mind.

It frustrated her beyond comprehension why he would do that. It pissed her off that he stood there and took it. The depth of his wounds made it obvious that he didn't even fight back, didn't even struggle. Just stood there and took it.

And to top it all off – she kissed him.

She didn't even realise her hands were trembling as she gently ran her fingers along her tingling lower lip. Stars, she had kissed him too. She felt like such a fucking fool – she was the one who got distracted in the end after pulling such a stunt!

All in the name of damn revenge was becoming a tired old drum she was still beating.

Her first kiss. That kiss should've been Noah's, it was supposed to be with him. Stella let out another frustrated groan, this was so childish of her to even be conflicted about. Her first kiss, hell, even her first time- these were not things a former princess in the midst of a war for her people should be worrying about.

She would do anything for her kingdom.

She could see her red-faced expression from the mirror of her dresser table at the other end of the room. She's not the dainty princess of Solaria anymore. Who cares who she has to kiss, who she has to sleep with? It would've been her fucking fate had she didn't end up on that escape ship that night.

The following morning, Stella rose with the first sun, the early light casting a golden glow over her room. She pushed open the balcony windows, inviting the crisp breeze inside. The wind teased her curtains, making them dance, while the gentle warmth of the sun caressed her skin, filling her with an unexpected surge of energy.

The Silver ship was idle outside, almost immediately dampening her mood as she glared at the illustrious Silver family coat of arms branded on the top of the great white beast.

She didn't need a reminder of him so early in her day.

A soft knock on her door caught the former princess's attention as she called out over her shoulder, "Come in,"

"Good morning, Your Highness!" Digit's cheerful voice chimed as the pixie fluttered into the room, his wings shimmering with excitement.

Stella offered a faint smile as she stepped back inside. "Good morning, Digit. You're in a good mood this morning,"

"It's the start of spring, Your Highness," he announced with palpable enthusiasm. Stella arched a brow, clearly puzzled by the significance. "The High Lord always holds a grand banquet to celebrate the rise of Drakar this time of year," Digit explained eagerly.

Oh, that's right.

The end of next week marked the day Solaria was usurped 4 years ago. Her father's death anniversary, the day she lost it all. The excited look on Digit's face made it ever so obvious that the citizens of Drakar honoured the day as one of celebration – the onset of their empire.

To them, the day Solaria fell was the day their kingdom was born.

Forcing on a smile, Stella nodded, "I see,"

Digit's excitement faltered as realization dawned at the gravity of his words. His wings drooped. "Oh… I'm sorry, Your Highness! I didn't think—I mean—" He stumbled over his words, his voice laden with guilt.

Stella shook her head, a strained but sincere smile still marrying her face as she waved her hand dismissively, "No, it's okay, you don't have to apologise, Digit," She told him earnestly, "It's just how it is,"

The pixie's frown deepened, sympathy etched into his tiny features. Stella swallowed the bitterness welling up inside her and clapped her hands together, forcing a brighter tone. "Anyway! I think I'll do some sparring today."

Digit nodded, unconvinced of the former princess's sudden switch in emotion but didn't question it. After a bit of conversation, Stella got ready to leave her room and walked down the hallway to Tecna's training room.

The moment the doors hissed open, she could see the last person she wanted to run into today standing in the middle of the arena.

Brandon Silver.

His shirt was off, with white gauze wrapped around his torso to conceal the lashes. She didn't realise it last night, but his back also indicated evidence of the same torture as he cut down the training robots that charged at him.

Don't think about it. She told herself harshly almost catching herself with that same guilt again.

Stella watched, mesmerised despite herself, as he flipped the dagger upright by its hilt, dispatching two more holograms with ease. As if sensing her presence, Brandon paused, glancing over his shoulder. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, and for a fleeting moment, their eyes locked.

Her breath hitched. Stars, his lips.

She couldn't stop the prickling feeling at the back of her neck – not anger or disgust but something far more dangerous.

This was the man she was hopelessly in love with for most of her childhood. The man she spent 4 years resenting for what he did. Why the hell did she think it was a good idea to kiss him as a distraction?!

The moment his blank eyes locked with hers, Stella sent him a harsh glare before turning on her heel to storm back out of the lab.

Dammit all. No sparring today, it seemed. She couldn't bear to be near him—not out of hatred, but because of what she might feel if she stayed.

Stella marched back down the corridor, her mind racing. If sparring was out of the question, then uncovering the rest of the missing pages was her next best option.

Making her way back to the room, she walked past the king's study and pushed the handle down to try her luck once more.

Locked.

She figured as much.

Stella let out a soft sigh; her eyes flickered back to the hallway she had just come from and up towards the rest of the castle. The only book with even a slither of information she needed was missing pages and no one in this damn place seemed to give her the answers she was desperately looking for.

Getting bored of standing in one place she began aimlessly walking down the hallway, hoping her feet would lead her somewhere useful while she pondered on the current state of her situation.

One other glaring question she had was how the hell the sceptre managed to manifest inside of her to begin with. All of her life, The Sun Sceptre was its own materialised item, with a long, sturdy hilt anyone could hold and use. Her father, King Radius, had kept the sceptre in the treasury along with other precious Solarian artefacts and that was the last place she saw it before her coronation.

Although forbidden, the young princess would often take the sceptre out of its protective case and practice wielding it in private – a pastime that her father was unaware of.

She wanted to be a fighter to impress the former commander's son whom she was hopelessly in love with.

Funny how that silly little motivation had turned into a fight for her life.

Without thinking, Stella had walked to the treasury room she often snuck into when her father was away. The grand doors were always closed as far back as she can remember but her father never had it locked.

Reaching for the handle, she was mildly surprised to see that it was unlocked. Pushing the door open, she stepped in and took in the sight before her. The room had changed, one of the only things about the castle that was different to the one in her memory.

Instead of the sceptre's tall glass case centred in the room, there was a grand piano. The curtains were drawn and shielding the warm spring light from outside, which was out of the ordinary. Most of the Solarian artefacts were not in their holder – Stella assumed it was looted during the red coronation by traitors and Drakari alike.

The rest of the room was filled with musical instruments of which the former princess had never seen before. Woodwind, string, percussion at least a handful of everything was here and some hidden in the corners of the dark room.

It was like a garden of music.

Curiosity piquing her interest, she stepped deeper into the room. Her natural sun fairy instincts coveted her to draw open the curtains as the bright light bathed the room in its glory. The black gloss grand piano in the middle of the room lit up, reflecting the sun's warm light and the rest of the room began to glow.

Her eyes laid on the piano, a very different one to the upright piano in the drawing room that she practised on during the princess duties. Despite the former darkness in the room, the instruments were dust-free, well kept and polished.

Someone had looked after them well.

Drawn by a mix of nostalgia and curiosity, she approached the piano and let her fingertips skim across the cool ivory keys. The touch stirred long-buried memories of rigid lessons, scolding instructors, and endless hours of practice.

A single sheet of parchment rested on the holder, its edges yellowed with age. The notes scrawled across it formed an intricate melody—complex yet achingly beautiful. Beside the composition paper, an inscription caught her eye.

Musa

Stella frowned – she had never heard of that name before. She didn't know any piano makers or composers by that name either. But It was etched onto the fall board above the keys as if it were the name of the piano itself.

Yet the name sparked no recognition, but something about it tugged at her curiosity.

Letting out a soft breath, she eased herself onto the velvet-cushioned bench. Her fingers hovered over the keys, hesitant at first, then settled into position as she pressed the first note into the key.

The piano was beautifully tuned and well maintained as if holding memories that one would not wish to relinquish.

Her muscles relaxed as muscle memory took over from years of practice, guiding her through the piece. There was a strange intimacy in the act of playing again after so long — a connection to something pure and untainted by the burdens of her title.

Her fingers glided over the polished ivory, playing the melody as her eyes followed the notes with accuracy and skill. The song was achingly beautiful, a composition of tones and notes that Stella had never played before – it wasn't a song she was aware of.

A song that told a bittersweet story.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Stella's fingers froze mid-note, the harmony fracturing into dissonance. Her head snapped up at the harsh tone that cut the melody short.

Riven stood in the doorway, his dark eyes blazing with fury. His broad frame was tense, jaw clenched so tightly it seemed ready to snap. The room's serenity shattered under the weight of his dark presence.

Whenever he was in the room, it was different to the feeling she had when Brandon was there. Even as a child, Stella favoured Brandon sincerely despite his cold and indifferent attitude.

But Riven Hale? She hated that man. Always have.

Stella blinked, confused by the sheer ferocity of his reaction. "Playing the piano," she said slowly, annoyance creeping into her tone, "What is it that you think I'm doing?"

He didn't take her tone lightly, anger and something more creasing his expression, "Get your filthy fingers off that," he growled, striding toward her with heavy, deliberate steps. "You shouldn't be touching it,"

Filthy?!

Stella stood from the bench, her irritation rising to meet his anger. "Excuse me? Last I checked, this is part of the castle, and your damned commander has permitted me to do as I please in it!"

Riven's fists clenched at his sides. "That song isn't yours. You have no fucking right to play it."

The venom in his voice stung, but Stella refused to back down. "It's just a song, Riven," she shot back, her tone sharp.

"Just a song?" His voice sharpened, raw with something she couldn't quite place — grief, anger, something deeper and uglier. "You don't get it."

"No, I don't," Stella snapped. "But maybe you could explain instead of acting like a damn tyrant every time someone breathes wrong near you!"

Riven's eyes darkened, his expression twisting into something bitter and wounded. But he said nothing, his silence heavier than any insult.

Frustration bubbled over in Stella's chest. "What's so sacred about this piano, huh?" she challenged, stepping closer. "What's so special about that name—Musa?"

He flinched, just barely, but it was enough for her to see the crack in his armour.

The tension between them crackled like a live wire. For a moment, it seemed as though he might say something—something important. But then, just as quickly, he shut down, his expression hardening into a mask of indifference as if saying that name switched off everything.

"Stay out of here, Your Majesty," he bit out coldly before turning sharply on his heel and stalking toward the door.

Stella's hands curled into fists at her sides. "Coward," she muttered under her breath.

Riven froze in the doorway, shoulders rigid. The air between them thickened, but he didn't look back. Without another word, he disappeared, leaving Stella alone in the echoing silence.

Just what the hell was his problem?

Good morning/afternoon/evening/whatever time it is wherever you are, back-to-back updates for you!

I decided not to ramble at the start and let you guys rip into it and then ramble here at the bottom. First of all - I MISSED YOU GUYS SO MUCH OMG, seeing everyone's comments this morning was like a warm hug I'm so forever grateful. Happy New Year to everyone although I may have missed the mark by a month lol.

I'm so glad this story is the mood lifter to readers' exam blues and excitement to their end of week hehe. I absolutely love reading your theories and some of them MIGHT be getting pretty warm to the money but I can't say which (or I might switch the story up indefinitely hehe), but please do leave your thoughts, or even your criticism I don't really mind, I'm old enough to cry about it to my stuffed Pochita toy meheh.

Also thank you everyone for all your lovely congrats it means the world to me to have such wonderful readers T^T. I will do my best to get a grip and keep updating weekly. I will try and make up for lost time and back to back update if possible but pls don't bet on it HAHAH.

Secondly - THEY KISSED AHHHH ! I actually wrote this scene so long ago, like, I mean like right after the Linphea arc or so, and then my editor yelled at me bc he was like "why are you rushing it?" he's right lol, hopefully, my timing isn't off!

ANYWAYS, about the story, Riven is such an interesting character to me because I'm not really sure how to drop the plot without dropping the whole plot idk, anyways I do have a little bit of an ultimatum for you guys:

Would you like the next chapter to be a flashback or a bit of a delve into Riven's lore?

Lots of love,

Star