Chapter 23: The Prince’s Defiance

The villa carried a quiet warmth, the soft flickering of lanterns casting golden light over the room as Ember sat across from Liam. The tension between them had softened, replaced by cautious curiosity. She wasn’t used to people offering help, let alone someone like him—someone who carried himself like he had seen more than most.

“You never told me your name,” Liam said, breaking the silence.

Ember hesitated for only a fraction of a second before answering, keeping her voice steady. “Raven.”

Liam arched an eyebrow. “Raven?” He repeated it slowly, as if tasting the word, measuring it against the fiery red hair cascading over her shoulders and the fierce gold in her eyes.

She met his gaze without flinching. “Yes.”

He let the name settle between them, studying her with quiet intrigue. It didn’t suit her—not entirely. Something told him she was hiding, that whatever truth she carried was buried deep beneath the surface. But he didn’t challenge it. Not yet.

Instead, he leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. “Well, Raven,” he said, voice steady, “since we’re going to be training together, I suppose introductions are fair.”

She raised a brow. “You assume I want to know who you are.”

Liam smirked slightly, unfazed. “I’m Liam, son of King James, prince of this village.” He watched her carefully for a reaction, but she merely blinked, her expression unreadable.

“Prince?” she echoed. Her tone was indifferent, but Liam didn’t miss the faint shift in her posture—the way she straightened ever so slightly, as if bracing herself.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Though titles don’t mean much when you’re in the real world.”

Ember scoffed, picking at the edge of the bread in front of her. “So you’re a royal who doesn’t care for the weight of his crown?”

Liam’s smirk softened into something more distant. “I’ve never had the luxury of choosing my fate. But I can shape the edges of it where I can.”

For a moment, Ember held his gaze, the weight of his words lingering between them. She understood that feeling—the battle between obligation and freedom, between what others expected and what the heart longed for.

“You offered to train me,” she said, changing the subject. “Why?”

Liam shrugged, though his movements were deliberate. “You’re alone in a place that doesn’t want you. You need someone who understands that.” He paused, tilting his head slightly. “And I need a challenge.”

Ember let out a quiet scoff, but a ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “I don’t need your help.”

“Maybe not,” Liam admitted. “But that doesn’t mean you should refuse it.”

She considered him for a long moment, then exhaled. The idea of training—of learning how to fight properly—was something she had never allowed herself to think about. But deep down, she knew he was right. She needed to be stronger. She needed control.

“Where?” she asked.

“Somewhere away from the village,” Liam said simply. “Somewhere private.”

Ember narrowed her eyes. “Why in secret?”

“Because if the king knew,” Liam said, his smirk fading, “he’d forbid it. And I don’t feel like listening to lectures about fate and duty.”

Something about his tone caught Ember’s attention—the hint of defiance, the unspoken weight behind his words. She could tell he was hiding things just as much as she was.

After a long pause, she nodded. “Fine,” she said. “Teach me.”

Liam’s emerald-green eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn’t question her further. “We start tomorrow,” he said.

And with that, the fire between them sparked to life—whether either of them were ready for it or not.

Liam left the villa, leaving Ember to her thoughts. As he walked back toward the castle, he found himself glancing over his shoulder, his heart fluttering in a way that unsettled him. He rubbed his chest absentmindedly, pushing away the feeling, refusing to dwell on the unfamiliar pull toward the fiery-haired girl.

When he reached the inner courtyard, a figure stepped into his path—a young maiden with golden curls and a practiced smile. Alison. His childhood companion, the girl who had never let go of the idea of marrying into the royal family.

“Liam,” she said playfully, slipping her arm through his without hesitation. “I’ve been waiting for you all day.”

Liam exhaled, already regretting lingering too long in the open.

“There are rumors,” Alison continued, pouting slightly. “Rumors that you’ve found a stray girl and are taking care of her.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “She’s not a stray. Her name is Raven. If all goes well, she will make a fine soldier.”

Alison scoffed, pulling Liam closer as they walked through the moonlit courtyard. “Soldier?” she repeated, shaking her head in disapproval. “Liam, girls are meant to take care of the household—not fight. I can’t wait to take care of you.”

Liam raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “Ali,” he said, calling her by the childhood nickname he hadn’t used in years. “You know my fate. I’m to marry the fireborn.”

The words hit harder than Alison expected. Her grip on his arm stiffened for half a second before she forced a bright, practiced smile. “That’s just an old wise tale, Liam Bear,” she said, using the name she had always teased him with when they were children. “I’m the most beautiful woman here. Surely, you want me.”

Liam gently but firmly pulled away from her grasp, his patience thinning. “It isn’t about beauty, Alison.”

Her lips parted, but the flicker of hurt in her gaze was quickly masked with indignation. She tilted her chin upward, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “And yet, you’re entertaining that girl—Ravi, was it?” Her voice dripped with barely contained resentment. “A stray, an outsider who doesn’t even belong here.”

Liam exhaled sharply, already regretting lingering too long in the open. “She’s not a stray. And her name is Raven,” he corrected without thinking.

Alison stiffened. “Oh? So you do know her real name.”

Liam cursed inwardly. He had slipped—but why did it even matter? Why did Alison care?

“I don’t know her,” he said, forcing indifference into his tone. “She’s training under me, that’s all.”

Alison narrowed her eyes, skepticism flashing behind her perfect smile. “And yet, you look at her like she’s something more.”

Liam remained silent.

Alison’s frustration simmered. She had spent years waiting for Liam to see her, to choose her, to finally accept what had always been obvious—she was meant to be his queen. Every girl in the kingdom envied her position, envied the way she had been raised alongside Liam, the way she had been carefully prepared to take the throne beside him.

And yet, here was some outsider—a girl with wild red hair and sharp, stubborn eyes—stealing his attention.

Alison clenched her fists. “She’s beneath you, Liam,” she murmured, her voice softer but laced with venom. “You think she’s different, special—but she’s nothing more than trouble. A girl like that can’t rule.”

Liam finally looked at her, his emerald-green eyes steady, piercing. “You speak as though you know her.”

“I do know her,” Alison spat. “I know girls like her. They come into our world thinking they’re something fierce, something untouchable—but they always fall. You’ll see.”

Liam’s jaw tightened. “You sound awfully worried about someone who supposedly means nothing.”

Alison scoffed, tossing her golden curls over her shoulder. “I’m not worried,” she lied. “I’m reminding you of your duty.”

Duty.

Expectation.

The weight of who he was supposed to be pressed heavily against his chest.

Liam turned toward the castle doors, pushing past the weight of the conversation as his mind drifted—against his better judgment—back to Ember.

The way her fiery red hair framed her face. The strength in her stance. The defiance in her eyes.

He didn’t know why, but something about her was drawing him in.

And for the first time in his life, Liam felt trapped—trapped between expectation and desire, between the path laid out for him and the one fate seemed to be forging anew.

As he stepped into the grand halls, his father, King James, was waiting—his piercing gaze steady, his expression unreadable.

Liam straightened, steeling himself for what was to come.