The Stolen Heir’s Bond

Kael froze.

His father wasn't hiding. He was a prisoner.

Beneath the palace. Beneath the very seat of power that had stolen their family's throne.

Elaria inhaled sharply beside him, but Kael barely heard it. His mind was already racing.

The grizzled man leaned back, watching him. "Didn't think you'd take it well."

Kael's hands clenched into fists. "How long?"

The man exhaled through his nose. "Since the uprising. The king kept it quiet—didn't want anyone knowing the old lion was still breathing." He took a slow drink, then wiped his mouth. "They say he's down in the dungeons. A place no man leaves."

Kael's pulse pounded.

His father was alive. Alive.

For years, Kael had believed he was gone. But now, everything had changed.

Elaria shifted beside him, her voice low. "If that's true… we have to get him out."

Kael nodded once. There was no question. No hesitation.

The man scoffed. "You've got fire, boy, I'll give you that. But breaking into the palace? That's a fool's plan."

Kael met his gaze. "Then tell me how to do it."

A beat of silence.

The man sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. Then he tossed a dagger onto the table between them.

"You want in?" His gaze darkened. "Then you'll need an invitation."

Kael's stomach tightened. "What do you mean?"

The man smirked. "There's a royal masquerade in two nights. Nobles. Lords. And more guards than you've ever seen." He tilted his head. "You walk through those doors, boy, and you'll be standing in the lion's den."

Elaria let out a quiet curse. "That's insane."

Kael looked at the dagger—at the royal crest etched into the hilt.

A noble's mark. A stolen identity.

It was his way in.

Slowly, Kael reached for the blade, wrapping his fingers around the hilt.

He looked up, eyes burning with purpose.

"Then it looks like we're going to a ball."