Ethan Davis.


    Even at sixteen, he carried himself like a battlefield commander. Sunlight glinted off the chainmail beneath his simple linen tunic, his posture straight as the sword strapped to his back. A peasant child scrambled beneath his horse''s hooves chasing a runaway chicken; Ethan''s gloved hand didn''t merely rein in the stallion but swept the boy to safety in one fluid motion. The crowd cheered. He tipped his silver-chased helmet with a boyish grin that hid iron resolve.


    The execution ground stank of rust and cowardice. They''d dragged Ethan''s mutilated corpse for days behind Hunnic chariots before tossing what remained onto the palace steps. Emperor James had laughed while crows feasted on his childhood friend''s ribcage.


    Alive. He''s still alive. And we burn in seven years.


    Flames tore through the Davis manor''s archives first –


    A convenient accident, James called it when his poisoned dagger found the old general''s spine during their celebratory feast.


    It took the court two months to dismantle what remained. Widows hanged with their own mourning veils. Children sold to salt mines. Even the hounds bearing the Davis crest were dashed against stones. And when the last heir – stubborn, brilliant Ethan – marched into that doomed ambush...Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    The stallion''s shadow fell across her. "You''ve been staring, my lady." Ethan''s voice held wary amusement. Up close, his eyes weren''t brown but the gold-flecked hazel of forest streams. "Do I offend?"


    You die screaming for a kingdom that brands you traitor, she nearly spat. Instead, Ella bent her knees in perfect curtsy – not to him, but to the ghost of Smith blood that would spill next. "Your maneuver with the child was... unexpected, Lord Davis."


    He dismounted, armor clinking. Towering over her even without the helmet, he tilted her chin up. Heat flared where skin met gloves. "And how does a cloistered rose know military maneuvers?"


    Not again. Never again.


    Ethan fought like a wolf cornered in its den. His parries weren''t the showy arcs of tourneys but brutal efficiency honed in border skirmishes. When the last assailant fell gurgling, he didn''t sheathe his sword. "Who sent them?"


    But he''s still a prince. He shouldn''t know me yet. Unless...


    Ella touched Ethan''s bloodied gauntlet. "They weren''t after you."


    "Smith. Ella Smith." She let her hood fall, revealing the ebony hair nobles whispered was too wild for marriage prospects. "And you''ll find their leader''s right boot carries imperial silver. The kind minted for shadow transactions."


    He studied it, then tucked the token into his breastplate. "Why?"


    "Loyal unto ashes!"