Behind the Royal Mask

Lashing out at a Friend

Derin had heard the rumors about Beatrice coming from Caelon's room but was aware they were just rumors. Beatrice had already let him in on her plan. He walked towards her room and as he moved to open the door, he heard hushed voices coming from inside.

"Who could she be talking to?" he muttered to himself. "Elara, probably..."

Just as he moved to knock, the door swung open from the inside, and he found himself face-to-face with Prince Alaric.

Alaric gave him a brief nod, as if this were a perfectly normal encounter, then walked past him and down the hall, leaving Derin rooted to the spot.

"Derin?" Beatrice's voice called softly from inside.

Derin stepped in, but the moment he looked at her, his heart dropped. Beatrice's lips were a shade darker, almost bruised, her face flushed in a way that felt painfully obvious. Everything clicked into place with a finality, and a deep sense of betrayal clawed at his chest.

Beatrice looked up, sensing his silence. "Derin, is something wrong?"

He took a step back, his gaze hardening. "What's going on between you and him?"

Her eyes widened, clearly taken aback. "Derin, nothing is going on," she said, her voice laced with hesitation.

"Save it," he cut her off, his voice sharp and raw. "I didn't expect this from you, Bea. Siding with the nobles... and falling in love with one of them? Do you know what that looks like?"

"Derin, it's not like that," she protested, looking stricken. "Alaric isn't like the others. He's—"

"Of course he's different," Derin interrupted bitterly. "Isn't that what you've been telling yourself? Do you even remember what these people did to your family? To your brother?" His voice was rising, and each word seemed to twist the knife deeper into her.

Beatrice stared at him, hurt and bewildered. Derin had never talked to her like that. Today, he felt like a stranger. "Derin... how can you bring your brother into this?" She reached out, but he stepped back, refusing her touch.

"Don't," he said, anger and pain thick in his tone. "You've gotten so tangled up with these people that you can't even see what's happening to you. How could you forget?"

"I haven't forgotten," she whispered, her voice shaking. She was close to tears now, his anger cutting her deeply.

Derin shook his head, his voice turning cold. "If you're choosing this life, if you're really going to let yourself be charmed by that prince, then you don't belong with us anymore. You can't be part of the Vigil."

Beatrice looked up at him, eyes widening in shock. "What? Derin... you can't mean that."

"Oh, I mean it," he replied, seething. "If this is what you're doing now, you're making a choice. You're either with him or with us, Bea. You can't have both." He took a step forward, his tone almost desperate now, though his anger was palpable. "What's it going to be, Beatrice? Are you choosing him or your people?"

Beatrice stared at him, her face pale, her expression torn. She wanted to shout, to defend herself, to tell him he was wrong, that Alaric was different. But the weight of his words, the anger and betrayal in his eyes, held her back. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and she swallowed hard, not knowing what to say, terrified of making the wrong choice.

Derin, however, was relentless. He reached out, gripping her shoulders tightly, his voice harsh as he spat out, "Think about your dead brother, at least. Do you think he'd have been pleased to see you smooching a noble?"

Beatrice winced at his grip, the sting of his words cutting deeper than any wound. Her heart felt like it was shattering, and she couldn't form a response, couldn't breathe past the pain of his accusation. She looked up at him, struggling to speak, when suddenly his hand was wrenched from her shoulder, and Derin was slammed against the wall.