Trouble in Paradise

Chapter 6 Day after Storms

Dawn came quietly to Astrad.

The palace, so alive with tension the night before, now rested beneath a pale, cold light. Silence lingered in the halls, broken only by the distant movement of servants beginning their duties.

Pyrrhos did not sleep. By the time morning arrived, he was already awake. Already dressed. Without hesitation, he made his way across the hall to her chamber.

The door opened without a sound. The damage from the night before had been cleared. The shattered glass was gone, the floors polished clean as though nothing had happened.

But the windows still stood bare. Only thin curtains moved with the morning breeze. Cold air filled the room.

His gaze shifted immediately to the bed and there she was.

Talia.

Curled slightly beneath the covers, her body trembling faintly even in sleep.

“s**t,” he muttered under his breath.

He crossed the room in a few strides. Without hesitation, he pulled the blanket higher over her, tucking it around her properly, shielding her from the cold she had unknowingly endured through the night.

For a moment, he didn’t move away. His gaze lingered, studying her. She looked different like this. Unaware. Unarmed. Her blonde hair lay scattered across the pillow, soft and untamed. Her lashes rested gently against her skin, long and dark against the pale morning light.

Beautiful.

Too soft for a place like this. Too unaware of what she had stepped into.

She shifted slightly, her eyes opened, and everything changed.

Talia jolted upright, her breath catching sharply as her gaze locked onto his.

Fear.

Immediate.

Pyrrhos didn’t react. Didn’t move. He already knew why. Just days ago, she had been bold. Sharp. Unafraid to challenge him. Now—

All it took was his presence and she recoiled.

His expression hardened slightly, though something quieter flickered beneath it.

This is just a glimpse, he thought.

What would she do if she knew the rest?

Silence stretched. Then, finally—

“Good morning.”

His voice was calm. Neutral. As though the night before had not happened. As though nothing had changed.

“The king has requested breakfast,” he continued. “All family members are to be present at the main palace. We have less than an hour.”

Talia blinked, still trying to steady her breath.

“Okay,” she replied quietly.

That was all. No argument, no sharp words. Just compliance.

Pyrrhos watched her for a second longer. Then he turned and left. The door closed behind him with quiet finality.

Talia remained still on the bed. Her heart still racing. Her thoughts still tangled. But something about that moment didn’t make sense.

The same man who had terrified her the night before had just covered her with a blanket. Carefully. Almost… gently.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the fabric.

---

The dining hall of Astrad was vast.

A long table stretched across the chamber, carved from dark polished wood, lined with high-backed chairs that spoke of authority and hierarchy.

At its first end center, sat king Thoa. By the time Pyrrhos and Talia entered, everyone else was already there. All eyes turned.

They had arrived last. No one spoke of it.

Pyrrhos walked in without hesitation, his expression unreadable as always. Talia followed beside him, composed on the outside, though her senses sharpened instantly under the weight of so many gazes.

They took their seats at the far end of the table. A deliberate placement. Across from them was Princess Annalise, and beside her, Pyrrhos’ immediate elder brother.

At the center sat King Thoa, the head of the table, his presence commanding even in silence. Queen Aria sat close beside him, her posture regal, her gaze sharp as ever.

Further down the table, the wives of Pyrrhos’ married brothers sat in quiet observation, their eyes moving carefully, measuring everything. Judging.

Talia felt it immediately. The glances. The whispers hidden behind polite silence. And then, Annalise.

Her gaze met Pyrrhos’ first. Intentional. A smile curved her lips. Not innocent. Seductive.

Talia stiffened. Then Annalise’s eyes shifted to her and the warmth vanished. Replaced by something colder. Something sharp. Disgust.

Talia’s fingers tightened slightly beneath the table. So none of these people notice this…? she thought.

Introductions followed, though they felt more like formalities than genuine welcomes.

“Emerald. The crown prince.”

“James.”

“Henry.”

“Annalise.”

“Charlie.”

“Chad.”

“Christopher.”

One by one, the names came, ordered by seniority, each voice carrying its own weight, its own judgment.

Talia acknowledged them all. But her attention drifted back to Pyrrhos.

He said nothing, not even once. Even as the conversation turned. Even as it sharpened.

“What a surprise,” one of the brothers muttered, not bothering to lower his voice enough. “The stray finally found himself a bride.”

A low chuckle followed from another.

“Careful,” someone added mockingly. “She might not know what she married into yet.”

More laughter.

Talia’s chest tightened. She glanced at Pyrrhos. Yet no reaction. He continued eating, calm and unbothered. As though none of it reached him. But that somehow made it worse.

Queen Aria did not intervene. If anything, there was a faint satisfaction in the way she observed him. Like this was expected. Like this was deserved.

Talia’s jaw tightened. The tension built. Word by word. Look by look. Until—

“Stop it. All of you.” King Thoa’s voice cut through the room.

Silence fell instantly. Every voice died. Every movement stilled.

Talia looked toward him, then to Pyrrhos. But Pyrrhos only smiled. A slow, quiet smile. Not warm or grateful. Something darker.

He lifted a piece of chicken calmly, bringing it to his mouth as though nothing had happened. As though the room, the people, their words meant absolutely nothing, and for the first time—

Talia understood. This was not a man who endured. This was a man who had already detached completely. And sitting beside him, she wondered which was more dangerous.

Their hatred of him, or his indifference to it.

After breakfast, the family dispersed without ceremony. No warmth, no unity. Just distance.

Pyrrhos returned to the eastern wing without a word, disappearing into his chambers as though the world outside him did not exist.

Talia did the same. For a while, she tried to occupy herself. Books, stacks of them lined the shelves in her chamber, histories of Astrad, ancient magic scripts, tales of kings long dead.

She read. Turned pages, trying to focus, but her mind refused to stay still.

The breakfast, Annalise, the tension and Pyrrhos. Everything tangled together. With a sigh, she shut the book.

“I’m bored,” she murmured.

Just then, a maid entered quietly, carrying freshly folded laundry.

Talia looked up.

“Could you show me around the palace?” she asked.

The young girl paused, surprised, then quickly nodded.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“What is your name?”

“Sofia, Your Highness.”

Talia smiled faintly. “Sofia… after you.”

And so, they left the chamber.

The palace of Astrad was vast beyond imagination.

Sofia guided her through grand corridors lined with ancient carvings, through open courtyards where fountains whispered softly, and into quiet halls that felt untouched by time.

She showed her everything. The beauty, gardens blooming under careful hands. Marble statues of forgotten rulers. Golden halls that shimmered under sunlight. And the ugly dark corners of the palace where servants moved quickly and silently. Old walls cracked with age. Places where the air itself felt heavy.

They reached the training grounds. The sharp clash of metal rang through the air.

Talia paused.

From a distance she saw him. Pyrrhos.

“Let’s stay here for a while,” she said softly.

Sofia nodded. They moved closer, and for the first time, Talia saw something unexpected.

Pyrrhos was different.

He stood among his men, sword in hand, his movements fluid and precise. Around him, soldiers trained with focus—but there was laughter too.

Real laughter. Men teasing one another over small mistakes. Grinning and relaxed.

Even Pyrrhos did not look like the man from last night. There was no coldness. No suffocating aura. Just strength and strangely, warmth.

Talia felt something shift inside her. So this is him…?

But the moment didn’t last. The air changed. Footsteps approached, Prince James flanked by two of his men.

His expression already twisted with arrogance.

“Well, look at this,” James called out loudly. “The great Pyrrhos playing soldier.”

The laughter died. The atmosphere tightened instantly. Pyrrhos didn’t even look at him. He continued his training. Ignored him. That only made it worse.

“Are you deaf now?” James continued, stepping closer. “Or just afraid?”

Still no response. Talia frowned slightly but James wasn’t done.

“Or perhaps,” he smirked, “you only know how to fight in the dark like the creature you are.”

Silence.

Then—Pyrrhos stopped. He turned slowly, his gaze meeting James’.

Without a word, Pyrrhos bent down and picked up his sword. The message was clear. Gasps rippled softly through the onlookers.

The challenge had been accepted. They took their positions. And then—

They moved.

Steel clashed.

Fast.

James attacked first, his strikes aggressive, forceful, driven by pride and anger.

He swung hard. Relentless.

But Pyrrhos barely moved. He dodged effortlessly.

Every strike.

Every blow.

Like he was already ten steps ahead.

Talia’s eyes widened. James was trying. Fighting with everything he had but Pyrrhos wasn’t even trying. Not yet.

The difference between them was terrifying.

James grew frustrated. His movements became sloppy. Desperate. And then something snapped.

Pyrrhos’ expression darkened. In one swift motion, he swung his sword.

Clang!

A sharp, violent sound echoed across the training ground.

James’ sword shattered.

Split cleanly into three pieces that scattered across the ground.

“Whoa…” Whispers broke out among the soldiers. Shock and disbelief.

Talia gasped softly. “Ah—!”

Her heart raced. She had never seen anything like that before. That wasn’t just skill. That was power. Raw power, controlled and terrifying.

Pyrrhos stood still, his sword lowered at his side. His gaze locked on James—cold. Unforgiving.

In that moment, Talia understood something new. The man who sat silently at the dining table was not weak. Not ignored or broken.

He was holding back. And whatever he was truly capable of was far more dangerous than any of them realized.

---

Night fell over Astrad.

The palace grew quiet once more, shadows stretching across ancient walls as torches burned low.

In the eastern wing, Pyrrhos slept alone. For once, his mind was not guarded. Not controlled.

And that was when it came, the dream. Darkness surrounded him. It was endless and silent.

Then a presence. Cold and familiar. The air shifted, and from the void and a figure emerged.

Silver hair.

Ocean-blue eyes.

Astraios.

“Pyrrhos…”

The voice echoed, not through air—but through his very being.

Pyrrhos stood still, his gaze hard.

“You disappear when I’m awake,” he said coldly, “and come to me only in dreams?”

Astraios did not react to the tone. “I did not abandon you.”

Pyrrhos scoffed. “Then what would you call it?”

Astraios shifted, “the truth.”

The space around them grew smaller, faint images flickered like memories not entirely his own.

A woman. Blond-haired. Radiant as the sky.

Princess Aurora.

Pyrrhos’ breath stilled.

“She is not dead,” Astraios said.

The words hit like thunder.

Pyrrhos’ eyes narrowed. “Don’t play games with me.”

“I do not lie,” Astraios replied calmly.

The image of Aurora changed, her body glowing. Transforming into something divine.

“She lives,” Astraios continued, “but not as the world remember. She was meant to die the moment you were born.”

Silence swallowed everything. Pyrrhos’ jaw tightened.

“What…?”

“Your birth,” Astraios said, “was never meant to be ordinary. The power you carry… demanded balance.”

The vision intensified. Aurora’s body breaking, then reforming into something greater. Something beyond mortal.

“To save her,” Astraios continued, “a price had to be paid.”

Pyrrhos felt it before the words came. Something cold.

“She was transformed into a goddess.”

The air trembled.

“And you?” Pyrrhos asked quietly.

Astraios’ gaze darkened. “We were bound. To keep you alive and the balance of nature intact, we could not feel… what parents should feel for their child.”

Pyrrhos’ expression hardened further.

“No affection. No attachment. No love.”

The words settled like chains.

“Until—” Astraios continued.

Pyrrhos’ eyes sharpened.

“Until what?”

“Your twenty-second year.” A flicker of something unfamiliar passed through him.

“The Labyrinth ritual.” Astraios said, “after the ritual, the curse that keeps us apart breaks.”

Silence.

“Convenient,” Pyrrhos muttered bitterly.

Astraios stepped closer.

“This is bigger than you understand.”

“Then explain it,” Pyrrhos snapped.

A pause.

Then—

“The prophecy. The promised immortal king.”

Pyrrhos’ gaze darkened.

“No one knows where he will rise from,” Astraios continued. “Not Astrad. Not Alvidon. Not Davion. But all signs…”

His eyes locked onto Pyrrhos’.

“…Lead to you.”

For the first time, Pyrrhos did not respond immediately. Something stirred beneath his calm.

“Me?” he asked quietly.

Astraios’ expression did not change.

“Yes you. You cannot refuse what you already are.”

The words echoed. Then the dream began to break.

Astraios’ form fading.

“Prepare yourself,” his voice lingered. “The Labyrinth did not test your strength… it will reveal your truth.”

“You have no idea how much your mother wished that we could all be together,” Astraios added finally.

Darkness swallowed everything. And then Pyrrhos woke.

His eyes snapped open. The room was silent but his mind was not.

Aurora. Alive and a goddess. No love, no bond until twenty-two after the Labyrinth. The prophecy.

His hand clenched slightly against the sheets. For the first time in a long time something felt uncertain. And Pyrrhos did not like uncertainty.