Trouble in Paradise

Chapter 4 Thread Carefully.

The final night of the Red Moon rose quieter than the others. As though the world itself had grown tired of pretending.

The palace gardens of Eclipsa lay bathed in crimson light, the moon above casting a soft, eerie glow over marble paths and blooming night flowers. The distant sounds of celebration drifted faintly through the air—muted laughter, fading music.

Far away. Unimportant. Talia stood alone or so she thought.

Her arms were wrapped lightly around herself, her mind far from the beauty around her. The events of the past two days replayed endlessly, each moment tightening around her chest like a slow, invisible chain.

The announcement. Her father’s words. The look in that prince’s eyes. Her supposed future.

“Fate,” she whispered bitterly.

“Hgh—!” She gasped, her body stiffening as a presence pressed into the air behind her—cold, sudden, undeniable.

She turned quickly and froze. He stood there.

Pyrrhos.

Under the red glow of the moon, he looked less like a man and more like something carved from myth. His silver hair caught the light like threads of pale fire, his golden eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

Beautiful.

Terribly beautiful.

“Your Highness,” Talia said quickly, bowing her head.

Silence followed.

“You.” His voice was low. Flat.

Talia didn’t lift her gaze. Pyrrhos studied her, his expression unreadable.

This was not the same girl. Not the one who had laughed at him in the Labyrinth. Not the one who had challenged him without hesitation.

This one was quiet. Measured. Careful.

“Unusual,” he said slowly, taking a step closer.

“The few times we’ve met, you’ve had quite the sharp mouth. What now? Disappointed?”

Talia’s lips parted. “I… I…”

The words failed her. Not because she had none. But because too many fought to be spoken at once.

Pyrrhos’ gaze hardened.

“If you hadn’t been stupid a few days ago,” he said coldly, gesturing between them, “this wouldn’t have happened.”

The words struck clean.

“This—” he continued, his voice dropping, “this bond, this arrangement… whatever it is. When this marriage happens, you will learn to stay in your lane.”

Talia’s breath hitched.

“And if you don’t—” His golden eyes locked onto hers. For the first time, she truly felt them. Cold. Ancient. Unforgiving.

“I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

There was no anger in his voice. No raised tone. Just truth. And that made it worse.

For a moment neither of them moved. Then, just as simply as he had appeared, Pyrrhos turned and walked away. No hesitation, no second glance. As though her existence no longer required his attention.

Only when he was gone did Talia move. Her head lifted slowly, her chest rising sharply as she dragged in air—like she had been holding her breath the entire time.

Her legs weakened and she sank onto the stone bench behind her. Her heart pounded not from fear alone, but from something deeper.

More unsettling because she believed him. Every word. This was not a man who made empty threats. This was someone shaped by something far darker than pride or anger. Someone dangerous.

Talia pressed a hand to her chest, steadying her breath.

“I need to be careful…” she whispered.

Her eyes lifted toward the red moon above. Her life was no longer hers alone. That much was true.

But submission?

Blind obedience?

No.

Her gaze hardened, something stubborn and unyielding flickering beneath the fear.

“I will not break.”

---

The Red Moon ceremony was over. By dawn, the great halls of Eclipsa had emptied. Banners were lowered, laughter faded, and the unity of Riverdale dissolved back into distance and suspicion. The kingdoms had returned to themselves, and Riverdale was divided again.

At Alvidon, there had been a new ascension to the throne. A young king, unmarried and full of youth. King Perez of Alvidon arrived at Astrad, meeting King Thoa was necessary for politics and business transaction that existed between them was needed to be addressed.

King Perez and his entourage sat composed at the throne hall, seated together with the council members of Astrad, consisting of elders and ministers of the court. All Princes of Astrad were present, since each occupied a government seat. With Pyrrhos being the Minister of war and external conflict affairs.

His meeting with King Thoa had ended, but the old King, wanting to build a cordial relationship in pretense, said. “King Perez. I have extended this invitation not only for diplomacy but for unity. In two days from now, Astrad and Davion will be joined through marriage.”

Perez said nothing.

“I formally invite you,” Thoa continued, “to witness this union. It is only fitting… given the blood ties between us.”

That did it. Perez laughed. Not loudly but enough.

“Blood ties?” he echoed, amusement threading through his voice.

His gaze shifted to Pyrrhos.

“You speak of blood,” Perez continued, “yet you forget what that blood cost. You know very well, that Alvidon holds no love for you… or for him.”

No one moved.

“If it were not for his conception,” Perez went on, nodding slightly toward Pyrrhos, “Princess Aurora, my beloved aunt would still be alive.”

The words struck the room like a quiet blade.

Pyrrhos did not react but something behind his eyes shifted.

“We of Alvidon,” Perez continued, “are witches. Practitioners of Revival Magic.”

His tone grew heavier. More deliberate.

“We speak to the dead. We reach beyond the veil. We remember what others try to forget. And yet…”

His gaze hardened.

“Since the day Princess Aurora died… no one has been able to reach her. No voice. No presence. No trace. It is as if, she was never allowed to exist beyond that moment.”

Around those seated at the hall, especially on the faces of Pyrrhos’ brothers, smiles of amusement vividly shown.

“Cursed,” Emerald, the eldest and crown Prince remarked with a smirk.

No one made any comment to rebuke him. King Thoa expression was unreadable but he said nothing.

---

Within Astrad, preparations had already begun.

Servants moved tirelessly through halls of marble and gold, voices hushed but urgent. Silks were measured, jewels polished, halls adorned.

A wedding was coming, a union meant to bind kingdoms.

In two days, Pyrrhos would be married.

Far from the noise of preparation, in the eastern wing of the palace, there existed a place untouched by celebration.

His garden.

It stretched beneath his private balcony, a quiet masterpiece of ancient design. Stone paths curved through carefully tended greenery, leading to old monuments carved with symbols long forgotten. Vines clung to weathered pillars, and fountains whispered softly into still air.

It was beautiful and silent. From his chambers above, one could see all of it. Every detail, every shadow. Pyrrhos stood there now.

Fresh from his bath, dressed simply, his damp silver hair falling loosely from his shoulders down to his waist. The morning air brushed against his skin, cool and steady. Peaceful for once.

For some minutes he was alone. At first, it was only a feeling. A shift, subtle.

A presence stood behind him cold, not like fear, not like danger. Something deeper. Something that did not belong.

Pyrrhos stilled.

His body reacted before his thoughts could form, every instinct sharpening at once. His golden eyes darkened slightly, his stance shifting ready.

Alert.

No one came here. No one dared. His guards knew their limits. Servants never crossed into his private space. And even if they did, they would not feel like this.

This presence, this aura was different. Cold enough to reach his bones.

Slowly—

He turned and saw him. A man stood just a few steps away. Beautiful. Unnaturally so.

Silver hair—like his. But his eyes were blue. Deep and endless like the ocean swallowing the sky.

They shared the same striking features. The same unnatural perfection. But where Pyrrhos felt like something forged, this man felt like something born beyond the world itself.

“Pyrrhos…” The name left the man’s lips like a breath. Soft. Almost reverent.

Pyrrhos took two steps back. Not in fear but in certainty. There was no doubt.

“Astraios?” The name settled between them.

A god. His father. The truth he had only just uncovered now standing before him. Real. Alive.

For a moment, time held its breath. Questions surged. Anger followed.

But before either could take form— Astraios was gone.

No movement. No sound.

One moment— he stood there. The next— nothing, like wind slipping through open fingers. Gone.

Pyrrhos remained still. His gaze fixed on the empty space where the god had stood.

His jaw tightened. No words. No explanation. No answers. Only presence and absence.

Slowly, something cold settled deeper within him. So it was true. Not just the vision. Not just the past. But the blood in his veins was divine. He is one of the gods.