Chapter 2: Dear Old Brother
1479 Words
Sylvie’s POV:
Ashborne Argent was my brother.
Well, he was Sylvianne’s brother.
But I’d been here for years. I’d worn her skin, eaten her food, slept in her bed, and answered to her name for so long that the lines between us had blurred. Still, seeing him now—here, like this—rattled something loose inside me. Something I hadn’t realized was coiled tight.
He stood in my doorway, tall and disheveled, looking like he’d sprinted across the entire palace. His tunic was wrinkled and his blonde hair slightly wet at the tips. His chest rose and fell, slowly now, like the adrenaline was wearing off.
He looked older than I remembered. It had been three years after all. He was broader in the shoulders, a darker set to his jawline, more shadow in his face. The boy I’d once known—distant but dutiful—was gone. This was a man standing in front of me.
And that man was staring at me like I was a ghost.
I took a hesitant step forward, the floor cool under my bare feet as I approached. “What happened?” I asked softly. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a demon?”
He didn’t speak, staying silent for a few seconds.
His eyes swept over me—slowly—and then returned to my face, his expression was shocked. There was something strange in that gaze, like he was trying to reconcile what he was seeing with something he’d remembered differently.
Why was he looking at me like that?
A strange knot twisted in my stomach.
As much as I’d like to pretend we shared a warm, familial bond, the truth was more complicated. I’d never really liked Ashborne. Not because he was cruel—though he certainly carried himself like he could be. Not because he was arrogant, which he undoubtedly was.
And definitely not because he was ugly. That was almost laughable.
Ashborne Windsor Argent was, quite literally, one of the most beautiful men in the Kingdom of SilverCrest. He had the kind of face that artists wept to paint. All sharp nose, with piercing royal blue eyes and a gaze that seemed to strip people down to their marrow.
No—I disliked him for reasons I hadn’t understood until recently.
Because now I did understand.
Why did I hate him?
Because he had everything I didn’t.
A father who called him son. A mother who loved him. A family that saw him. A kingdom that respected him. A bloodline he could claim. A future that was his by right.
I clenched my jaw slightly. My breath was steady, but my pulse—gods, my pulse—was a war drum beneath my skin.
“Is that the first thing you should be saying to me? I came here first, just to see you.” He tilted his lips minutely, his voice making me frown at how deep it had gotten.
He took a single step forward then paused. “How have you been?”
I felt dazed for a second, taking in his words, caught off guard. “I’m the first one you came to see, and that’s what you wanted to ask?” I raised an eyebrow, arching it just enough to edge sarcasm into my voice. “You didn’t have to run all the way here for that, you know?”
He seemed to pause at that, confusion flickering across his face like he hadn’t expected my tone. Right. Of course. I wasn’t supposed to act this way. Not toward my dear brother. Not toward the noble golden boy of the Argent family.
Even if I disliked him, I’d always known how to perform.
I’d watched the girls in the court fawn over their brothers, acting like wide-eyed baby birds desperate for praise. I’d mimicked their smiles. I’d mirrored their enthusiasm. I’d done everything I was supposed to.
But now? With my childhood memories whole again? With the knowledge of who I truly was simmering just beneath my skin?
I didn’t feel like acting anymore.
Still—better not to make him suspicious.
I let out a soft, breathy laugh then stepped closer until I was within reach and took his hand lightly in mine. “I’m sorry,” I said, squeezing gently. “I’m just worried. You look pale. Have you really just returned?”
I couldn’t help but notice the size difference between us. I was five-foot-six—hardly short—but I barely reached his shoulder. He loomed over me now. It was unsettling when we used to be the same height the last time we met.
His shoulders relaxed, just a little. “Yeah,” he said, returning the squeeze with surprising gentleness. “Like I said, the first one I came to see was you.”
My body stilled.
Not because of what he said—but because of what I smelled.
His scent. Or rather… his pheromones.
Cypress and smoke.
The smell was distinct. Rich. Dominant. Warm and wild and—wrong. Because I knew what it meant. He wasn’t my brother. Not by blood. And I’d matured, gone into heat just two years ago. Dragons and wolves both sensed blood and heat. Pheromones spoke when words didn’t.
This was the first time I had smelled his pheromones. They were strong. A scent not off-putting like the king’s. It curled around me like smoke.
“That’s sweet,” I said quickly, pushing the scent to the back of my mind, “but… father wouldn’t be too pleased with that, would he?”
He smiled back, lifting his hand and brushing a strand of my hair behind my ear. The movement was slow and almost tender. “I’m sure he’ll look the other way just for today,” he said softly. “After all… it is your birthday.”
Right. That.
“Oh!” I blinked, playing my part. “It completely slipped my mind.”
A lie, of course.
They’d been preparing for the gala all week. It was impossible to forget. But I was pretending to be Sylvianne, and wouldn’t this be the perfect reply for a naive little princess?
So I leaned into the act. I tilted my head and smiled coyly. “So?” I said, glancing behind him like an expectant child. “Where’s my gift?”
He paused. His body stiffened for half a second.
Then he chuckled, low and rough. “I’ll give it to you after breakfast, okay? I’m sorry for disturbing you so early. You should get dressed. I’ll meet you in the dining hall.”
He’d come down from whatever storm he was riding earlier. His voice was steadier now.
I pouted dramatically and released his hand. “Okay. But you better compliment me,” I warned. “It took me weeks to decide on a gown for today.”
Another lie.
It hadn’t taken weeks. I didn’t care about the gown. That was all my maid, Lilliana. She’d insisted I look perfect for my debutante ball. “You’ll be a woman today,” she’d said. “Seventeen is no small thing, my lady.”
I thought it was a little ridiculous.
“Have I ever not?” Ashborne asked, smiling for real now. He lifted a hand in farewell and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.
I stood there in the silence he left behind.
And then I exhaled, leaning my forehead against the cool wood of the door. My whole body relaxed but my jaw clenched.
Oh my god. How long would I have to keep acting like an airhead?
I pushed off the door and crossed the room to where my gown lay draped on a chaise. Pale lilac satin, lined with silver trim and threadwork shaped like crescent moons and roses.
I wasn’t saying it wasn’t beautiful… but it didn’t spark the kind of happiness things like these used to. Not like before I got my memories. Now they just seemed wrong. Like they were made from the blood of my family. My real family.
I shook my head. Focus, Scarlett. You can’t afford to break down right now.
Anyways, what the hell had shaken Ashborne?
Surely it wasn’t just because he’d missed me that he ran all the way here. That wasn’t like him. Ashborne wasn’t the sentimental type. He was fierce. Focused. Ruthless when needed. Brutal when provoked.
Yes, he had a soft side for me—Sylvianne, but not to this extent. It’s like he’d changed after coming back from Arindale.
Not to mention that it was obvious something had happened.
Something big enough to drag him from Arindale. If this had been planned, then news of him coming would have spread for weeks.
But that hadn’t happened. So it was unplanned. He’d rushed here.
Why?
- Writer
