When Silas opened his eyes, the world was nothing but white light and pain. His head felt like something had split it open from the inside. Every part of his body reported damage at the same time. He tried to lift his hand and it felt like lifting stone.
He let it fall back and focused on breathing first. "Careful," a voice said from somewhere to his right. "You had a very bad fall." Silas blinked slowly until the white dissolved into shape and color.
A ceiling, high and decorated with carved stone and gold detail that did not belong in any place ordinary people slept. He turned his head carefully and the room came into focus around him. Massive. Expensive. The kind of room that existed to remind anyone inside it exactly where power lived.
The sheets beneath him were softer than anything he had ever felt against his skin. That detail alone told him everything he needed to know about where he was. Prince Alaric sat in a chair beside the bed. He was watching Silas with an expression that was impossible to read quickly.
Not cold, not warm, something in between that felt deliberate. His golden hair caught the morning light coming through the tall windows. His gray eyes were steady and patient in the way people are when they are waiting for something specific. Silas felt the panic arrive fast and quiet beneath his ribs.
The palace. The study. The safe. The drive still in his hand when the Prince's voice came out of the dark. He remembered all of it in the space of one breath.
He needed to think. He needed to think now before Alaric said another word and the window closed completely. He could not fight his way out, not in this condition. Not in a palace full of guards with his body refusing simple instructions.
But lying was still an option.
Silas had been trained by the Vane family in rooms designed for this. Pressure, pain, questioning, how to keep your face empty when your mind is running. How to make your eyes show something your brain is not feeling. He had passed every version of that training.
He let his eyes go wide and confused. "Where am I," Silas said, his voice raspy and thin. "Who are you." Alaric stood slowly and moved to the edge of the bed.
He looked down at Silas with those steady gray eyes and did not answer immediately. He was searching, reading the face in front of him like something that might be altered. Silas kept his expression open and said nothing else.
"You don't know who I am," Alaric said quietly.
It was not quite a question.
"I don't know who I am," Silas whispered. He gripped the edge of the blanket like something to hold onto. "Everything is gone. Please tell me why I am here."
Something shifted in Alaric's eyes.
He knew exactly what Silas was. He had the silver drive in his pocket as proof. He had watched this man move through the palace like the guards were nothing.
But he also knew something else.
The moment Silas's scent broke through the masking spray, Alaric had understood something deeper than logic. Recognition that required no explanation. This was his fated mate.
And he was not letting him go.
Alaric sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out and took Silas's hand, his grip warm and firm. "Your name is Silas," he said smoothly. "You are in the Royal Palace because this is your home."
"You are my fiancé."
Silas's heart slammed hard against his ribs. The word hit like something thrown without warning. He kept his face soft and confused.
"Your fiancé," Silas repeated slowly. "But I am an Omega. You are a Prince."
"You are my fated mate," Alaric continued, leaning closer. "We have been together for two years. Last night you were waiting for me on the balcony and you fell."
"I have not left this room since they brought you in."
Silas looked at him.
He knew every word was a lie.
He could see the structure of it, perfect delivery hiding the truth underneath. Alaric knew who he was. This was not rescue.
This was control.
But the situation had two sides.
If Silas admitted the truth, he would be executed. If he played along, he stayed inside the palace with access to everything. One path ended immediately. The other kept him in the game.
He chose the game.
"I don't remember our love," Silas said quietly.
Alaric leaned closer until his voice dropped low near Silas's ear. "That is perfectly fine," he said. "I remember enough for both of us."
"And I will make sure you never forget who you belong to again."
Silas stayed still.
He had survived worse than this. Lied to men more dangerous than princes. Played games where the stakes were higher.
But something about those words settled under his skin in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
Two liars.
One bed.
A stolen drive.
A secret that could destroy everything.
The game had started.
And neither of them intended to lose.