Caelum’s POV
The knock came before dawn. One of the palace staff. Pale. Breathless.
“I thought you should know,” she whispered. “Queen Seraya… she went to the king’s chambers last night. It didn’t end well.”
I didn’t ask what she meant. I already knew.
“She was seen crying. In the east hall.”
The words shouldn’t have landed like they did. I wasn’t surprised. But still—something in my chest shifted. Something I didn’t want to name.
The maid lingered, shifting her weight from foot to foot like she wanted me to say something. I didn’t.
I shut the door in her face.
Later, over breakfast, Elowen confirmed it.
“She went to him,” she said, slicing a pear cleanly in half. Her voice was casual, but her movements were sharp, deliberate. “He turned her away.”
Her tone was quiet, but the edges were sharper than the knife she dropped onto the tray.
“She cried,” she added. “The staff talk more when they think you’re not listening.”
I didn’t respond.
Elowen looked at me for a long moment. Measured. Cold. Then she smiled like nothing was wrong and asked for more tea, as if we were simply discussing the weather.
I pushed my plate aside, appetite gone. I couldn’t sit there, pretending everything was normal.
By the time the morning mist began to lift off the gardens, I found myself wandering toward the stables without really thinking about it.
The smell of wet hay and leather hit first. It was quiet, save for the restless huff of horses shifting in their stalls.
That’s where I found Seraya.
Fully dressed—cloak tied tight, gloves tugged on, boots stained with old mud. A horse already saddled, the reins clutched in her hand. Her satchel was strapped over one shoulder, heavy and worn, like she’d packed in a hurry.
She was leaving.
I stood in the doorway for a beat, watching her tug at the saddle straps, checking and rechecking, like it gave her something to focus on besides the shaking of her hands.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
She didn’t look at me.
“It’s none of your concern.”
I stepped inside. The air between us was heavy, thick with the smell of rain-soaked earth.
“Running away doesn’t suit you,” I said. “But then again, neither does begging.”
She froze. Then turned slowly, every movement stiff with anger barely held together.
“Desperate?” she said. “That’s rich coming from you.”
I raised an eyebrow, masking the tension knotting up my spine.
“You’re the one who kissed me like a man starved.”
Silence stretched between us. Just the horse shifting beside her, the faint creak of leather under its weight.
“I regret it,” I said finally.
She tilted her head, a soft, bitter laugh escaping her lips. “No, you don’t,” she said. “You regret being caught. That’s not the same as regretting the kiss.”
She scoffed, stepping closer until the air thinned between us. “Just face it—you liked what you did. You wanted to kiss me.”
I clenched my jaw, grinding my teeth together hard enough to ache.
After a moment of silence, I forced a bitter smirk onto my face.
“Not everything is about you.”
Her eyes darkened. She moved closer—closer than she should have—until the tension between us felt electric.
“Then why are you always there?” she asked, voice low and cutting. “Why do you look at me like you’re waiting for something? Why do you stop yourself halfway to hate?”
I didn’t answer.
She leaned in just enough for her breath to brush my jaw, burning hotter than the storm outside.
“You’re lying,” she said. “To me. To yourself.”
I turned sharply. Walked toward the door, each step heavier than the last.
At the door, I stopped. Rested my hand on the frame, my knuckles whitening with the force it took not to turn back around. But I didn’t. I kept walking.
The corridors were nearly empty as I made my way to the royal study. My mind should have been clear, but her words clung to me like smoke, impossible to shake off.
Later that morning, I found Elowen in the study. She was seated by the window, sunlight spilling lazily across the velvet carpet. A ledger rested on her knees; she turned a page without glancing up.
“We need to talk about the treaty,” I said.
She didn’t react, didn’t even blink.
“Which part?” she asked, voice light, detached.
“The clause that strips Seraya of her lands. Did Theron add it without your consent?”
Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, sharp and quick, then dropped back to the page.
“You think I control what he writes into contracts?”
“That’s not an answer.”
She smoothed the corner of the paper, buying herself time.
For a moment, I thought she might lie. Instead, she spoke quietly. “She was never supposed to matter this much.”
30
