Seraya’s POV
Three days had passed since the enchantment was held.
The trace of magic pulsed faintly beneath my skin. No one questioned it. No one dared. The midwives bowed lower. The palace physicians averted their eyes. I had offered nothing but silence, and somehow, that had become enough.
The whispers had shifted. Where once they had spoken of rebellion, of annulment, of alliances severed in dark corridors, now they murmured names. Royal names. Heir names.
I caught one of the chambermaids smiling as I passed. Another dropped into a curtsy too quickly and nearly lost the tray she carried.
Theron’s silence was louder than their chatter. He kept his distance. If he entered the council chamber, he did not look at me. His face remained fixed in that neutral expression of his, but his presence felt like the edge of a blade dulled by time—still sharp, but losing purpose. He missed two meetings without excuse. When he did attend, his questions were brief, lacking weight.
I had thought I would enjoy the power. But the silence left in his absence offered no satisfaction.
Because the truth wasn’t as simple as I had hoped.
I could still feel the imprint of Caelum’s mouth at the base of my ribs. I hadn’t expected it to linger, but it had—like a bruise that refused to fade.
During meetings, I found myself listening less and watching more. Not the ministers. Not the advisors. Just him.
I watched the way he held himself upright, even when exhaustion was etched into the lines of his face. I watched the way he moved when he thought no one noticed—slower now, heavier. And when our eyes met across the chamber one afternoon, he didn’t look away.
His gaze held mine like a hand around the wrist—firm, unmoving, dangerous.
My pulse jumped. I looked down quickly, but not before heat rose to my face. I could still feel the weight of his stare long after the conversation moved on..
When I returned to my chambers, a ribbon lay on the edge of the table beside my bed. Pale grey-blue, with a thin stitched border.
I stared at it for a long moment, then picked it up.
It was soft, expensive. The sort a soldier might use to tie his bracers. Not mine.
Caelum’s, most likely. Left by accident. Perhaps caught on his wrist during the last time he’d been here, when he had traced the symbols on my skin with steady fingers and breathed into me like it meant something.
I didn’t send for him. I didn’t return it.
I took the ribbon, folded it carefully, and placed it between the pages of a book I kept in the drawer beside my bed. I ran my thumb across its edge once before closing the cover.
That night, I couldn’t sit still. I dismissed my handmaidens early and wandered the corridors, hoping to outrun the weight pressing on my chest. The formal halls were filled with evening laughter and the clink of wine goblets. It made me feel cold, despite the heat that still lingered from the council fire.
I found myself climbing toward the observatory without thinking. The night air might help, I told myself. I needed only quiet.
But when I reached the archway, I stopped short.
I saw him again in the observatory. I hadn’t meant to. I had only come for air, the rooms below too loud, too filled with empty laughter.
Caelum stood by the tallest window, his shoulder leaning into the stone, arms crossed, his gaze on the stars. His silhouette was outlined in silver by the moonlight. He looked tired. Not physically, but inwardly—as though whatever held him upright was wearing thin.
I took a step forward, then paused.
But I stopped before he could turn.
I could have walked to him. Asked him anything. About the ribbon. About the look he gave me. About why it hadn’t felt like a game anymore.
My fingers curled at my sides.
I whispered, “Say something, damn you.”
I waited. One breath. Two. And then I turned and walked away. I didn’t trust my voice enough to use it.
Back in my chambers, I ran a bath myself. The water steamed, herbs scattered across the surface. I sank into it slowly, the heat pressing into my skin until my limbs felt weightless.
I closed my eyes. The world narrowed to scent and silence.
I pressed my hand to the place just beneath my ribs, where he had kissed me. Where his mouth had lingered longer than it needed to for any spell.
I whispered, “That wasn’t for the enchantment.”
30
