Seraya’s POV
Two days passed. No one spoke to me. Not about the treaty. Not about the war room. Not about what Caelum did and what Elowen saw.
The palace had returned to its usual rhythm—meetings, ceremonies, hushed conversations behind closed doors. If anyone remembered what happened in the observatory, they pretended not to.
Caelum avoided me.
He left meetings early. Didn’t even glance in my direction when we crossed paths in the corridor. His steps were always quick, his posture rigid, like he thought if he moved fast enough, the memory of it would stop following him.
Elowen, on the other hand, acted like nothing had happened at all.
She still smiled at the courtiers. Still asked the steward to bring more lavender to the garden. Still stood beside Theron like she had always belonged there, weaving herself deeper into a life that used to be mine.
Both of them moved on.
Meanwhile, the wedding plans doubled in speed. Officials scurried through the halls with scrolls and seating charts, voices sharp with excitement. Lists of noble families that would “honor the new queen” cluttered every table and council bench.
The phrase alone made my stomach twist.
I walked the palace like a ghost. A shadow passing through stone corridors that once echoed my steps proudly.
No one stopped me. No one asked where I was going. No one met my eyes.
In the west wing, I passed the gallery where the royal regalia was displayed.
My crown—my crown—was behind glass now. Lit from below like a holy relic, something precious, but untouchable. Like I had already been carved out of the kingdom’s story.
I didn’t stop. I didn’t even look too long. But the weight of it lodged itself in my chest anyway.
Later that day, I passed a clerk in the hall outside the library. He stood hunched over a long wooden desk, the Book of Queens open in one hand, a heavy quill scratching across the page.
Scratching out a name. My name. He didn’t even look up.
I said nothing. The words died in my throat before they could even form.
That night, I didn’t try to sleep. What was the point? Sleep didn’t ease anything anymore.
It only dragged the pain deeper.
I waited until the palace quieted, until the torches burned low and the guards moved slower, their armor clinking softly with every tired step.
Then I walked to Theron’s chambers.
I knocked once.
The door opened almost immediately, like he’d been standing right behind it. We stared at each other for a moment.
The fire behind him cast long shadows against the walls, turning his face into something carved and unfamiliar. The scent of cedar smoke filled the space between us.
Then I stepped inside. The door closed with a quiet thud. I didn’t flinch. The room was dim, warm, and suffocating.
“I still love you,” I said.
It wasn’t planned. It just… came out. Bare. Ugly. Real. He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink.
Didn’t reach for me.
“I want one night,” I said quietly.
The sound of the rain tapping against the window filled the space between us. I reached out and touched his chest, just over his heart. It was warm. Familiar. Wrong.
He still didn’t stop me. I leaned in and kissed him. Nothing. No response.
I undid the top clasp of my dress. His eyes followed my hands, but he still didn’t speak.
I took his hand, placed it on my waist, guided it lower, willing him to feel something.
“Don’t turn me away,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer.
“Please,” I said again.
I stepped back, barely breathing. “You don’t touch me the way you used to,” I said.
I stopped. Swallowed hard. We had sex last month. Just once. It wasn’t tender. It wasn’t warm. It was rough and fast, like something he wanted over with. I had insisted. He gave in.
But he didn’t love me in it. Not even then. I remembered every second of that silence.
I heard him chuckle. “You’re pathetic,” he said.
“You’re not worth this,” he added. “Not anymore.”
My hands dropped. He stepped back, walked to the door, and opened it.
“Get out of my room.”
30
