It’s still dark, the sky outside my window just beginning to lighten at the edges — that blue-gray moment before the city truly stirs. 

I sit in the silence for a long time, robe pulled around my shoulders, tea untouched. 

I think about Kaelis’s words. 

And I know he’s right. 

Something will fracture. 

Maybe it already has. 

But I also know this: I won’t be the one to break first.

When the court rises, I’m already dressed. 

I choose the black gown. 

No gold. 

No crest. 

A quiet message, for those who know how to read it. 

The halls feel different today — not tense, exactly, but charged. Like the kingdom is holding its breath. 

I find Eiran in the conservatory. He’s seated on a bench surrounded by climbing vines and winter-blessed orchids, reading some slim diplomatic volume, his posture perfect even here. 

He doesn’t look up when he speaks. “I wondered if you’d come.” 

“I thought we might speak plainly,” I say, stepping inside. 

He marks his page with a ribbon and closes the book slowly, resting his hands over the cover. “No guards?” He asks. 

“Only the ones watching from a distance.” 

“Good. I prefer shadows I can see.” 

I sit across from him. 

The marble bench is cold through the fabric. 

“I was told,” I begin, “that a courier from your court was intercepted. Carrying a message that suggested… ulterior motives.” 

He doesn’t flinch. 

But he doesn’t look surprised either. “So this is the test,” he says. “You’ve come to play the spy.” 

“No,” I say. “I’ve come to see if there’s anything left to trust.” 

He studies me. 

And something shifts in his expression — not fear, not guilt. 

Something older. 

Resignation. 

“I didn’t write the message,” he says. “But I won’t insult your intelligence by denying I knew one would be sent.” My stomach tightens. 

He continues, calm. “The moment I was chosen as the envoy groom, I ceased to be a person. I became a strategy. And every strategy has layers.” 

I let that sit between us. “Then tell me,” I say, “which layer do I marry?” 

He gives me a long, level look. “The one that survives.” 

He doesn’t blink when he says it. 

“The one that survives.” 

I want to believe he’s just tired. 

That he’s speaking from weariness, not intent. 

But his eyes — clear, cold, calculated — tell me otherwise. 

I study him for a long moment. “You knew the courier would be intercepted.” 

His chin lifts, just a fraction. 

Not a nod, but not a denial. 

“You wanted us to see it.” 

“I wanted your court to know what I was capable of,” he replies evenly. “Power comes from perception, Princess. I can’t afford to look harmless. Neither can you.” 

I feel something in me shift — a cold edge brushing just beneath the ribs. “Is that what this marriage is to you?” I ask. “Perception?” 

“No,” he says, and for a heartbeat I think I’ve misjudged him. But then he adds, “It’s leverage. Wrapped in ceremony. Dressed in silk so no one sees the blade.” 

I rise slowly. 

He doesn’t move. 

“You said you didn’t want this,” I remind him. “That you weren’t playing a game.” 

His expression doesn’t change, but something tightens in his shoulders — not guilt, not regret. 

Just control. 

“I didn’t lie,” he says. “I don’t want this. But wanting has never mattered in a world like ours.” 

I take one step back. “You were honest about that,” I say. “And now I am too.” 

He tilts his head. 

“I don’t trust you,” I say. “And I won’t play the part for you.” 

Eiran exhales softly, like a man exhaling after a successful negotiation. “Good,” he says. “Then at least one of us is telling the truth.” 

I turn and walk out without another word.

This time, I don’t go to the throne. 

Or the chapel. 

Or the garden. 

I know exactly where to go.

I find Kaelis in the stables. The scent of hay and leather hits me before the sound does — quiet movement, the shift of hooves, the occasional snort of breath from horses too well-trained to make noise unless they want to. 

Kaelis is brushing down one of the palace chargers, the great chestnut beast snorting softly as he works along its flank. He doesn’t turn when I step in. 

But I know he heard me. 

“I spoke with him,” I say. 

Kaelis keeps brushing. 

“He's not just playing along with the court,” I continue. “He’s playing against it. Against us.” 

Now he turns. His brow is slightly raised, not in surprise — but expectation. “I thought you already knew that,” he says. 

“I did.” I exhale through my nose. “I just wanted to be wrong.” 

Kaelis finishes his work, sets the brush aside, and leans against the stall door with his arms folded. 

“He’s not reckless,” I say, “but he’s dangerous. Smart enough to say only what helps him, just uncertain enough to seem sincere.” 

“And now?” 

I shake my head. “Now I see it. Every word from his mouth is a test. He doesn’t want me. He wants the crown. He wants power that doesn’t bleed when it’s taken.” 

Kaelis doesn’t smile, but I can see the tension in his jaw easing.

 A kind of grim relief. “You sound more like a princess than you think,” he says. 

“Is that a compliment?” 

He shrugs. “It’s a warning.” 

I step forward, resting one hand on the door of the stall beside him. “I don’t want to keep being used, Kaelis.” 

His gaze sharpens. “Then stop asking for permission to resist.” 

That settles into my chest like a heartbeat too loud. 

We don’t touch. 

We don’t say anything else. 

But the quiet between us isn’t empty. 

It’s understood.