Chapter 7 up
“Don’t come any closer.”
The order reached me before I fully crossed the threshold. His voice wasn’t cold—it was sealed, like an iron door slammed shut from the inside.
I stopped at the doorway. Aethern stood with his back to the tall windows, the dying light of dusk cutting his silhouette in two: a king forged of law and crown, and something far more dangerous than power alone.
“You summoned me,” I said.
“I summoned a situation,” he replied without turning. “You were simply caught inside it.”
The words cut deeper because he didn’t raise his voice. I stepped in anyway and closed the door behind me. The pulse at my wrist—dulled since the draught—stirred uncertainly, as if afraid of what this room would decide.
“The Elders are moving,” he continued. “They’ll try again. Cleaner. Quieter.”
“And your plan?” I asked.
He finally turned. His eyes were dark, but not wild. Too controlled. That frightened me more than rage ever could.
“You’ll be relocated,” he said.
The word fell heavy. Final.
“Where?” I asked, holding my breath.
“The East Wing. Full guard. No access to the inner chambers.”
“No access to—” A bitter laugh slipped out. “To you.”
“To the risk,” he corrected sharply.
I took one step closer. “You said I wouldn’t be alone.”
“I said I would control this.”
“By locking me away.”
His jaw tightened. The pulse flared once—sharp—then faded again. The distance hurt, but the meaning was clear. He was choosing it.
“I will not lose control again,” he said quietly. “Not before the Council. Not before you.”
“This isn’t about control,” I whispered. “It’s about fear.”
Silence tightened. Candle flames trembled.
“You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” he said at last. “If I let this bond develop—”
“—you become something they can’t manage?” I cut in. “Or something you’re afraid to face?”
His eyes closed for a heartbeat. One shallow breath escaped him.
“You leave tonight,” he said.
I nodded slowly. “If that’s your choice.”
“It’s my decision.”
That difference struck harder than outright rejection.
The guards arrived. I didn’t look at them when they opened the door. I kept my gaze on Aethern, searching for something—anything—beyond command and crown.
“Aethern,” I said. His name slipped out again, soft and dangerous.
The pulse answered—one sharp surge—then snapped, like a thread cut too violently.
“Don’t,” he said quickly. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I asked. “Remind you?”
He didn’t answer.
The East Wing corridor was colder. Brighter. Safer—so they claimed. Guards at every turn. The door to my chamber closed with a sound too precise to be anything but a cage.
Night fell without ceremony.
I sat on the bed, staring at my wrist. The shadow of the mark still lingered—faint, incomplete—but I felt it. Hollow. Like a heartbeat that had lost its counterpart.
Sleep refused me.
Deep in my chest, something pulsed—not heat, but absence. And that was when I understood: suppressing a bond doesn’t kill it. It simply turns pain into silence.
The door creaked softly.
I sat up straight. “I said I—”
Aethern stood there. No crown. No cloak. Just the man beneath the weight of every decision he’d made tonight.
“This is a mistake,” he said quietly. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“But you are,” I replied.
He took one step inside—then stopped, as if facing an invisible boundary. “You’re safe here.”
“No,” I said honestly. “I’m just far away.”
The pulse stirred—weak but present—like something holding its breath alongside mine.
“I can’t promise anything,” he said. “Not now.”
“I’m not asking for promises,” I answered. “I’m asking for honesty.”
He hesitated, then exhaled slowly. “If I stay away,” he said, “they’ll believe I’ve chosen the kingdom over the bond.”
“And if you don’t?”
“They’ll know I’ve already lost.”
I stood, closing the distance he refused to cross. “You haven’t lost,” I said softly. “You’re just standing in the middle.”
His gaze dropped to my wrist. “This bond will demand a price.”
“I’ve already paid one,” I replied. “So have you.”
For a moment—just one—the room felt balanced, suspended between restraint and surrender.
“If they come for you again,” he said, voice low, “I won’t stop myself.”
I met his eyes. “Then don’t.”
The pulse answered—not loud, not wild—but certain.