Chapter 58 Words That Slip
The castle felt different after the Restricted Section.
Not louder. Not brighter. Just… closer. As if the walls themselves had shifted, narrowing the distance between thoughts and truth. Liora noticed it most as she walked beside Mattheo through a quiet corridor on the seventh floor, the torchlight stretching their shadows long and tangled across the stone.
Neither of them spoke at first.
The silence wasn’t awkward. It was heavy—full of things that hadn’t been said, moments replaying in Liora’s mind like half-remembered dreams. His hand around hers. His voice, low and steady, telling her she was safe. The way the shelves had closed in and somehow pushed them closer instead of apart.
She inhaled, then exhaled slowly.
“Thank you,” she said at last.
Mattheo glanced at her. “For?”
“For… not letting me panic,” she replied. “And for taking me there. I know you didn’t have to.”
He shrugged lightly, but she noticed the tension in his shoulders. “You wanted to see it. I made sure you didn’t get hurt.”
“That’s kind of your thing,” she said before thinking. “Making sure I don’t get hurt.”
The words landed between them.
Mattheo stopped walking.
Liora felt her stomach drop. Oh no.
“I didn’t mean—” she began quickly. “I just meant—”
“I know what you meant,” he said quietly.
She looked up at him, heart pounding. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were darker now, thoughtful—caught somewhere between restraint and something far less controlled.
“You notice patterns,” he continued. “That’s dangerous.”
She winced. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” he said immediately. “Just… be aware.”
They resumed walking, but the air between them felt tighter now, charged with something she couldn’t take back. Liora’s cheeks burned, and she stared resolutely ahead, berating herself.
Brilliant, Liora. Truly subtle.
They reached a narrow balcony overlooking the inner courtyard, moonlight spilling across the stone. Mattheo slowed, then stopped again, resting his hands lightly on the railing.
“You’re quieter than usual,” he said.
“That’s because I keep saying things without thinking,” she muttered.
A faint huff of amusement escaped him. “You’re honest. That’s not the same thing.”
“It feels like it should be illegal,” she replied.
That earned her a small smile—brief, but real.
They stood side by side, gazing down at the courtyard below. The quiet stretched again, but this time it felt expectant rather than heavy.
“I don’t usually let people close,” Mattheo said suddenly.
Her breath caught.
She turned slightly toward him, careful not to interrupt. He wasn’t looking at her now—his gaze was fixed somewhere beyond the walls, as if the words were easier to say when he didn’t have to see her reaction.
“You don’t have to explain yourself,” she said softly.
“I know,” he replied. “But I want to be… precise.”
That word again. Precision. Control.
“My life has been… curated,” he continued. “Every interaction measured. Every weakness accounted for. People tend to want something from me—or fear something about me.”
“I don’t,” she said without thinking.
He finally looked at her then.
“I know,” he said quietly. “That’s the problem.”
Her heart stuttered. “Problem?”
“Yes.” He exhaled slowly. “Because when you look at me, you don’t see what you’re supposed to.”
“What am I supposed to see?” she asked.
“Something dangerous,” he said. “Something untouchable.”
She shook her head. “I see someone who pays attention. Who protects quietly. Who listens.”
His jaw tightened.
“That’s not who I’m meant to be.”
“Maybe,” she said gently, “that’s just who you are.”
The words slipped out before she could stop them—soft, sincere, and far too revealing.
Mattheo went very still.
Liora’s breath hitched as she realized what she’d done. Not confessed outright. Not named the feeling. But she’d stepped dangerously close to it—close enough for him to hear the truth behind the words.
“I—” She swallowed. “I mean… I trust you. And I like being around you. That’s all.”
That’s all, she told herself desperately. That’s safe.
But Mattheo wasn’t fooled.
He looked away, fingers tightening on the stone railing. Inside him, something shifted—something unsteady and unwelcome. He felt it like a crack in glass, spreading fast.
She likes being around me.
The thought echoed louder than it should have.
He’d prepared himself for suspicion. For curiosity. Even for fear.
Not this.
Not warmth. Not trust given so freely it felt like gravity.
“You shouldn’t,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her.
She frowned. “Shouldn’t what?”
“Care,” he replied.
Her chest tightened. “I don’t think caring is a mistake.”
His pulse kicked sharply at that.
She wasn’t dramatic about it. Wasn’t demanding or pleading. She just… stated it. As if it were obvious. As if caring were the most natural thing in the world.
He didn’t answer right away.
Inside, his thoughts were anything but calm. He felt off-balance, exposed in a way he hadn’t been in years. Her words replayed again and again—not loud, not insistent, just quietly devastating.
I like being around you.
Merlin help him, he liked being around her too.
That was the problem.
“You say things lightly,” he said at last, turning back to her. “But they don’t land lightly.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“I know,” he interrupted gently. “That’s why it’s… dangerous.”
She searched his face, worry flickering there now. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” he said immediately. “You didn’t.”
“Then why do you look like I just set something on fire?”
Despite himself, a small, breathless laugh escaped him. “Because you might have.”
She flushed—deeply, unmistakably.
“Oh,” she whispered.
The word held everything she hadn’t meant to say.
They stood there, close again, the night pressing in around them, the castle quiet enough to hear their own breathing.
“I’m not asking for anything,” she said softly. “I just… wanted you to know. I feel safe with you. And I care about you. That’s all.”
That’s all.
It was never all.
Mattheo closed his eyes briefly, steadying himself. When he opened them, his expression was composed again—but something had changed beneath the surface.
“Liora,” he said carefully, “you have no idea what you’re inviting when you say things like that.”
She met his gaze, steady despite the blush still colouring her cheeks. “Then maybe one day you can tell me.”
The simplicity of it nearly undid him.
He nodded once, sharp and controlled. “Perhaps.”
They stood there a moment longer, the confession hanging between them—unfinished, unclaimed, but undeniably real.
When they finally turned back toward the corridor, Mattheo walked a fraction ahead of her, his posture rigid with restraint.
Liora followed, heart racing, face still warm, knowing she’d crossed a line she couldn’t uncross.
And behind his calm exterior, Mattheo Riddle was quietly unravelling—because for the first time, someone had offered him something he hadn’t planned for.
Not fear.
Not ambition.
But the dangerous, disarming possibility of being chosen.