Chapter 8 Messy thoughts
Lily's POV:
I barely slept.
Each time my eyes closed, my mind dragged me back to last night. The warmth of his hand. The weight of silence felt heavier than words. It unsettled me how something so brief had settled so deeply in my chest.
I rose before dawn, my body sluggish, my thoughts restless. The palace was quieter at this hour, though it was never truly peaceful. Even silence here felt sharp, like it was waiting for the wrong moment to strike.
I didn't wait for Anya as I dressed, the words from the ritual echoed again.
Return the bad luck to the sender.
At the rate I kept thinking about it, it was slowly becoming a nightmare to me.
My fingers trembled as I fastened my sleeves.
They never said his name, yet everyone knew who they meant.
I wondered, against my will, if he had slept at all. The thought startled me. Why did I care?
I pushed it aside and left my chambers, letting my steps carry me through the palace corridors until I found myself in the gallery wing.
Tall arched windows lined the passage, pale morning light spilling over marble floors and ancient paintings of forgotten rulers. It was a place meant for quiet reflection.
And yet, there he was. Like my thoughts had summoned him.
Prince Atlas stood near one of the windows, his back partially turned, gaze fixed on the gardens below. He was alone, not because he demanded solitude, but because no one dared to stand near him.
His posture was rigid, his presence controlled. He looked untouched by the night before.
Relief brushed my chest, followed by an unwelcome thread of disappointment. I slowed my steps as I approached, my heart beginning to race. My palms were damp, my throat tight.
Say something normal, I told myself. You are the Crown Princess.
“Prince Atlas,” I greeted, dipping my head slightly.
He did not respond.
For a moment, I thought he had not heard me. Then his eyes shifted toward me, cool and distant, sliding past me as though I were nothing more than another piece of décor.
My chest burned with embarrassment, but I forced myself to continue.
“I hope you are well.”
Silence. He turned his gaze back to the window.
The rejection stung more than I had expected. I should have walked away. I knew that. Yet my feet refused to move.
“Last night,” I began, then stopped myself.
His jaw tightened. “Crown Princess,” he said at last, his voice low and firm. He faced me fully now. “Whatever you believe happened, forget it.”
The words struck something delicate inside me.
Forget it. Like it was my fault my mind kept replaying yesterday's event, over and over, that I couldn't sleep.
“I was not implying anything improper,” I said quietly.
“Good,” he replied. “Then we understand each other.”
My fingers curled into my sleeves. No, we do not.
“I asked how you were,” I said. “There was no hidden intent.”
His gaze sharpened. “Concern from you will only complicate things.”
“For you?” I asked.
“For both of us.” The finality in his tone left no room for argument.
“I see,” I murmured, though I did not.
“You should focus on your marriage,” he added. “That is where your place is.” The word tasted bitter.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the gallery. Even before I turned, I knew it was Elliott. He always filled a space too loudly.
“Well, this is an interesting sight,” he drawled, his gaze flicking between us. “I did not know you had begun collecting sympathies so quickly, Lily.”
My stomach twisted, but Atlas spoke first. “Watch your tongue or I'll cut it off," he said calmly.
Elliott laughed. “Still pretending you matter?”
Something inside me snapped. “This is a gallery, not one of your chambers,” I said sharply. “If you have nothing worthwhile to say, leave.”
He stared at me, momentarily startled, then smiled cruelly. “You have changed. Really changed. I'd love to see what else you would do just to sleep with me. It's definitely running in the veins."
Everytime a jab is being made at my roots, it hurts even though I didn't want it to. However, I was intent on showing Elliott that his words would not move him.
"You could at least make fun of me, not my mother." I glared at him. "But you know there's nothing to make fun about."
Not knowing what to reply, his attention shifted back to Atlas. “Be careful, brother. She has a habit of misplacing her loyalties.”
Atlas did not react.
When Elliott finally walked away, the gallery felt colder. I turned back to Atlas, searching his face for any trace of last night. There was none.
“You should not defend me,” he said.
“I was not defending you,” I replied. “He insulted me too. I was defending myself."
His dark gaze studied me briefly, then took a step back. “Distance is the only kindness this place allows.”
Before I could stop myself, the question slipped out. “Was last night a mistake?”
For the first time, something flickered across his face. “No,” he said quietly. “It was dangerous.”
Then he turned and walked away.
I stood there long after he was gone, the morning light stretching across the marble floor, my chest aching with a truth I did not yet understand. I had reached for someone who had already chosen to let go.
The rest of the morning dragged on far too slowly. I returned to my chambers, hoping the familiar space would calm me, but the walls felt tighter than usual. I sat by the window, watching servants cross the palace grounds below. Everyone seemed to know where they were going, what they were meant to do, while I remained clueless about myself.
My thoughts betrayed me again..Atlas. I pressed my fingers to my chest, unsettled by how much I felt hurt whenever I think about his attitude toward me.
The silence he left behind felt heavier than his words. It frightened me how I wasn't scared of him. His presence felt familiar to me, and how quickly my heart had noticed when it was gone.
I tried to distract myself with embroidery, but the needle slipped from my fingers more than once. The pattern blurred before my eyes until I finally set it aside with a sigh. Pacing the room did little to help.
A sharp knock broke through my thoughts, making my heart jump.
“Yes?” I called out.
The door swung open and a woman stepped in, her movements smooth and precise. She looked older than the other maids, with a stern posture that seemed almost second nature. Her face was calm and neutral, revealing nothing. The wine-red gown with gold trim suited her well.
And
that was Queen Rhoda’s personal maid.
My stomach tightened instantly. I knew what was coming. “Her Majesty summons you,” she said calmly.
“You are to come at once.”