(Celeste)
The days had come and gone, suns rising and moons falling until time blurred into a haze. Celeste had lost track of how long she'd been in the palace—two weeks, maybe three. It hadn't been months, surely, but already the life she'd known before was starting to feel like something she'd dreamed rather than lived.
Escape still flickered in the back of her mind like a stubborn flame, but it no longer consumed her every waking thought. The garden kept her occupied. Granted, it wasn't freedom, but it was something that belonged to her—soil beneath her nails, plants that responded to her care, a corner of the world where she could breathe without judgment. Even the harem's whispers couldn't reach her here.
The other women had all but frozen her out, their glares and muttered insults sharp as blades, but Celeste hadn't expected anything else. Morena was the lone exception. Sweet, cheerful Morena, with her knack for turning weeding into an excuse to spin the most outrageous stories. Her company softened the sharp edges of Celeste's isolation.
And then there was Thane.
Every evening he came for her. A question on his lips—Dinner?—though it wasn't really a question. He would escort her to the dining hall, pull out her chair with surprising gentleness, and then simply…watch. Always watch. His gaze was a weight on her skin, steady and unyielding.
At first it had unnerved her. What was she supposed to make of a man who could purchase her with a single command, yet never touched her? No demands. No orders. Just quiet intensity.
But after the first week, her resistance had started to crumble. She caught herself waiting for him each night, listening for the heavy sound of his boots in the corridor. Her pulse always betrayed her at the first sight of him, skipping in her throat like a frightened bird.
Arrogant, infuriating man.
And yet…attractive. More than attractive. Dangerous in a way that made her blood warm.
She hated herself for noticing how his green eyes darkened when she raised a piece of bread to her lips. Hated herself more for deliberately slowing her movements, for licking crumbs from her fingers just to see the muscle in his jaw tense. It was a reckless little game, one she couldn't seem to stop playing.
You're playing with fire, a voice whispered in her head.And maybe she was. But she wanted to see how high the flames could climb.
It made no sense. She should have been grateful. Grateful that he hadn't forced her into his bed. Grateful that he gave her space, respect, even this ridiculous freedom in the garden. But safety was not what her heart—or her body—was beginning to crave.
She wanted the man who had stormed through the marketplace like a wrathful god, who had thrown her over his beast's saddle and snarled his claim to the world. The man who had made her blood race and her skin burn. Not this careful, patient Emperor who treated her like she might break if he breathed too close.
It was maddening.
And worse, a thought had begun to gnaw at her: how long could it last? He was a man, an Alpha, an Emperor. He had needs. A harem of women stood waiting, eager to serve them. What if his patience wore thin? What if he tired of her little rebellions and quiet dinners? Would he turn to another concubine for warmth and satisfaction?
The thought struck like lightning through her veins, violent and absolute. Rage seared her blood. Her fists clenched, nails digging crescent moons into her palms. No one else. No one touches him.
The ferocity of it terrified her. She had no claim on him—none. And yet her body reacted as if she did, hot with fury at the mere image of another woman near him. A cramping wave of nausea rolled through her gut, sharp enough to double her over. She pressed a fist to her stomach, fighting to steady her breath.
"Shit," she muttered, the word slipping out before she could bite it back.
"My lady, are you alright?"
His voice, rough and deep, came from the walkway.
Celeste jerked upright, forcing her spine straight, plastering a smile to her lips. "Of course." She walked toward him, every nerve taut. And gods help her, the closer she came, the worse it got—the scent of him, rich and spiced, curling into her lungs until she nearly swayed on her feet. She inhaled deep and caught no trace of another woman, only him. Only Thane.
His expression darkened, suspicion flickering in his green eyes. "Are you sure? You seem…off."
Rolling her eyes to cover the tremor running through her body, Celeste strode past him, tossing her words over her shoulder like a blade. "You seem a bit off yourself, but you don't see me insulting you."
The retort cracked between them, brittle and sharp, and she left him frowning in her wake, his boots echoing softly on the marble as he followed her toward the dining hall.