Time passed like a gentle breeze sneaking through the tall windows of the Sun Palace,
without us noticing. We ate in solemn silence, surrounded by luxury on all sides, while Emperor Theodor and Uncle Denis exchanged stories from their childhood,
when they were still little boys,
and how the Emperor used to cling to his twin brother, even in the smallest of things.
Their laughter pierced the heavy air around the table,
as if time had taken them back to days untouched by blood or politics.
Their conversation was a blend of nostalgia and joy,
to the point that I felt I was living that past myself...
As if I had been placed into a family photo taken in a distant garden, where two children played beneath a peach tree.
But my reverie didn't last long.
Suddenly, I felt something touch my foot under the table.
I looked down in surprise to find Kyle, a slight smile on his face, and his eyes gesturing at me quickly. He whispered without moving his lips more than necessary:
"I'm going to get up... follow me."
I raised my eyebrows in surprise and whispered:
"Kyle, everyone is seated… what will they say if we leave?"
He replied without turning to me:
"I don't think they care about us anyway. Let's go... somewhere out of sight."
I was about to respond when the Emperor's sharp voice cut through, as if he had noticed what was happening under the table:
"My dear nephew… are you bored?"
Kyle, with a polite smile and a calm expression, replied smoothly:
"No, uncle, it's a pleasure sitting with you all, but... as you know, traveling is a bit tiring."
Theodor chuckled lightly and said:
"Then take your fiancée and go to your room. No point in keeping you here if your mind is occupied with rest and comfort."
I couldn't help but ask in surprise:
"Are we… are we sharing a room?"
The Emperor replied with confidence:
"You're already married, aren't you? Why the formalities? The night is long—enjoy what's left of your life together. Who knows what the days might bring?"
His words were shocking, like a knife slowly dragged over the skin, and yet,
his face carried nothing but calm. But I noticed the irritated looks on his family's faces. Diana, who sat beside the Empress,
whispered to her mother in clear annoyance:
"Do something, Mother. This can't be allowed!"
The Empress raised her hand gently, trying to maintain her dignity,
then said with soft but sharp tones:
"Dear... it's still too early for them to sleep in the same room. They're still only engaged, not—"
But Countess Sara interrupted her with sly calm:
"Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I think His Majesty's decision is wise.
It's a good chance for them… to get to know each other. It's the right time to grow closer."
Denis smirked and said to his son:
"Take her before time steals her away, my boy."
Kyle took my hand in front of everyone, gave them a light nod, and said:
"Good night."
We left together, leaving behind a table heavy with formalities, tense faces, and hidden conflicts yet to be revealed.
We arrived at the room prepared for us. He opened the door quietly,
then abruptly let go of my hand, as if the play he had been performing had just ended—as if everything before was just a stage act.
He walked slowly toward his bed,
untied his necktie, and threw it onto the bed with clear fatigue.
As for me, I went to his bag, took out clean clothes, folded the sleeves neatly, and said quietly:
"Would you like a quick bath?"
He took the clothes without a word. He didn't look me in the eye, didn't reply—as if my presence in the room was no different from the furniture.
I quietly sat on the wooden stool near the mirror, quickly changed my clothes, and put on a loose ivory-white nightgown. Its open shoulders made it look like a simple shirt, yet somehow, it told much more than that.
I let down my long white hair, letting the strands flow down my back. I brushed it slowly while looking in the mirror, trying to appear composed... not as fragile as I felt.
Kyle came out of the bathroom, water droplets still clinging to his bare chest,
a towel wrapped around his waist. He approached without a word
and stood directly behind me, drying his hair quietly. I looked at him through the mirror.
Then he said in a voice low as the evening breeze:
"Arwa..."
I replied calmly, still looking at his reflection behind me:
"Yes?"
He said, without stepping back or changing his tone:
"Stay away from Ethan."
I turned to him, eyes questioning:
"We didn't talk about anything inappropriate… he was just being friendly."
He stepped closer, stared at my face for a long moment, as if searching for a small lie or sign of betrayal, then said:
"Don't put on that makeup."
I raised my eyebrows in surprise:
"I'm not wearing anything. Just lip balm."
He fell silent for a moment, then said in a tone closer to jealousy than anger:
"You look tempting to men."
I looked at him coolly and said:
"And what should I do? Gouge their eyes out?"
A heavy silence passed between us. Only the sound of his breathing as he dried his hair, and my heartbeat—thumping like it was trying to escape my chest. I knew there was something in his heart he didn't want to admit, and I knew even more... that my own heart was starting to get involved.
[From Arwa's point of view]
He was looking at me in silence, but it wasn't ordinary silence. It was the kind of silence that weighs on the chest, leaving you to wonder a thousand times what you did wrong without uttering a single word.
"Your looks tempt men"... his words still echoed in my ears, not as the jealousy of a lover, but as the judgment of a judge, as if I had committed a sin I didn't even realize.
I didn't respond—not because I couldn't, but because in that moment... my heart wasn't sure of anything.
I quietly returned to my bed, pulled the cover over my legs, and sat with my back resting against the pillow. I felt an odd urge to cry... not because Kyle was cold with me, but because I feared this might be the boundary between us.
Are we truly engaged? Or just playing our roles under the palace's watchful eyes?
I wished I could ask him... but why would I ask for a confession from a man who doesn't trust me in the first place?
I heard his footsteps on the marble floor, then his voice came from behind me, soft as if seeping from a wound:
"Do you think I'm a fool?"
I looked toward him slowly. He was wearing his silk nightshirt and had sat on the other side of the bed, staring at his hands as if they carried his guilt.
I said quietly:
"Kyle... I don't know what you're talking about."
He replied, his tone carrying a trace of pain:
Go to sleep quickly.
The words froze on my tongue, and it felt like the air around me had vanished.
"You don't know anything, Kyle..." I finally said, my voice trembling.
He stepped closer, his eyes searching my features for something—maybe reassurance, maybe truth... maybe vulnerability.
"Then tell me, what are you feeling? Tell me,
"I..." I was about to speak, to confess what was in my heart, to put everything before him with no masks, but he suddenly held my palm.
His hand was warm, strong, but he held mine gently, as if I were a piece of glass that would shatter if he pressed too hard.
"Arwa..." he whispered my name, and this time, it felt like he was saying the name of someone he loved—not just my name.
Are you hungry?
I whispered, my heart pounding violently:
What. Is. He rambling about. This bastard.
He responded as he brought his face closer to mine, so close I could feel his breath warming my cheek:
I feel like you're a strawberry ready to be eaten.
Arwa, is he flirting with me or insulting me...?