The corridors whispered as they led me back from the throne hall. My steps echoed against black stone, the sound chased by the faint hiss of silk and the low scrape of boots. Two guards flanked me, silent as statues. Yet it was not their presence I felt most keenly — it was the lingering eyes of the Court, etched into my skin like a thousand faint scars. Even here, alone in the long hallway, I could still hear their voices.
The mortal queen.
She will not last.
He chose her name. He chose.
The words clung to me like smoke.
By the time the door to my chambers closed behind me, my throat ached with the weight of silence I could not afford to break. The fire had been stoked, its glow painting the room in restless red. The gown clung heavy to my body, the silver-thread thorns catching at my skin as though eager to draw blood.
I tore the clasps open with clumsy fingers. The maids would have done it for me, but I needed to strip the weight from my shoulders myself. When the gown fell to the floor, pooling like a wound, I stood in my shift, trembling. Not from fear, not entirely.
From something that burned sharper. Anger. Pride. Confusion.
I had stood in that hall. I had answered him without faltering, even as their whispers sliced around me. I had been measured and I had not broken. Yet I was not fool enough to mistake survival for triumph.
The Court would not forgive me for standing. They would sharpen their hunger and wait for me to stumble. I pressed my palms against the cold balcony rail, breathing in the night. The river below gleamed silver, winding like a serpent around the palace. The stars above were still wrong, shifted into constellations I did not know. I had never felt more lost.
A knock at the door. Not the measured rap of a servant. Not the discreet whisper of Varus.
This knock was softer, deliberate. Before I could answer, the door opened.
Castiel.
He stood at the threshold, tall and severe, the firelight catching faintly on the silver sigils stitched into his coat. His gaze found me at once, bare-shouldered, hair tumbling from its braids, the gown discarded at my feet. For a long moment, he did not step inside. He simply stood there, as if the chamber belonged to me until I invited him. But the bond thrummed faintly in my veins, and I knew: it always belonged to him.
"You should lock your door," he said at last. His voice was low, calm, carrying the weight of centuries.
"Would a lock stop you?" I asked.
Something flickered in his eyes. "No."
Silence stretched between us, brittle as glass.
Finally, I turned from the balcony. "Why are you here?"
He stepped into the room. The fire bent toward him as though it recognised its master.
"You stood before my court tonight," he said. "You did not falter."
"I was paraded like a prize hound," I snapped. "Your nobles measured my bones as if calculating how long before they cracked. If that was meant as some twisted courtesy, forgive me if I do not thank you."
His mouth curved, sharp. "Do you believe I care for their courtesy?"
"I believe you care for your power," I retorted. "And I believe I am nothing more than a pawn you placed on the board tonight."
He studied me in silence. The fire crackled, the bond humming faintly between us, pulling at the space that separated our bodies.
"You are no pawn, Temperance," he said finally. "You are fire in a hall of shadows. They do not know what to do with you."
"Neither do I," I whispered. The words slipped out before I could catch them.
For a heartbeat, his expression softened, though it was gone as quickly as it came.
"You ask why I keep you alive," he said. "The answer is simple. Your strength unsettles them. And an unsettled court is easier to rule than a content one."
I laughed bitterly. "So I am a weapon."
His gaze did not waver. "Yes. But a weapon is not the same as prey."
He stepped closer. Not touching me, not even reaching for me — but the air shifted, thickened. The bond thrummed harder, as though recognising the proximity of its other half.
"You will never be prey while I reign," he said, his voice low, threaded with something dangerous. "But if you falter, if you stumble, they will devour you. And I will not stop them."
My pulse leapt, but I forced my chin higher. "Then perhaps," I said softly, "I will devour them first."
The silence that followed was heavy, charged, alive. He studied me, eyes unreadable. For a moment, I thought he might close the distance between us. The air between our bodies quivered with it, the bond tugging, demanding. But then, with a flicker of restraint sharper than any blade, he turned away. He walked to the door, his coat whispering like shadows across the floor. At the threshold, he paused.
"You are not a pawn," he said again. "Remember that."
Then he was gone, and the chamber fell into silence once more. I stood trembling in the firelight, though not from fear. Not entirely. And for the first time since the wedding, I wondered if my heart was not only mine.