Morning spilled pale light across the curtains, too soft, too gentle for how Selene felt inside. Her body was stiff, as though she hadn't slept at all, though she remembered drifting into uneasy dreams at last. Dreams where Veythar's shadow lingered too close, his eyes a snare she could not escape.
She forced herself upright, her chest tight with the memory of his hands on her wrists—the smirk that vanished only when she had struggled. He had released her, yes, but not without leaving an echo that clung to her skin.
Selene pressed her palms to her face. Nothing happened. Nothing happened. The words were her shield, fragile and thin, yet she clung to them as though repeating them enough would make them true.
The corridor outside stirred with voices. She could already hear Adrian's calm, measured steps. The sound of him had never before struck her as comfort, yet now—now it was a lifeline.
When she emerged, he was there, speaking to a guard, but his gaze shifted immediately to her. Selene walked directly to him, faster than she intended, and slipped her arm through his as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Adrian blinked, startled by her sudden closeness. "You're awake early."
"Mm. Couldn't sleep," she murmured, keeping her face carefully composed. If he noticed the tremor in her voice, she hoped he would dismiss it as fatigue.
His brows furrowed, faintly, but he allowed her to remain pressed against him. Selene leaned harder into his side, clutching his sleeve with her fingers. Her heart thudded with a strange panic: if she let go, if she left the space of Adrian's steady warmth, she might feel the phantom of Veythar's grip again.
Adrian's eyes softened—concern, always so difficult to hide with him. "Selene…?"
She cut him off with a too-bright smile. "Don't look at me like that. You'll make me believe I'm a ghost haunting my own skin."
But even as she spoke, her grip on him only tightened.
Adrian's gaze lingered on her far too long. The smile Selene wore was brittle, a porcelain mask, and she knew he could see the fine cracks running through it. He always did.
But instead of prying, he placed a hand lightly against the small of her back, steadying her. "Then stay close today," he said simply, voice low, protective.
Selene exhaled, tension loosening just enough for her to breathe again. That was what she needed—his quiet strength, not questions she couldn't bear to answer. She leaned into him more, until the scent of his uniform and the steady rhythm of his stride drowned out everything else.
Servants passed them in the corridor, bowing deeply. To them, she must have looked composed, even regal, with the First Prince at her side. But Selene's hand clenched in Adrian's sleeve, nails biting through the fabric. If I let go… he'll be there again. In the shadows. Watching.
Adrian guided her down the marble steps toward the breakfast hall, his posture deceptively calm. Yet his eyes flicked toward her fingers, still wound tight into his sleeve, then back to her face.
He said nothing. Not yet.
The silence between them was not empty—it was heavy, full of the words she refused to give and the questions he refused to ask.
"Adrian," she said at last, forcing her voice into something light, casual. "Promise me you won't leave my side today. Not even for a moment."
His steps slowed, and he looked at her fully, no guards, no servants to mask his expression. His eyes searched hers, the way they always did—pulling apart her defenses piece by fragile piece.
"…I promise," he said. But beneath his steady tone lay something sharper. He knew. He didn't need her confession to sense a predator had circled too close in the night.
Selene swallowed, clinging harder, as though the very act of holding on might keep the past twelve hours from catching up to her.