Chapter 7 – The Morning After the Fall
He woke at 6:03 a.m.
I knew the exact second because I had been watching the slow rise and fall of his back for three hours, counting every breath like a rosary.
Kael's eyes opened to the pale winter light leaking through the half-closed curtains.
For five full seconds he didn't move.
Then memory hit him like a bullet.
He jerked upright so fast the sheets tore.
I stayed curled on my side, facing him, pretending to be asleep.
Hair across my face, lips swollen, throat covered in blooming bruises shaped like his mouth.
The silk pajama top was somewhere on the floor; I had nothing on but the rose-gold choker and the marks he'd left.
He stared at me like he was staring at a crime scene.
"Fuck," he whispered. Then louder, raw: "Fuck."
He scrambled off the bed, nearly tripped, found his shirt half-buttoned and backwards, couldn't find his belt at all.
His hands were shaking.
I let one eye slit open.
"Kael…?" My voice was small, cracked, perfect.
He froze with one shoe in his hand.
I pushed myself up slowly, clutching the sheet to my chest, letting it slip just enough to show the top curve of a bruise on my collarbone.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. Tears came on cue (real ones this time; I was proud of them). "Did I… did I do something wrong?"
He looked like I'd punched him in the throat.
"No," he rasped. "No, Rui, I—"
He dropped the shoe, crossed the room in two strides, and fell to his knees beside the bed.
His hands hovered over me, afraid to touch.
"I was drunk," he said, voice shredded. "I forced you. I—"
I let the tears fall.
"You didn't force me," I said, soft. "I wanted it. I wanted you."
His face crumpled.
"You don't understand," he said. "You're—" He gestured helplessly at me, at the bruises, at the choker. "You're untouched. You're supposed to be untouched. I ruined you."
I reached out, slow, and cupped his cheek.
"You didn't ruin me," I said. "You woke me up."
He closed his eyes like the words physically hurt.
I leaned forward until my forehead rested against his.
"I've never felt safe with anyone," I whispered. "Last night I fell asleep in your arms and didn't have a single nightmare. That's never happened. Not once."
A broken sound escaped him.
I kissed his cheek (soft, chaste). Then the corner of his mouth. Then pulled back.
"But if you regret it…" My voice cracked again. "If you don't want me now that you've seen how weak I am—"
He surged up and kissed me (hard, desperate, silencing).
When he pulled back his eyes were wet.
"I will never regret you," he said against my lips. "I'm just— I'm not good for you. I'm not gentle. I'm not safe."
I smiled, small and tremulous.
"I don't want safe," I said. "I want you."
He rested his forehead against mine again, breathing like he'd run a war.
Then he noticed the nightstand.
The black king chess piece sat beside his missing red choker clip (the tiny Valdemar crest that had snapped off sometime around the third time he'd kissed my throat).
His whole body went rigid.
"Where did you—" he started.
I kissed him again, soft, distracting.
"Later," I whispered. "We have time."
He let it go. For now.
He stayed on his knees while I crawled out of bed, sheet wrapped around me like a toga, and padded to the bathroom.
I let him watch the bruises on my back, the fingerprints on my hips, the bite mark just above the choker.
Every step was deliberate.
When I came back he was still kneeling, head bowed, hands fisted on his thighs.
I stood in front of him.
"Will you help me get dressed?" I asked quietly. "I have morning lecture. I don't want to be late on my second week."
He looked up at me like I was asking him to carry the sky.
He dressed me like I was made of glass.
White cashmere sweater (he pulled it over my head, fingers brushing my throat).
Soft gray skirt (he knelt again to smooth it down my legs).
Thigh-high socks (he rolled them up slowly, reverently, lips brushing my knee once, accidental and perfect).
When he fastened the rose-gold choker again (his fingers shook so badly I had to guide them), he pressed a kiss to the bite mark he'd left just above it.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into my skin.
"Don't be," I said. "I'm keeping it."
He closed his eyes like the words were too much.
At 7:28 a.m. we left the Eclipse Penthouse together.
The entire campus lost its collective mind.
Kael Valdemar (shirt still misbuttoned, hair wild, red choker crooked) walked half a step behind me the entire way to the lecture halls, one hand hovering at the small of my back like he was afraid I'd vanish.
Leander was waiting outside the humanities building, leaning against a pillar with two coffees.
He took one look at us and the coffees slipped from his hands.
Kael didn't even glance at him.
He walked me all the way to my seat in the front row, pulled out my chair, set my bag down, and only then finally met my eyes.
"I'll be outside when you're done," he said.
I smiled (small, secret). "I'll be quick."
He left.
The lecture hall was silent enough to hear heartbeats.
Leander slid into the seat beside me, face unreadable.
"So," he said quietly. "That happened."
I opened my notebook like nothing was wrong.
"Yes," I said. "It did."
He studied my throat (the bruises peeking above the sweater collar, the faint teeth marks).
"He marked you," he said. Not a question.
I touched the choker lightly.
"Not yet," I said. "Soon."
Leander's smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Be careful, ghost prince," he murmured. "Some kings don't survive being loved by monsters."
I turned to him, expression soft and deadly.
"Then it's a good thing," I whispered, "I'm not the one who needs to survive."
The professor walked in.
Class began.
And across campus, the footage of Kael Valdemar leaving the Eclipse Penthouse at 7:29 a.m. (shirt inside out, lips swollen, carrying my books) hit every private chat, every forum, every secret Apex group.
By lunch the entire school knew their untouchable king had spent the night in the Omega tower.
By dinner they would know he had knelt.
And somewhere in the Eclipse Penthouse, hidden behind a false wall, a new photograph was already pinned to the wall (Kael on his knees at 6:03 a.m., head bowed, shirt torn, eyes wrecked with devotion).
I had taken it with the hidden camera while he was still asleep.
Underneath, in neat black ink:
Day 1 of forever.
He dressed me today.
Tomorrow he will beg to undress me again.
I pressed a kiss to the photo and smiled.
The king had fallen.
Now it was time to teach him how perfectly a crown could fit around a throat that was never meant to bow.