The palace felt wrong after that room.
Or maybe I was the one who felt wrong—like I'd been turned inside out and put back together slightly off-center.
I drifted through silk-draped corridors and polished stone floors, present but not really there. My body moved through breakfast, through hallways, through meaningless conversations with servants who wouldn't meet my eyes. But my mind? Still trapped in that damned room. Still feeling his breath against my ear. Still hearing his voice promising things that terrified me.
The bond sat in my chest like a second heartbeat.
Quiet. Too quiet.
Not demanding anymore—just existing. A bruise I couldn't stop pressing, even though I knew it would hurt.
The silence felt deliberate. Controlled.
Caelan was pulling away, and I could feel every inch of distance he forced between us. Where there'd been heat and chaos and that terrifying rush of wanting, now there was nothing but cold restraint. Like he'd slammed a door between us and was holding it shut through sheer stubbornness.
God, he was infuriating.
By lunch, the whispers started following me.
I heard them even when I couldn't hear them—felt eyes tracking my movements, saw conversations die the second I walked past. A servant dropped a tray when I rounded a corner. Two courtiers stopped mid-sentence to stare.
The cursed bride who triggered the bond.
The nobody who rattled the unshakable prince.
I kept my head up and my steps even, even though my chest felt like it was caught in a vise.
Let them stare.
They had no idea what it actually cost to stand here and pretend I was fine.
I found him in the eastern gallery.
Or maybe the bond dragged me there—I wasn't sure anymore where my choices ended and this thing between us began.
He stood alone before this massive mural, all ancient battles and frozen violence rendered in paint and gold leaf. Hands clasped behind his back. Posture military-perfect. Face completely blank.
He looked untouched. Unmoved. Like last night had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience he'd already filed away.
The bond stirred—cautious, testing.
"So that's it?" My voice came out steadier than I expected. "We're just going to pretend?"
He didn't turn. "Pretend what?"
"That nothing happened."
A beat of silence.
Then, so calm it made my teeth ache: "That would be ideal."
The words landed like stones in my stomach.
I should've expected it. Should've known better than to think one moment of weakness meant anything to someone like him.
But it still hurt.
"Ideal for who?" I asked.
"Everyone."
I laughed—sharp, breathless, a little unhinged. "Right. Because everyone was in that room with us."
He turned then.
His face was locked down tight, every emotion carefully buried, but I felt the tension underneath. The effort it took to hold himself together. The bond pulsed between us, and for just a second, I saw past the mask.
He was barely holding on.
"Lower. Your. Voice." Each word precise and clipped.
"Why?" I stepped closer before my brain could stop me. "Worried someone might find out the untouchable prince almost lost control?"
The bond flared—sharp, volatile. Warning and irritation and something darker I couldn't name.
"You don't get to say that." His voice dropped dangerously low. "Not after you chose silence."
My breath caught. "You backed me into a corner."
"You didn't stop me."
"I didn't know how," I shot back. "And you damn well know it."
Something cracked in his expression—just for a heartbeat. Something that looked almost like regret. Almost like pain.
Then it was gone.
"We crossed a line," he said, each word careful and measured. "It won't happen again."
I searched his face for certainty, for conviction, for any sign he actually believed what he was saying.
I found nothing but doubt wrapped in determination.
"And when the bond disagrees?" I asked softly.
His jaw clenched. "Then we endure it."
Endure.
Like this thing between us was a disease to survive. A wound to cauterize. Not a fire that could consume us both if we let it.
A bell rang somewhere in the palace—sharp, commanding. Summoning him back to whatever princely duties required his attention.
He moved toward the door, already leaving me behind.
"Be careful, Seraphina." He didn't look back. "The bond isn't the most dangerous thing in this palace."
My chest tightened. "Then what is?"
He stopped. Just for a second. Long enough to be cruel.
When he turned his head, his eyes were dark and haunted and far too knowing.
"Hope," he said.
Then he walked away.
I stood there long after his footsteps faded, the bond humming low and unresolved in my chest, my heart doing something painful and complicated I refused to name.
If hope was dangerous...
Then we were both already standing at the edge of something that could destroy us.
And somewhere beneath the fear and the anger and the stubborn refusal to admit what I was feeling, I knew the truth.
This wasn't over.
Not even close.
Whatever was building between us—this impossible, infuriating, terrifying thing—it was only just beginning.
And I wasn't sure either of us would survive it intact.