Elowen's Pov
The night after truth has a different weight.
It presses into the chest, makes even breath feel deliberate. I sat where I had been left, hands folded in my lap, the room quiet except for the low crackle of a dying candle.
I kept thinking of the wedding. The vows spoken like duty. The way his hand had barely tightened around mine. The way I had told myself it was enough.
"When we were married," I said quietly when he finally returned, "you never looked at me like a choice."
Cassian stopped near the doorway. He did not turn at first.
"So I need to ask," I continued, forcing my voice to stay steady. "Why me."
He exhaled slowly. "Because your kingdom needed us."
"That is not an answer."
He turned then. His expression was stripped of arrogance, of command. He looked tired in a way that frightened me more than anger ever had.
"You were unclaimed by factions," he said. "Untouched by rival houses. Your dowry was modest. Your people were desperate. You were safe."
Safe.
I swallowed. "So I was convenient."
"Yes."
The honesty hurt more than a lie would have.
I nodded once. "Thank you for not softening it."
Silence stretched. I could feel something taut between us, like a rope pulled too tight.
"And Sylvia," I said.
His jaw clenched.
"Why did you lie with her."
The question landed differently than I expected. I thought it would bounce off him. Instead, it struck something raw.
He looked at me as if seeing me clearly for the first time. Not as a duty. Not as a crown. As a woman sitting alone in a room that had been emptied of certainty.
"I did not lie with her because of desire," he said. "I did it because I was uncertain."
My chest tightened.
"That does not make it better."
Something shifted in his eyes then. A fracture. His voice lowered, rougher. "It was only after I realized you knew that it happened."
"What happened."
His hand curled at his side. "Something broke."
I felt my breath catch.
He stepped closer, then stopped himself. "I did not know I cared until the thought of losing your respect felt unbearable."
My heart thudded painfully. "Do not say things you do not understand."
"I am not saying them for comfort," he replied. "I am saying them because they are true."
I stood, trembling. "Then understand this. I did not come here to compete with ghosts. Or mistresses. Or habits you refuse to question."
His gaze held mine. "It will not happen again."
The certainty startled me.
"You promise that easily," I said.
"I promise it because I cannot afford to lose you."
The words hung between us, dangerous and unfinished.
I took a step forward before fear could stop me. "You already did."
Something in him snapped then, not in anger, but in urgency.
He reached for me, hesitated, then let his fingers brush my wrist as if asking permission without words.
My breath stuttered.
"Do not," I whispered, even as my body leaned closer. "Do not touch me if you intend to pull away again."
His thumb pressed gently into my pulse. "I will not."
The space between us collapsed.
The kiss was not gentle at first. It was restrained, careful, like both of us feared crossing a line we could not uncross. His lips were warm, firm, lingering as if he were memorizing the shape of my mouth. I felt the tension in him, the discipline fighting want.
When I responded, softly at first, the kiss deepened.
Not desperate. Not rushed. Slow and deliberate. His hand slid to my waist, steadying, grounding.
My fingers curled into his sleeve, feeling the strength beneath the fabric, the man behind the crown.
The world narrowed to breath and closeness and the ache of everything unsaid.
He pulled back first, forehead resting against mine.
"This changes nothing?" he asked quietly.
I almost laughed. "It changes everything."
His eyes darkened. "Then we will face that later."
The candle sputtered out.
And for the first time since becoming his wife, I did not feel like a bargain.
I felt chosen, even if only for this moment.