Cessalie did not like what she was feeling.
She told herself it was foolish to wait, yet her eyes still drifted toward the hallway whenever footsteps echoed in the room, they met. Each time, her heart lifted for a brief second before settling again. She wondered if he had returned.
She was not meant to be this way.
Over years, she trained herself to stay guarded. She kept her words calculated and her heart closed, hidden behind walls she built carefully over the years. She did not allow herself to hope for anything gentle.
And yet, after only two meetings, she found herself listening for him.
Davian's steps were distinct, calm and unhurried. His boots did not scrape against the stone or echo loudly.
She noticed that. She remembered it.
Most days she remained in her room, seated by the window or curled against the cushions with a book she read many times before. The pages turned beneath her fingers, but her thoughts wandered. She paused at lines she once underlined, tracing them lightly, remembering a time when she believed life might follow a simpler path.
The days passed quietly, one blending into the next.
And still, whenever footsteps sounded in the corridor, she looked up.
They left food by her door again. She stared at it, just for a second then looked away.
It was always the same routine. Let the food sit, let the hunger build, let it crawl under her skin and sink into her bones until it wasn't just hunger anymore, until it became pain settling in her stomach like shards of glass.
Her body shook, her hands would get cold, skin clammy. Every part of her screamed to get up, to eat, to make it stop. But that was the point, wasn't it?
This was how she punished herself.
She starved herself. A slower kind of self-hate. Letting the ache fester, letting it hurt until she was dizzy and her vision blurred around the edges.
And like usual… she didn't eat.
When night fell, the sharp pain settled low in her stomach. It came in slow waves, each one twisting a little deeper.
Candlelight flickered against the walls, shadows moving with every small shift she made. The bedsheets wrinkled beneath her as she curled onto her side, knees drawn close, both hand pressed against her abdomen.
She tried to breathe through it.
Her eyes moved toward the window. She wanted fresh air, something cool to steady herself, but the window was sealed from the outside with wooden planks. The room felt closed in.
Another wave tightened through her.
She stayed still for as long as she could, but eventually, she gave in.
Slipping a robe over her nightgown, Cessalie took a lantern from its hook and eased her door open.
The corridors were cold and nearly silent, just as she preferred them at this hour. Shadows stretched across the polished floors, and the small flame in her lantern cast a faint, unsteady glow along the walls.
The kitchens were not far.
As she rounded the stairwell, however, her steps faltered.
Rylan stood in the corridor ahead, patrolling as he always did, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Cessalie felt her stomach sink. Of course he would be awake, walking these halls like a guard who never truly slept.
His eyes found her at once.
A flicker of panic rose in her chest. She turned quickly, her steps light as she began to retreat—
"Cessalie."
She froze.
Her back remained to him, her fingers tightening around the lantern's handle.
"Turn around," Rylan said.
She did, slowly, forcing her expression blank. If she showed fear, he would be satisfied. And she refused to hand him that.
He didn't move closer kust stood there, watching her.
"What are you doing out of your room?" he asked.
"I was hungry," she answered, swallowing her nerves.
Rylan raised an eyebrow, not exactly disbelieving, but not caring much either.
"You haven't been eating again."
Again? The fact that he noticed made her chest tighten, no one in the family ever noticed, except the maids, and they were too scared or too loyal to speak.
She lifted her chin. "And?"
His eyes narrowed, cool and unimpressed. "You're not doing yourself any favors by acting like this."
"I wasn't aware eating was a favor," she muttered, bitterness curling in her tone.
He stepped forward, putting one foot on stair. "Father said you're behaving. Don't ruin it now."
The words sank into her skin like ice like a poisonous reminder. She hated that fear still curled in her gut, even when she was doing nothing wrong.
She was just hungry, just existing but in this house, that was enough to be accused.
She stayed still, heart pounding, forcing herself to hold his stare while every part of her wanted to bolt.
Rylan moved a few steps away. "Come. I'll take you."
She didn't move. Her grip on the lantern tightened, knuckles pale.
"I said I'll manage," she replied, voice cold, even when she didn't feel it.
His jaw flexed like he was grinding his teeth, but he didn't argue or raise his voice either. He just stood there for a moment before sighing. Her face relaxed in confusion seeing him not lose his temper.
"Suit yourself," he said, turning away as if he couldn't care less.
But then he paused, glancing over his shoulder.
"You're not invisible, Cessalie," he added, voice lower. "People notice when you disappear into your room and don't come out for days."
She didn't understand what he meant. She didn't respond. She didn't know how to respond to whatever he said.
Rylan waited a second longer, then started walking again, down the same corridor she had been heading toward. She frowned, steps slowing.
Why is he walking ahead of me? Is he hungry too? She questioned in her mind.
He didn't look back. But he didn't walk fast enough either. Cesaalie pretended she was not following him but she was. It was dark around them and she wae scared to get lost or encountering any wandering soul of people Cyrion had tortured.
Hunger was gnawing at her now, and if Rylan was going to be a silent shadow ahead, she'd rather walk behind him than wander the palace alone.
It wasn't kindness. Rylan didn't believe in kindness.
It was duty, maybe guilt or maybe both...just like always.
They reached the kitchen in silence. Rylan didn't speak. He didn't look at her. He just leaned against the wall near the door, watching the shadows stretch across the floor while Cessalie walked inside like she was still a prisoner in her own home.
She opened the cupboard slowly, her hands trembling more from hunger than fear, and grabbed a small plate of cheese and figs from the counter. It was fresher than the untouched food left outside her door. She sat at the edge of the counter, quietly chewing, eyes fixed on the cracked tiles beneath her feet.
Rylan stayed in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He looked more like a silent guard than a brother like a guard dog too proud to admit it cares.
"You should take the chance," Rylan said suddenly, his voice low, almost bored, like he was commenting on the rain, not her life.
She paused mid-bite, blinking at him through the faint flicker of lantern light. "What?"
He didn't repeat himself. His eyes stayed fixed on nothing in particular, arms still crossed, shoulders relaxed in that cold, detached way of his.
She forced herself to swallow the mouthful of food, throat dry now. "What chance?"
"The marriage," he answered. His head tilted slightly, but he still didn't look at her. "Davian's different. He won't punish you for being yourself. He admires you. For a very long time"
The words stopped her in her tracks. For a second, she just stared at him, stunned.
She had many questions. Is this really happening? After years of silence? After standing by while I was punished for breathing wrong? After never once stepping in?
It did not comfort her. It did not warm her to know that her brother cared. It only made her angry.
"You think I should just run into marriage because he's not the type to whip me?" she asked bitterly.
Rylan's expression didn't change. His tone stayed flat. "I'm saying this might be your only way out."
Cessalie didn't know whether to laugh or break something. "So now you care?"
His jaw tightened at that, but he still didn't face her. He didn't argue, he remained detached, like her words slid right past him.
"I don't care," he said finally, voice sharp with exhaustion. "But I know Father. And I know you. You won't survive this house much longer. So if Davian's giving you a leash instead of a cage, maybe take it."
The floor felt like it shifted beneath her. A leash?
It wasn't kindness and he was certainly not comforting her. But it was the first time Rylan had ever admitted how wrong things were.
She stared at him, searching his face for cracks. "Why now?"
Rylan still didn't look at her. His voice was cold, quiet. "I said what I had to."
Then he pushed himself off the wall and walked away. He did not offer a farewell or a lingering glance. He simply disappeared into the dark corridor.
Cessalie sat there for a long time after he left, the lantern flickering beside her.
The conversation shouldn't have meant anything. He wasn't apologizing or making amends. He didn't care whether she lived or starved.
But he said it.
And that was more than she ever thought she'd get from him.
Eventually after eating, she stood, her limbs heavy with exhaustion that had nothing to do with hunger.
The walk back to her room was cold. The halls felt longer, the shadows darker.
All she could hear was his voice echoing in her head. "If Davian's giving you a leash instead of a cage, maybe take it."
Leash. Cage. They were both restraints but maybe one had longer rope. But why would he say that davian offered her a leash? Davian was not trying to control her.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, breathing through the ache in her chest.
Why did Rylan even say all that? She asked herself.
He didn't sound regretful. He wasn't warning her like a brother. He just sounded tired like someone sick of pretending she had a choice.
Cessalie crawled back into bed, the blanket cold against her skin.
She stared at the ceiling for a long time.
She didn't want to hope for Davian to come back. But a twisted, buried part of her… kind of did. Maybe because he was the first man who didn't look at her like a mistake or maybe because he hadn't laid hands on her.
She kept turning back and forth, wondering what kind of person Davian was. He was known for only good things. But she had her own doubts because Davian didn't seem all that affected by his duchess's death. It was as if she was not his wife at all.
Honeslty, cessalie was scared.