Chapter 17 Muddy Paws
MUDDY PAWS
SEBASTIAN
Footsteps echoed down the corridor behind me.
Not Viktor's. His were ghost-quiet, trained into silence. These were deliberate. Confident. The sound of someone who believed they belonged anywhere they walked.
“Your Highness.”
I stopped. Turned.
Duke Marcel stood ten feet away, dressed impeccably as always. Charcoal suit that probably cost more than most people's cars. Silver hair swept back from a face that had aged well, all distinguished angles and practiced warmth. He smiled like we were old friends instead of what we actually were.
Strangers bound by duty and my father's trust.
“Duke Marcel.” I kept my voice pleasant. Neutral. “I didn't know you were visiting today.”
“Last minute decision. I had business in the city and thought I'd stop by.” He gestured down the corridor. “Walk with me? I'd like to speak with you, if you have a moment.”
It wasn't really a request. Men like Marcel didn't make requests. They made suggestions that felt like obligations.
“Of course.”
Viktor materialized at my shoulder. Silent as always. Present in that way that should've felt oppressive but somehow didn't. Marcel's eyes flicked to him, something passing across his face too fast to read.
“Mr. Volkov. Always vigilant, I see.”
“It is my job.” Viktor's voice was flat. Professional. But I felt the tension radiating off him in waves.
“Indeed.” Marcel's smile didn't falter. “Though perhaps we could have a private word, Your Highness? Just for a moment. Surely even princes are allowed conversations without audience.”
I glanced at Viktor. Saw the muscle jump in his jaw. Saw the calculation happening behind those winter eyes.
“It's fine,” I said quietly. “Just a conversation.”
Viktor held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary. Then nodded once, sharp and final. “I will be here.”
Here meaning close enough to intervene. Close enough to break bones if Marcel so much as breathed wrong.
The thought shouldn't have been as comforting as it was.
Marcel and I walked, Apollo padding between us like a golden buffer. The corridor stretched ahead, all marble and gilt and the weight of centuries pressing down from painted ceilings.
“Your father tells me you've been sleeping better,” Marcel said after a moment. “That the new security arrangements are helping.”
“Some.” I kept my eyes forward. “It's easier to sleep when you're not worried about someone breaking in.”
“I can't imagine living with that fear.” His voice carried genuine concern. The kind that sounded real because maybe it was. “You've been through so much, Sebastian. More than anyone your age should have to endure.”
The use of my name instead of my title felt deliberate. Intimate in a way that made my skin prickle.
“We all have our burdens.”
“True. But yours are more visible than most.” We turned down another corridor, this one quieter.
More private. “I wanted to apologize, actually.
For not being more present these past months.
I know your father relies on my counsel, but I should've been checking on you as well. Making sure you had support beyond just security.”
I glanced at him, surprised. “That's not necessary.”
“Isn't it?” He stopped walking, turned to face me fully.
His expression was open. Honest in a way that felt almost painful to look at.
“You lost your mother eighteen years ago.
You've been the target of how many attempts on your life now?
Three? Four? And through it all, you're expected to smile for cameras and attend functions and pretend everything is fine.”
He said it like he understood. Like he'd looked past the crown and seen the person underneath.
It made me want to believe him.
It made me suspicious of how badly I wanted that.
“I manage,” I said carefully.
“You do more than manage. You thrive despite impossible circumstances.” Marcel's hand came to rest on my shoulder, warm and solid. Paternal in a way my own father sometimes forgot to be. “But thriving doesn't mean you don't need support. It doesn't mean you have to carry everything alone.”
Something in my chest loosened. Just slightly. Just enough to hurt.
“I'm not alone. I have my father. élodie. The staff.”
“And Mr. Volkov, apparently.” Marcel's smile was knowing. Gentle. “Your father speaks highly of him. Says he's exactly what you needed. Someone who won't coddle you but won't let you self-destruct either.”
“He's thorough.”
“He's more than that, I think.” Marcel studied my face like he was reading a book I'd tried to keep closed. “I see the way you look at him. The way you've started to relax in ways you haven't in years. It's good, Sebastian. You deserve to feel safe with someone.”
The observation landed like a stone in still water. Ripples spreading out before I could stop them.
“It's not like that.”
“Isn't it?” No judgment in his voice. Just gentle understanding. “I'm not here to lecture you about propriety or duty or any of the other things I'm sure people have already said. I'm here as someone who cares about you. Who wants to see you happy as much as safe.”
He squeezed my shoulder once before letting go. The absence of contact felt pointed. Respectful of boundaries I hadn't known I'd drawn.
“Your mother would be proud of you,” he said quietly. “Of the man you've become. Of how you've survived when so many others would've broken.”
My throat tightened. “You didn't know her well.”
“No. But I knew her enough to see where you got your kindness from. Your ability to see people instead of just their roles.” He smiled, and it reached his eyes this time.
Made him look younger. More human. “She had this way of making everyone in a room feel valued. Like they mattered. You have that too.”
I didn't trust my voice. Didn't trust the emotion threatening to spill over if I opened my mouth.
“I worry about you,” Marcel continued. “I worry that in trying to protect you, we're building a cage instead of a shelter. That the security measures meant to keep you safe are actually keeping you isolated.” He paused.
“If you ever need to talk. If you ever need someone outside the palace walls, outside the formal structures.
I'm here. No agendas. No expectations. Just someone who remembers what it's like to feel trapped by duty.”
The offer hung between us. Genuine and warm and everything I'd been craving without realizing it.
Someone who saw me. Someone who cared without demanding. Someone who understood the weight without adding to it.
It felt too good. Too perfect.
But maybe that was just trauma talking. Maybe not everyone had ulterior motives. Maybe some people really did just want to help.
“Thank you,” I managed. “That means more than you know.”
“Good.” Marcel's smile was soft. Real. “Now, I should let you get to whatever you were doing. I know you value your time away from all this.” He gestured at the palace around us. “Just remember. You're not alone, Sebastian. Not anymore.”
He turned to leave, then paused. Looked back.
“One more thing. Be careful with Mr. Volkov.”
My spine stiffened. “Excuse me?”
“I don't mean anything sinister.” Marcel's expression was careful now. Concerned. “He's good at his job. Excellent, even. But men like him, men who've lived in violence for so long, they don't always know how to turn it off. How to be gentle when gentleness is what's needed.”
“Viktor would never hurt me.”
“Not physically, no. I'm sure of that.” Marcel's eyes were kind. Sad. “But there are other ways to hurt someone. Ways that don't leave bruises you can see. Just, be careful. Protecting your body isn't the same as protecting your heart.”
He left before I could respond. Left me standing in the corridor with Apollo pressing against my leg and my mind spinning.
Viktor appeared from wherever he'd been lurking. Materialized like smoke given form. His eyes tracked the empty corridor with that intensity I'd learned meant he was cataloging threats, mapping exits, calculating how fast he could get me somewhere safe if everything went to hell.
“You okay,” he said. Not a question. An assessment.
I nodded. Couldn't quite find words yet. My throat felt tight with everything I wanted to say and couldn't, not here, not in a corridor where anyone could hear.
We walked in silence. Apollo trotted between us, tail wagging, completely oblivious to the tension threading through every step.
Staff nodded as we passed. I smiled back automatically, the mask sliding into place like muscle memory.
Prince Sebastian. Charming. Composed. Not at all like someone whose world had just tilted sideways.
The door to my chambers clicked shut behind us. Viktor locked it. I heard the bolt slide home, that final sound that meant we were alone, really alone, and I could finally breathe.
Apollo immediately went to his toy basket, emerging with a rope that had seen better days. He dropped it at Viktor's feet with a hopeful whine.
“No,” Viktor said flatly.
Apollo sat. Tail wagging. Staring up at him with those big golden eyes that had convinced half the palace staff to sneak him treats.
“I said no.”
More tail wagging. A soft whuff that somehow sounded like pleading.
“He's not going to give up,” I said, moving to the windows. Needing to do something with my hands. “He's relentless when he wants something.”
“I am aware.” Viktor picked up the rope. Apollo exploded with joy, jumping and spinning like Viktor had just given him the secrets of the universe. “This is stupid.”
“He loves you.”
“He loves everyone.” But Viktor threw the rope anyway. Apollo bounded after it, all golden fur and pure enthusiasm. “This is waste of time.”
“It's called playing.”
“I do not play.”
“You're literally throwing a toy for my dog right now.”
“Is work. I am bonding with asset to maintain operational effectiveness.”
I laughed despite everything. Despite the weight in my chest and the confusion still churning through my head. “Asset. You hear that, Apollo? You're an asset.”