6. Caelum
I had learned, over the years, how to stand still in rooms that were designed to make people like me feel small.
Stillness was part of the training.
So was silence.
So was the art of smiling when you wanted to leave.
My father sat at the head of the long table in the private audience chamber, his expression carved into something unreadable as always. King Alaric did not waste emotion. He didn't waste words either.
Which is why, when he said, "Your new assignment has arrived," I already knew I was going to dislike whatever came next.
I kept my hands folded behind my back.
"Assignment?" I repeated evenly.
He didn't look up from the documents in front of him. "Personal bodyguard."
I almost sighed.
"I already have a security detail."
"You have guards," he corrected. "You do not have discretion."
That made my jaw tighten slightly.
Discretion usually meant inconvenience. Or scrutiny. Or someone being placed in my space who thought they knew better than the Crown.
I didn't need that.
I especially didn't need that now.
Not after the ball.
Not after...
I cut the thought off before it could finish forming.
The memory of it still sat under my skin like a second pulse.
Pink light.
A flicker under my wrist.
A reaction that had no political value, no strategic benefit, and absolutely no logical explanation I was willing to accept.
Fated mates.
Ridiculous.
Ancient superstition dressed up in genetic mythology. Something the old kingdoms whispered about but modern rule systems had long dismissed as irrelevant.
And yet.
It had happened.
And I had felt it.
"Who is it?" I asked, more sharply than intended.
My father finally looked up.
His gaze was calm.
Assessing.
Unbothered by my tone.
"Rowan Blackridge."
The name hit the room like a misplaced object.
Not noble.
Not military elite.
Not one of ours.
My brows pulled together. "I don't know him."
"You do," my father said simply.
That was all he offered.
As if that answered anything.
I exhaled slowly through my nose. "Where is he from?"
"Outside court circles," he replied. "He was flagged after the Crescent Ball incident."
That again.
My jaw tightened at the words.
Incident.
They had turned it into paperwork now. Reports. Files. Quiet discussions behind closed doors.
As if what happened between me and a stranger in a ballroom could be reduced to administrative inconvenience.
I still saw it when I closed my eyes.
The tray.
The collision of space.
The moment I looked at him.
And the world had shifted.
"Bring him in," my father said.
I didn't move.
Something about that command sat wrong in my chest. Not because it was unexpected, but because I already knew what I would feel when I saw him again.
And I did not want to feel anything.
That was the rule.
That had always been the rule.
Emotion was liability.
Attachment was weakness.
And yet...
The door opened.
And everything in me reacted before I could stop it.
He walked in like he didn't belong here.
Because he didn't.
Not in polished halls. Not in royal silence. Not in a world where every step was measured and every breath was monitored.
Rowan Blackridge.
He looked exactly like I remembered and nothing like I expected at the same time.
Dark hair, slightly messy like he hadn't bothered to tame it for this occasion. Clothes that were too simple for the room he stood in. Shoulders squared, posture alert in a way that suggested he was used to threats coming from all directions.
Not etiquette.
Not diplomacy.
Survival.
And his eyes...
They found mine immediately.
It wasn't subtle.
It wasn't hesitant.
It was direct.
Sharp.
Like he had been waiting to look at me again.
Something in my chest tightened.
Unwelcome.
Immediate.
Familiar in a way I didn't want to name.
My wrist tingled faintly beneath my sleeve.
No glow.
Not yet.
But my body remembered.
Rowan's gaze flicked down, just for a second.
Just long enough.
Then back up again.
Like he'd seen it too.
Like he knew what it meant.
And then.
Nothing.
His expression flattened.
Careful.
Controlled.
Like he had decided, mid-step, to erase whatever had almost happened between us.
That annoyed me more than it should have.
"Your Highness," he said.
His voice was lower than I expected.
Not soft.
Not deferential.
Just steady.
Grounded.
Real.
I nodded once. "You're early."
"I was told not to be late."
There was something in his tone.
Not disrespect.
Not quite obedience either.
Something in between.
My father gestured slightly. "Rowan Blackridge. You will be assigned as Prince Caelum's personal protection detail."
Rowan didn't bow.
Didn't flinch.
Just nodded once.
"I understand."
That alone made me bristle slightly.
Most people either overperformed in front of my father or collapsed under his presence.
Rowan did neither.
He simply existed.
Unmoved.
My father continued. "You will remain within close proximity at all times."
Rowan's eyes flicked briefly to me again.
Then away.
"As required," he said.
I watched him carefully.
There was something wrong with the way he was avoiding looking at me too long.
Not fear.
Not awe.
Resistance.
Like he was holding something back.
Like he was refusing something.
I didn't like it.
"Dismissed," my father said.
Rowan inclined his head once.
Then stepped closer.
Not toward the door yet.
Toward me.
Just slightly.
My pulse shifted without permission.
He stopped at a respectful distance.
Too respectful.
"I will begin immediately," he said.
"I didn't approve this," I replied before I could stop myself.
My father's gaze sharpened slightly, warning.
Rowan didn't react to my words at all.
Instead, he said, "That's understood."
And then he walked out.
Just like that.
No hesitation.
No lingering glance.
Nothing.
The door closed behind him with a soft finality that felt louder than it should have.
Silence settled.
My father returned to his papers.
As if nothing had changed.
As if everything hadn't.
"You will cooperate," he said.
"I always do," I replied automatically.
But my mind wasn't here anymore.
It was following the door.
Following the way Rowan had looked at me.
Following the absence of reaction that didn't match what I had felt at the ball.
My wrist tingled again.
I flexed my hand slightly beneath my sleeve.
Nothing.
Still nothing visible.
But I remembered it.
Clearer than I wanted to.
Pink light.
Heat.
Recognition.
My father's voice cut through my thoughts again. "Do not make this difficult."
I looked at him.
"I don't intend to."
That was a lie.
Rowan Blackridge was waiting outside the chamber when I exited.
Leaning slightly against the wall like he had been there long enough to get comfortable but not long enough to be dismissed.
He straightened when I approached.
Instinctive.
Not submissive.
Just aware.
We started walking.
No escort.
No entourage.
Just him.
Behind me.
Close enough that I could feel his presence like a shift in the air.
I hated that I noticed it.
"You don't talk much," I said after a while.
"I talk when necessary," he replied.
I glanced sideways at him.
Still not looking at me properly.
Still carefully neutral.
It made my jaw tighten.
"Your job requires proximity," I said.
"I'm aware."
"And yet you're acting like I'm a hazard."
That made him look at me.
Finally.
Properly.
Blue eyes, I noticed now.
Not just blue.
Not just green.
Something in between.
Unstable light.
Like something caught between decisions.
"You are a hazard," he said simply.
That startled me more than I expected.
Then annoyed me immediately after.
"I'm not."
A pause.
Then, "That's not what I meant."
I stopped walking.
He stopped too.
Too disciplined.
Too quick.
We stood in the middle of the corridor.
A line of tension forming between us like something physical.
"What did you mean then?" I asked.
Rowan held my gaze for a second longer than necessary.
Then looked away.
"That there are people who will target you," he said. "That's all."
Not entirely convincing.
But I let it go.
For now.
We started walking again.
And I became aware of everything.
The distance between us.
The sound of his footsteps behind mine.
The way my skin felt slightly too warm.
The way my wrist,
No.
Not that again.
I forced my focus forward.
"You're from outside the palace," I said.
"Yes."
"You're not trained in royal protocol."
A pause.
"I can adapt."
"You don't seem interested in adapting."
That made him exhale quietly.
Almost a laugh.
Not quite.
"I'm interested in the paycheck."
That surprised me.
I looked at him again.
"You're here for money."
"Yes."
It was blunt.
Honest.
Strangely grounding.
Most people lied when they wanted something from me.
Rowan didn't.
I should've liked that.
I didn't.
Because it still didn't explain the feeling under my skin when he looked at me.
We turned a corner.
And that's when it happened.
Too fast.
Too sudden.
A palace servant stepped out without warning, carrying a tray stacked with glass.
I moved instinctively to avoid collision,
And so did Rowan.
Except we moved the same way.
At the same time.
And instead of avoiding each other,
We collided.
Hard.
I stumbled forward slightly, losing balance for a fraction of a second...
And Rowan caught me.
Arms snapping around my torso instinctively.
Strong.
Immediate.
Effortless.
My breath caught.
Everything stopped.
His grip was solid against my back, stabilising me without thinking.
Too close.
Too close.
My chest was pressed briefly against his shoulder as I steadied myself.
And then,
It happened.
Heat.
Under my wrist.
Bright.
Sudden.
Pink.
I froze.
Rowan froze at the exact same time.
His grip tightened slightly, not pulling away, but reacting.
His eyes dropped.
To my wrist.
Then to his own.
And I saw it.
The glow.
Faint at first.
Then brighter.
Unmistakable.
Pink light blooming between us like the universe had decided to stop pretending.
Fated.
The word hit me like impact.
My mind went blank for half a second.
Rowan stared at it.
Expression gone completely still.
Not shock.
Not confusion.
Something sharper.
Like resistance.
Like refusal.
He let go of me abruptly.
Too fast.
Too controlled.
I stepped back automatically.
My heart was suddenly too loud.
The glow faded, but not completely.
Lingering heat under my skin.
"What the hell was that?" I heard myself say.
Rowan didn't answer immediately.
He was staring at his own wrist now.
Jaw tight.
Muscles in his hand flexing slightly like he was trying to shake something off.
"I don't know," he said finally.
But his voice wasn't steady anymore.
I realised, distantly, that I wasn't either.
We stood there for a second longer.
Too aware of each other.
Too aware of what had just happened.
Then Rowan stepped back fully.
Putting distance between us like it was a physical necessity.
"Your Highness," he said, voice carefully controlled again. "It won't happen again."
That shouldn't have affected me.
But it did.
Because it sounded like a promise.
Or a refusal.
I couldn't tell which one bothered me more.
I swallowed once.
"See that it doesn't," I said, and turned away before I could think too much about why my chest felt tighter than before.
But as I walked forward again, I could still feel it.
Under my skin.
Not gone.
Just hidden.
And behind me,
I knew he could feel it too.