10. Caelum
I lost control.
Not gradually.
Not in a way I could measure or correct.
It snapped.
Clean.
Sudden.
Irreversible.
It had been building all day.
Layer by layer.
Expectation.
Pressure.
Observation.
Silence.
My father's voice, constant, calculated, suffocating.
Kings do not hesitate.
Remove complications.
Marriage is not a preference.
Aethylla.
The coronation.
Cassian's resentment.
The board tightening with every move until there was no space left to breathe.
And then....
Rowan.
Always Rowan.
Walking three steps behind me like none of it mattered.
Like I didn't matter.
Like the bond didn't exist.
Like the corridor, like when he caught me, like that moment where control slipped...
Meant nothing.
We were alone when it happened.
A private training room.
Stone walls.
No witnesses.
Controlled space.
Safe space.
That's what it was supposed to be.
I had dismissed the other guards.
Unnecessary variables.
Just him.
Just me.
Just.
Silence.
He stood near the wall, arms loosely at his sides, watching without watching. That same detached expression. That same refusal to engage with anything beyond what was required.
It was... infuriating.
"You're distracted," I said.
It came out sharper than intended.
He didn't react much.
"I'm doing my job."
Flat.
Neutral.
Empty.
Like that was all he was.
Like that was all he chose to be.
"That's not what I asked."
He shrugged slightly. "You didn't ask anything."
I turned to face him fully.
"Then answer what I'm implying."
His brow furrowed just slightly.
"I don't deal in implications."
Of course he didn't.
Direct.
Blunt.
Simple.
While everything around him was,
Complicated.
Uncontrolled.
Unresolved.
My jaw tightened.
"Then I'll be direct," I said. "You're distracted."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's accurate."
He exhaled slowly, clearly irritated now.
"And what exactly do you want me to say?"
There it was.
A question.
An opening.
And I realised,
I didn't have a structured answer.
That annoyed me more.
"I want you to acknowledge it," I said.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Acknowledge what?"
That.
That right there.
The denial.
The deliberate ignorance.
Like it didn't exist.
Like it wasn't affecting both of us.
"The bond," I said.
He went still.
Just for a second.
Then.
"No."
The word was immediate.
Sharp.
Final.
Something in me snapped.
"You don't get to refuse reality," I said.
"Watch me."
"This isn't something you can ignore."
"I am ignoring it."
"That's not the same as eliminating it."
"I don't care."
That.
That carelessness.
That dismissal.
After everything.
After what it was.
My control fractured.
"You should," I said, voice lower now. Tighter.
"Why?" he shot back. "Because you've decided it matters?"
"Because it does."
"To you."
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because they were true.
Because I was the one pressing it.
Because I was...
Doing exactly what he was doing.
Just in a different way.
And I hated that.
I hated that he made me aware of it.
I hated that he stood there, unaffected on the surface, while everything beneath it was...
Unresolved.
"You're a contradiction," I said.
He frowned. "What?"
"You react. Then deny the reaction. You acknowledge it, then pretend it didn't happen."
"Because I don't want it to happen."
"That doesn't make it irrelevant."
"It does to me."
That was it.
That was the moment.
The exact second where logic stopped mattering.
Where structure failed.
Where control,
Broke.
I crossed the distance before I could stop myself.
Fast.
Deliberate.
Uncontrolled.
My hand grabbed his shirt, pulling him forward.
His eyes widened slightly, more in surprise than fear.
"Stop pretending it doesn't exist," I snapped.
"I'm not pretending," he shot back, shoving my hand away. "I'm choosing not to deal with it."
"That's not a choice you get to make."
"It is."
"No, it isn't."
"Yes, it is."
The back-and-forth.
Circular.
Pointless.
Infuriating.
"You don't understand the implications," I said.
"Then explain them."
"It's not that simple."
"Then stop acting like it is."
My chest felt tight.
Too tight.
Like something was building without release.
"You're avoiding it," I said.
"Yeah," he snapped. "I am. Because I don't want it."
"And you think that's enough?"
"It has to be."
"It's not."
"Why do you care so much?" he demanded.
The question hit.
Hard.
Because I didn't have an answer that fit within logic.
Because this wasn't just strategy anymore.
This wasn't just structure.
This was,
Uncontrolled.
"I don't," I said.
A lie.
And he saw it.
"You do," he said immediately.
"I don't."
"You do."
"I said I don't."
"And I said you do,"
"Stop."
The word came out sharp.
Final.
He didn't.
"Or what?" he challenged.
That.
That was the last push.
I hit him.
The moment my fist connected,
There was a split second of clarity.
A flash of what are you doing,
And then it was gone.
Because the anger was still there.
Because the frustration hadn't left.
Because the control hadn't returned.
He staggered slightly, more from surprise than impact.
Then he straightened.
Eyes sharp now.
Not backing down.
Of course he wouldn't.
"You done?" he said, voice low.
No.
I wasn't.
And that was the problem.
I hit him again.
And again.
Not calculated.
Not precise.
Just,
Release.
All the pressure.
All the restraint.
All the control I had been maintaining for days,
Breaking.
Through him.
His lip split.
A bruise forming along his cheek.
He didn't swing back.
That made it worse.
"Fight back," I snapped.
"No."
The refusal.
Calm.
Controlled in a way I wasn't.
Made something twist violently in my chest.
I grabbed him again.
Shoved him back.
"You don't get to just stand there,"
"I'm not doing this with you," he cut in.
And just like that.
It stopped.
Not because I chose to.
Because he did.
He stepped back.
Wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand.
Looked at me.
Not angry.
Not afraid.
Just...
Done.
"I'll do my job," he said.
Quiet.
Flat.
"And you can deal with your issues without using me for it."
Then he turned.
And walked away.
Silence.
Heavy.
Immediate.
The kind that settles after something irreversible.
I stood there.
Breathing uneven.
Hands still clenched.
And for the first time...
There was nothing to hold onto.
No justification.
No logic.
No structure.
Just...
What I had done.
My gaze dropped.
Slowly.
To my hands.
Still tense.
Still...
Shaking.
My head lowered.
Unconsciously.
A reaction I didn't recognise at first.
Because I had never...
Not like this.
Not without control.
Not without reason.
Not...
My chest tightened.
Sharp.
Too fast.
My breathing shifted.
Uneven.
Shallow.
Something was wrong.
I tried to steady it.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Controlled.
Measured.
It didn't work.
My heart was racing now.
Too fast.
Too loud.
My vision blurred slightly at the edges.
No.
No, this was...
This was nothing.
This was manageable.
I just needed to...
Breathe.
I tried again.
Inhale.
Too shallow.
Exhale.
Too quick.
My chest felt like it was closing in.
Like something was pressing down on it.
Restricting it.
Unacceptable.
I forced my posture straight.
Forced control.
It didn't respond.
My hands tightened at my sides.
My vision narrowed.
The room felt...
Smaller.
Too small.
Too tight.
My breath hitched.
No.
This was...
This was not happening.
I did not.
Lose control like this.
I did not.
"Caelum."
The voice cut through it.
Sharp.
Grounding.
I didn't look up.
Couldn't.
Because focusing felt impossible.
"Breathe."
Rowan.
Of course it was him.
Of course.
My chest tightened further.
"I am breathing," I said.
The words came out strained.
Uneven.
Not controlled.
Not.
"No, you're not," he said.
Closer now.
Too close.
I should have told him to leave.
I didn't.
"Look at me."
I didn't.
"Caelum."
Stronger this time.
More direct.
I forced my gaze up.
His face was...
Bruised.
Marked.
Because of me.
Something twisted sharply in my chest.
Worse than before.
"Focus," he said. "Inhale. Slow."
I tried.
Failed.
My breath hitched again.
Fractured.
"Again," he said.
Calm.
Steady.
Like none of what just happened mattered.
Like I hadn't...
I inhaled.
This time slower.
Still uneven.
But closer.
"Good," he said. "Again."
I did.
Again.
And again.
Until...
Gradually...
The pressure eased.
The tightness loosened.
My breathing steadied.
Not perfect.
But controlled.
Restored.
Silence returned.
Different this time.
He stepped back slightly.
Giving space.
Like earlier never happened.
Like the blood on his lip didn't matter.
Like...
"Why?" I asked.
The word came out quieter than I intended.
He paused.
"What?"
"You came back."
After...
Everything.
After what I did.
After...
He shrugged slightly.
"You were having a panic attack."
That was it.
Simple.
Direct.
No accusation.
No anger.
Just...
Fact.
I stared at him.
Trying to understand.
Failing.
"You should have left," I said.
"Yeah," he replied. "Probably."
"But you didn't."
"No."
"Why?"
A pause.
Then....
"Because it doesn't change the job."
The answer was simple.
Too simple.
And yet...
There was something else under it.
Something he wasn't saying.
Something I didn't push.
Because I wasn't sure I wanted to hear it.
Silence stretched again.
I looked away first.
Because holding his gaze felt...
Uncomfortable.
Not in the usual way.
In a way I couldn't control.
"Get cleaned up," I said finally.
He let out a quiet huff.
Almost a laugh.
"Yes, Your Highness."
The title...
Formal.
Distant.
Back in place.
And somehow...
That felt worse.
He turned again.
This time without stopping.
Without looking back.
And I didn't stop him.
Because I didn't know how.
Because for the first time...
I had no control over the situation.
And no idea how to regain it.
And that...
That was far more dangerous than anything else.