12. Caelum
I saw them before they saw me.
Rowan stood near the far end of the lower hall, posture slightly relaxed in a way I had never seen within the bounds of his duties. And beside him...
A stranger.
Too close.
Too familiar.
Too comfortable.
They were talking like this place didn't demand silence. Like the rules didn't apply to them. Like he didn't have a position to maintain.
Rowan's head tilted slightly as he listened, and then...
He laughed.
A quiet sound.
Brief.
But unmistakable.
And something in my chest tightened so sharply it felt deliberate.
I stopped walking.
Not visibly.
Not enough for anyone else to question.
But internally...
Everything stilled.
That sound replayed.
Again.
And again.
Because I had not heard it directed at me.
Not once.
Not in the corridors.
Not in the training room.
Not even when...
I cut the thought off immediately.
Irrelevant.
Completely irrelevant.
And yet...
My gaze remained fixed on them.
On the distance between them that wasn't distant enough.
On the way the stranger angled himself slightly toward Rowan, like familiarity came easily.
Like proximity was natural.
Like...
No.
Unacceptable.
"Your Highness?"
I barely registered the voice beside me.
A servant.
Waiting.
Expecting instruction.
"Leave," I said.
Immediate.
Sharp.
They didn't hesitate.
Of course they didn't.
And now...
There was nothing between me and that scene.
Nothing to interrupt it.
Nothing to soften it.
Nothing to...
Contain it.
I approached deliberately.
Each step measured.
Controlled.
But the closer I got...
The clearer it became.
The way Rowan stood.
The way he listened.
The way he allowed that closeness.
That ease.
And something inside me reacted.
Not logically.
Not rationally.
Just...
Reaction.
Hot.
Immediate.
Unwanted.
"Rowan."
My voice cut through their conversation.
Clean.
Cold.
Final.
He turned instantly.
Of course he did.
Training.
Instinct.
Duty.
But the shift...
From that relaxed ease to that controlled professionalism...
Was immediate.
And that...
That irritated me further.
"Your Highness," he said.
Formal.
Distant.
Like earlier.
Like the training room hadn't happened.
Like the bruises on his face weren't there because of me.
My gaze flicked to them anyway.
Brief.
But enough.
A reminder.
He didn't react.
Of course he didn't.
That was his pattern.
Acknowledge nothing.
React, then deny.
Consistent.
Infuriating.
"And this is?" I asked, my gaze shifting to the stranger.
"Zayn," he said, stepping slightly forward. Not enough to be disrespectful. Just enough to position himself.
Protective.
The implication was subtle.
But clear.
My jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"A visitor," Rowan added.
"I gathered that."
My tone remained even.
Measured.
But beneath it...
There was something else.
Something I was not fully containing.
Zayn met my gaze directly.
Bold.
Unfiltered.
Unimpressed.
Interesting.
And irritating.
"You're needed," I said to Rowan.
"I'm aware."
"Then act accordingly."
A pause.
Then...
"I was just finishing here."
Just.
The word lingered longer than it should have.
Because it implied priority.
Choice.
Something beyond duty.
Unacceptable.
"Now," I said.
Not louder.
But sharper.
More precise.
More final.
Rowan didn't argue.
Of course he didn't.
He nodded once.
Then turned slightly back to them.
"I'll see you later," he said quietly.
Familiar again.
Different tone.
Different cadence.
And that...
That stayed with me longer than it should have.
I didn't wait.
I turned.
Expected him to follow.
He did.
Three steps behind.
Exactly where he was supposed to be.
Exactly where he always was.
And yet...
It felt different now.
Not because of him.
Because of what I had seen.
Because of what I had observed.
Because of the variable I had not accounted for.
"You allow distractions," I said as we moved through the corridor.
"I was speaking to my sister and my friend."
"I am aware."
"Then you know it wasn't a distraction."
"It was not necessary."
He didn't respond immediately.
Then...
"Neither is half of what happens in this place."
That...
That was not wrong.
But it was not acceptable either.
"Your role requires focus."
"I was focused."
"You were not."
"I was."
"You weren't."
A pause.
Then...
"You don't get to decide that," he said.
I stopped.
Abruptly.
Turned.
He halted immediately.
Distance maintained.
Always that distance.
Always that control.
And yet...
"You seem to forget your position," I said.
His expression didn't shift much.
But something in his eyes did.
"I know exactly what my position is."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
"Then act like it."
"I am."
"No," I said quietly. "You're not."
Silence.
Tight.
Contained.
Charged.
"You allow familiarity where there should be none," I continued.
"They're my people."
"You're in my palace."
"And I'm still me."
"That is irrelevant."
"It's not to me."
There it was again.
That refusal.
That insistence on something outside structure.
Outside control.
Outside...
Everything I had been taught to maintain.
"Your priorities are misaligned," I said.
"My priorities are fine."
"You compromise your role."
"I don't."
"You do."
"I don't."
The repetition...
Circular.
Pointless.
And yet...
I didn't stop it.
Didn't disengage.
Didn't end it.
Because something in me wanted the reaction.
Wanted the resistance.
Wanted...
Something.
Anything.
Other than that controlled silence.
"You will adjust," I said finally.
His jaw tightened slightly.
"I'm doing my job."
"Not adequately."
That landed.
I saw it.
Subtle.
But present.
"Then fire me," he said.
Direct.
Blunt.
Challenging.
I stepped closer.
Not enough to touch.
But enough to close the space.
"You think this is optional?"
"I think respect goes both ways."
My gaze dropped briefly.
To the faint bruising along his cheek.
My doing.
The reminder hit harder than expected.
I forced my attention back to his eyes.
"You will remain where I require you," I said.
"Which is where?"
A pause.
Then...
"Close."
The word came out quieter.
More controlled.
More deliberate.
Than anything else I had said.
His expression shifted slightly.
Just slightly.
Confusion.
Suspicion.
Something else beneath it.
"Effective immediately," I continued, tone returning to something structured, something safe, "your post will be adjusted."
He frowned. "Adjusted how?"
"You will remain within immediate proximity at all times."
"That's already the job."
"Closer than before."
"How much closer?"
A pause.
Then...
"You will stay in my quarters."
Silence.
Complete.
Absolute.
"What?" he said flatly.
"You heard me."
"That's not part of the contract."
"It is now."
"You don't get to just change it."
"I do."
"No, you don't."
"Yes," I said, voice calm again, controlled again, "I do."
His jaw clenched.
Tension clear now.
Visible.
Real.
"You're doing this on purpose," he said.
"Yes."
At least that part was honest.
"Why?"
I held his gaze.
Measured.
Precise.
Because the truth...
The actual truth...
Was not something I intended to articulate.
"You require supervision," I said.
"That's not an answer."
"It is the one you're receiving."
"It's not a good one."
"It doesn't need to be."
That should have been the end of it.
A directive.
Followed.
Executed.
Controlled.
Instead...
Something else slipped through.
Unplanned.
Unstructured.
Unnecessary.
"And," I added, quieter now, "you will share my room."
His eyes narrowed.
"You're joking."
"I'm not."
"And the bed?"
A pause.
Then...
"Yes."
The word settled between us.
Heavy.
Intentional.
Irreversible.
"This is a power move," he said.
"It is a necessity."
"No, it's not."
"It is."
"You're doing this because of the bond."
I didn't answer.
Because answering would confirm.
Because confirming would acknowledge.
Because acknowledging would...
Complicate.
Further.
"You don't even believe in it," he continued.
"That's irrelevant."
"It's not."
"It is to the structure."
"And what about you?" he pressed. "Is it irrelevant to you?"
A pause.
Brief.
Controlled.
Dangerous.
"Yes," I said.
A lie.
A precise one.
A practiced one.
One that held...
On the surface.
He exhaled sharply.
Frustrated.
Angry.
Contained.
"Fine," he muttered. "If that's how you want to play it."
"It's not a game."
"Feels like one."
"It isn't."
"Sure."
We stood there for a moment longer.
Neither moving.
Neither conceding.
Until finally...
He stepped back.
Distance again.
Always distance.
"I'll do the job," he said.
"Of course you will."
"But this?" he added. "This is on you."
"I'm aware."
And I was.
Fully.
Completely.
Aware.
That this was unnecessary.
That this was not strategic.
That this did not align with structure or expectation or anything I had been taught to prioritise.
And yet...
I did it anyway.
Because something in me refused to allow distance.
Refused to allow that ease with someone else.
Refused to allow...
Him to pretend this meant nothing.
If proximity forced acknowledgment...
Then proximity would be maintained.
At all costs.