20. Caelum
Disgust was not an emotion I was unfamiliar with.
I had been taught it early.
Directed it outward when necessary, at weakness, at disorder, at anything that threatened control.
Directed it inward when required, at hesitation, at failure, at anything that suggested I was less than what I had been shaped to be.
But this...
This felt different.
It sat heavier.
Quieter.
More persistent.
Because it wasn't just about what had happened in the lower chambers.
It wasn't just about the memory of controlled strikes and the expectation that I endure them without reaction.
That...
That was familiar.
Contained.
Understandable.
No.
This came from something else.
Something far less structured.
Far less acceptable.
Rowan.
I stood at my desk, documents spread before me, eyes scanning lines of text without absorbing any of it.
Because my thoughts,
Refused to align.
He had not looked at me.
Not once.
Even now, I could feel his presence in the room behind me.
Three steps.
Always three steps.
Always precise.
Always correct.
And yet...
There was nothing in it.
No tension.
No awareness.
No acknowledgment.
Like the previous night had been erased.
Like the bond between us had been dismissed.
Like I had been...
Dismissed.
My jaw tightened slightly.
He had pinned me against a wall.
Held me there.
Allowed the bond to manifest in a way that could not be ignored.
And then...
He had walked away.
And now...
He refused to even acknowledge it.
The conclusion formed quickly.
Logically.
Cleanly.
He regretted it.
Of course he did.
Why wouldn't he?
I turned a page that I had not read.
My hand remained steady.
My posture unchanged.
From his perspective...
It was entirely reasonable.
I was a man.
A complication.
A disruption to whatever identity he had constructed for himself.
And more than that...
I was not just anyone.
I was the King.
The implications alone were enough to warrant rejection.
So he ignored it.
Dismissed it.
Contained it.
And I...
Felt something sharp twist in my chest at the realization.
Unacceptable.
I straightened slightly, forcing my attention back to the documents before me.
Because this...
This was irrelevant.
His perception did not alter reality.
His avoidance did not diminish my position.
His reaction...
Did not matter.
And yet...
It did.
Because it aligned too easily with something else.
Disgust.
Not his.
Mine.
Because despite everything.
Despite the training.
Despite the control.
Despite the expectations placed upon me since birth.
There had been a moment.
A clear, undeniable moment.
Where I had not wanted him to stop.
Where I had not wanted distance.
Where I had...
Leaned into it.
My hand stilled on the page.
That...
That was the problem.
Not Rowan.
Not the bond.
Me.
I had allowed something instinctive to surface.
Something unrefined.
Something that did not belong within the structure I was meant to uphold.
And now...
I was facing the consequence.
Silence.
Distance.
Rejection.
Appropriate.
I inhaled slowly.
Then exhaled.
Forcing the thoughts back.
Locking them down.
Control.
That was the solution.
It always had been.
If he chose to ignore it,
Then I would do the same.
If he chose distance,
Then I would enforce it.
If he felt disgust,
Then I would ensure there was nothing left to react to.
Simple.
Clean.
Necessary.
"Your Majesty."
The voice broke through the silence.
I did not turn immediately.
"Speak."
"A file has been prepared, as requested."
I nodded once.
"Leave it."
The servant stepped forward, placing a thin folder on the desk before retreating.
I waited until the door closed.
Until the room was silent again.
Until there was nothing but...
Him.
Behind me.
And the file in front of me.
Then I reached for it.
Rowan.
The name alone felt...
Different now.
I opened the folder.
The contents were concise.
Efficient.
Detailed.
As expected.
Name.
Age.
Background.
Known associations.
Employment history.
My gaze moved steadily down the page.
Until...
It stopped.
Stripper.
The word sat there.
Unembellished.
Unapologetic.
I read it again.
To confirm.
To ensure there was no,
misinterpretation.
There wasn't.
A second line.
Illegal racing.
I exhaled slowly.
Of course.
It fit.
The confidence.
The lack of deference.
The refusal to conform entirely to structure.
It all aligned.
And yet...
It complicated things further.
Because this...
This was not someone shaped by protocol.
Not someone trained for control.
Certainly not someone who understood restraint in the way I had been forced to.
And yet...
He had it.
In moments.
In flashes.
In ways that were inconsistent but...
Effective.
He had chosen to stop.
That was the part that remained.
He had not been forced.
He had not been interrupted.
He had made a decision.
My fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the file.
Why?
Because he did not want it?
Because he rejected it?
Because he found it...
Unacceptable?
Or...
Because he feared it?
I closed the file.
The answer...
Did not matter.
What mattered was...
The reality of the situation.
He had a life outside of this palace.
Outside of this structure.
Outside of...
Me.
A sister.
My gaze flicked back to the file.
Reopening it.
Scanning quickly.
Luna.
College student.
Financial strain noted.
A pause.
Then I reached for the pen.
A simple instruction.
Discreet.
Immediate.
Full tuition coverage.
Housing included.
No direct attribution.
I signed it without hesitation.
Closed the file.
Because that...
That was something I could control.
Something I could resolve.
Something that did not require acknowledgment.
Something that did not demand...
Emotion.
"Send this."
The order was given without turning.
Without explanation.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
The file was taken.
The door closed.
And once again...
It was just us.
The silence stretched.
Longer this time.
I remained where I was.
Back straight.
Gaze forward.
"You didn't have to do that."
His voice.
Finally.
I didn't turn.
"It is inconsequential."
"It's not."
"It is."
A pause.
Then...
"Why?" he asked.
The question lingered.
Because answering it...
Would require acknowledging something I had no intention of naming.
"It ensures stability," I said.
"For who?"
"For your performance."
Silence.
Tight.
Unconvinced.
"That's not why," he said.
I did not respond.
Because it was sufficient.
Because it was logical.
Because it was...
Safe.
The door opened again.
"Your Majesty, your brother requests an audience."
"Send him in."
I did not look back.
Did not shift.
Did not acknowledge anything beyond the necessity of the moment.
Footsteps approached.
Familiar.
Confident.
Less restrained than my own.
"Well," he said lightly, "you've been busy."
I turned then.
My brother leaned casually against the edge of the table, gaze sharp despite his relaxed posture.
"State your purpose," I said.
He smirked slightly.
"Straight to it. As always."
I said nothing.
His gaze shifted.
Past me.
To Rowan.
Then back again.
"Interesting choice," he said.
"He is effective."
"I'm sure he is."
A pause.
Then...
"What's going on between you two?"
The question landed without warning.
Without pretense.
Without subtlety.
I held his gaze.
Unmoving.
"There is nothing."
He huffed out a quiet laugh.
"Right."
"It is a professional arrangement."
"Of course it is."
His tone made it clear he didn't believe that.
"Then why do you look like that?" he asked.
I did not react.
"Like what?"
"Like you're thinking too much about something you refuse to say out loud."
Silence.
Because he was not entirely incorrect.
Because there was no response that would satisfy him.
Because I did not have an answer...
That I was willing to give.
"What is there to say?" I said finally.
He watched me for a moment longer.
Then shrugged.
"Nothing, apparently."
And just like that...
The conversation ended.
But the question remained.
Unanswered.
Unresolved.
And as I turned away...
Returning to the structure.
To the control.
To the role I had been shaped to fulfill...
One thing remained undeniably clear.
I did not know what was happening between us.
And I did not know what to do about it.