27. Rowan
I shouldn’t have asked.
I knew that the moment the words left my mouth.
But I did anyway.
“What are we, exactly?”
The room changed immediately.
Not physically.
Not visibly.
But in the space between us.
Like something tightened that had been loose before.
Caelum didn’t even look surprised.
That was the first thing that bothered me.
Not the lack of answer.
The fact that he already had one prepared and simply chose not to use it.
He adjusted his sleeve slowly.
Precise.
Controlled.
Like I’d asked a question that didn’t deserve urgency.
“You are my assigned guard,” he said calmly.
I nodded once.
Because that part was true.
Technically.
“And?” I asked.
That made him pause.
Just briefly.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
Enough for me to feel it anyway.
“There is nothing beyond that,” he added.
Simple.
Clean.
Final.
I should have accepted it.
I usually did.
That was the rule.
That was the job.
That was the line I was supposed to stay behind.
But something in my chest didn’t follow the rules very well anymore.
So I just nodded again.
“Right.”
My voice sounded normal.
It wasn’t.
I stepped back slightly.
Put space where there hadn’t been enough of it.
Caelum turned away like the conversation had already ended in his mind.
And maybe it had.
Maybe it always did.
But mine didn’t.
Because the bond didn’t care about titles.
Or roles.
Or carefully constructed definitions.
It reacted anyway.
Quietly.
Relentlessly.
And I hated how much I noticed it now.
Later that evening, I found out why I was still here.
Why I was still in his space instead of being dismissed like I should’ve been.
A ballroom.
Not ceremonial in the public sense.
Private rehearsal.
Controlled environment.
Reduced audience.
“Preparation for the union,” one of the attendants said.
Like it was nothing more than logistics.
Like it wasn’t a person standing at the centre of it.
Caelum stood near the floor’s edge when I arrived.
Already dressed differently.
Less armour. More formality.
White fabric with gold accents that caught the light too easily.
Like it was designed to remind everyone exactly what he was.
A king.
A symbol.
A requirement.
And me...
I wasn’t sure what I was in that room anymore.
“You’ll assist,” the instructor said to me.
Not asked.
Told.
Caelum didn’t look at me immediately.
But I saw it in the slight shift of his posture when he heard my voice behind him.
“Rowan,” he said eventually.
Neutral tone.
Controlled again.
“Your Majesty,” I replied.
Because that was safer.
Always safer.
They began the music.
Soft.
Measured.
Structured.
Everything about it was designed.
Nothing about it was real.
“Position,” the instructor instructed.
I stepped forward.
This was ridiculous.
I knew that immediately.
Me, standing in a ballroom, preparing a king for a political marriage through dance practice.
And yet I didn’t leave.
Caelum turned slightly toward me.
Waiting.
Not unsure.
Just still.
“Place your hand here,” the instructor said.
I did.
Carefully.
On his waist.
The moment I touched him...
something in my chest tightened.
Not new.
Just more noticeable in the quiet.
He didn’t flinch.
Didn’t react.
But I felt it anyway.
That subtle awareness.
That same thing that always existed between us now.
“Other hand,” the instructor continued.
I hesitated half a second too long.
Then placed it properly.
At his side.
The music started again.
We moved.
At first, it was awkward.
Mechanical.
Step. Shift. Turn.
Like learning a language neither of us actually wanted to speak.
Caelum was precise.
Of course he was.
Every movement controlled.
Every step calculated.
Like even this had to be perfect.
“You’re stiff,” he said quietly.
I almost smiled.
Almost.
“You’re not exactly easy to follow,” I replied.
That earned the faintest shift in his expression.
Not amusement.
Not irritation.
Something in between.
We continued.
The instructor corrected positioning occasionally.
Caelum adjusted instantly.
I followed.
But what I couldn’t ignore...
was the proximity.
His hands were light where they should’ve been formal.
My grip was steady where it should’ve been detached.
And the space between us kept shrinking in ways the choreography didn’t explain.
“You’re overcorrecting,” Caelum said softly at one point.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I looked at him.
Really looked this time.
“You’re used to control,” I said.
“So are you,” he replied immediately.
That landed harder than it should’ve.
Because it was true.
In ways neither of us had fully admitted.
The music shifted into something slower.
Smoother.
Less structured.
The instructor stepped back slightly.
Letting us continue without interruption.
That was when everything changed.
Subtly.
But undeniably.
The steps became less rigid.
Less mechanical.
More flow than instruction.
Caelum adjusted first.
Naturally.
Like he was slipping into something that didn’t require permission.
I followed.
Less perfectly.
More instinctively.
And suddenly...
it wasn’t practice anymore.
It was movement.
Shared rhythm.
Distance narrowing with every turn.
My hand at his waist tightened slightly without meaning to.
Not possessive.
Just steady.
Anchoring.
Caelum noticed.
Of course he did.
But he didn’t tell me to stop.
Instead, his gaze flicked up briefly.
Just for a moment.
Then back down.
Like he was deciding whether to acknowledge something and choosing not to.
The bond pulsed.
Quiet.
Unmistakable.
I felt it respond to him.
To proximity.
To rhythm.
To everything neither of us was naming.
“You’re thinking again,” Caelum said softly.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
That almost sounded like familiarity.
Almost.
We turned together.
Slow.
Controlled.
But no longer rigid.
His hand shifted slightly on my shoulder.
Not correction.
Adjustment.
And I realised something uncomfortable.
He was trusting my lead.
Even if he would never call it that.
The thought shouldn’t have mattered.
It did.
“You’re good at this,” he said after a moment.
I blinked once.
“That’s not exactly something I expected to hear from you.”
A pause.
Then...
“I didn’t mean it as praise.”
That sounded more like him again.
Still...
it didn’t change the fact he said it.
The music slowed further.
Almost fading.
Like it didn’t want to interrupt what was happening anymore.
We came closer in the turn.
Too close for etiquette.
Not close enough for anything else.
My hand remained on his waist.
Steady.
Unmoving.
His breath was calm.
Controlled.
But I noticed it anyway.
That slight shift in timing when I adjusted my hold.
The bond reacted again.
Stronger this time.
Not loud.
Just present.
And for a moment...
I forgot about the room.
The instructor.
The reason we were here.
It was just movement.
And proximity.
And something neither of us was saying out loud.
The music ended.
We stopped.
Too suddenly.
Like waking up from something we hadn’t agreed was happening.
My hand stayed for half a second longer than necessary.
Then released.
Caelum stepped back first.
Of course he did.
The instructor clapped once.
Satisfied.
Already moving on.
Already forgetting the part that didn’t fit the script.
But I didn’t forget it.
Neither did he.
Even if neither of us acknowledged that we hadn’t.
“You did fine,” Caelum said quietly.
I nodded once.
“Same to you, your majesty.”
A pause.
Then he turned slightly away.
As if ending the conversation before it could become anything else.
But as I watched him leave the floor...
I realised something I didn’t like.
That question I asked earlier?
About what we were?
I still didn’t have an answer.
But I was starting to understand why his silence bothered me more than it should have.