35. Rowan
Six hours.
That’s how long I wait outside the council chamber.
Not because I have to.
Because I choose to.
There’s a difference most people don’t understand.
Duty is being told to stay.
This is something else.
This is refusing to leave.
The corridor outside the priests’ chamber is too quiet.
Not peaceful quiet.
Controlled quiet.
The kind of silence that exists when people inside are deciding the shape of someone else’s future.
I lean against the wall opposite the doors.
Arms folded.
Still.
Watching.
Waiting.
Every so often a guard passes.
None of them speak to me.
They know better than to ask why I’m here.
Or maybe they don’t care.
Either way, I stay.
Inside, I know Caelum is in there.
I can feel it in a way I don’t fully understand yet.
Not physically.
Not logically.
Something quieter.
Something that sits under the skin now.
The bond.
Still faint in normal moments.
Still unpredictable.
But never fully gone anymore.
And right now it feels… strained.
Like something being pulled in two directions.
I exhale slowly and close my eyes for a second.
Six hours is a long time to stand still and think.
Too long, honestly.
Because thoughts start getting louder than they should.
I think about the orchids.
The way Caelum looked at them like he had been remembering something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to keep.
I think about the way his voice changed when he spoke about his mother.
Not weaker.
Just… unguarded.
And I think about the bond.
The way it glowed stronger around memory.
Around emotion.
Around him.
It doesn’t behave like anything I’ve studied before.
Not like contracts.
Not like politics.
Not like anything that can be neatly controlled.
It reacts.
It feels.
And that’s the part that makes it dangerous.
Not because of what it is.
But because of what it does to people who try to ignore it.
A door clicks inside the chamber.
Not the main doors.
Something internal.
Movement.
I open my eyes.
Straighten slightly.
Minutes pass.
Then more.
And then finally...
the doors open.
Caelum steps out first.
He doesn’t look like he did when he went in.
That’s the first thing I notice.
Not physically different.
But something in his expression has changed.
Flattened.
Contained.
Carefully locked away.
He doesn’t look at me immediately.
Just stands there for a moment like he’s orienting himself back into reality.
Back into the corridor.
Back into being seen.
I push off the wall slightly.
“…Caelum.”
His eyes flick to mine.
Just briefly.
Then away again.
That alone makes something in my chest tighten.
Because he usually doesn’t avoid looking at me anymore.
Not like that.
Not without reason.
“What happened?” I ask quietly.
He doesn’t answer immediately.
The silence stretches.
Long enough that I start to feel it differently.
Heavier.
Not ignorance.
Delay.
Behind him, the priests begin to filter out.
They don’t look at me.
They don’t need to.
This isn’t my conversation.
Not officially.
One of them gives Caelum a small nod before leaving.
Respectful.
Final.
Like something has already been decided.
My attention snaps back to Caelum.
He still hasn’t spoken.
I step closer slightly.
“Caelum.”
His jaw tightens faintly.
Then he exhales.
Slow.
Measured.
Controlled.
“I’ve made a decision,” he says.
That sentence shouldn’t feel like impact.
But it does.
Because I already know what kind of decisions happen in rooms like this.
My throat tightens slightly.
“…What decision?”
He finally looks at me properly.
And I realise something immediately.
He is not asking for input.
He is not uncertain.
He is not sharing.
He is informing.
“I am marrying Aethylla,” he says.
The words land clean.
No hesitation.
No softness.
No space around them.
Just fact.
For a second, I don’t respond.
Not because I don’t understand.
Because I do.
Too quickly.
Too clearly.
Aethylla.
The arranged alliance.
The political structure they’ve been building around him since before he had a choice in any of it.
But knowing that doesn’t make it easier.
It just makes it… expected.
Which somehow feels worse.
I stare at him.
Trying to read past his expression.
But there’s nothing to read through.
It’s been closed.
Deliberately.
“…You’re serious,” I say quietly.
“Yes.”
One word.
No room for negotiation.
My hands curl slightly at my sides without me noticing.
Not anger.
Not yet.
Something sharper than that.
Something that hasn’t caught a shape yet.
“Why?” I ask.
That makes him pause.
Just briefly.
Like the question hits something underneath the surface.
“Because it is necessary,” he says.
“That’s not an answer,” I reply immediately.
His eyes narrow slightly.
Not in anger.
In restraint.
“It is the only one that matters,” he says.
Silence.
The bond shifts.
I feel it before I understand it.
That faint pull under the skin.
Stronger now.
Not glowing.
Not warm.
Tense.
Like it doesn’t agree with what was just said.
I exhale slowly.
Try to steady myself.
“Do you want this?” I ask quietly.
That question lands differently.
I see it.
Even if he doesn’t show it fully.
Something in his expression flickers.
Very small.
Very fast.
Gone almost immediately.
“That is irrelevant,” he says.
It shouldn’t bother me as much as it does.
But it does.
“Caelum,” I say again, softer now.
Not command.
Just… his name.
His gaze shifts slightly.
And for a second, I think he might say something else.
Something real.
Something not pre-approved by council logic or royal expectation.
But then he looks away again.
“I have duties to fulfill,” he says.
That’s it.
That’s the line.
Aethylla.
Duties.
The kingdom.
The crown.
Everything except the one thing neither of us is saying out loud anymore.
The bond pulses faintly.
But it feels wrong now.
Not broken.
Just… conflicted.
Like it doesn’t understand why we are both standing here pretending it doesn’t exist in the middle of decisions that clearly involve it.
I swallow once.
Then nod slightly.
Because I don’t trust my voice yet.
“Understood,” I say quietly.
His eyes flick back to me.
Just briefly.
Like he expected something else.
Like he was waiting for resistance.
Or argument.
Or anything that would make this feel less final.
I don’t give it to him.
Not because I don’t feel it.
But because I don’t know what it would change.
He turns slightly.
Not fully leaving yet.
Just… repositioning himself back into his role.
Back into who he is supposed to be.
And then he stops again.
For a moment.
Like something almost pulls him back.
But it doesn’t.
He walks past me.
And I stay standing there in the corridor long after he’s gone.
Listening to the silence again.
But this time it feels different.
Not controlled.
Not peaceful.
Just empty in a way that actually means something has been removed.