Unclaimed

36. Caelum

I don’t remember walking away from Rowan.

Not properly.

It’s more like I turned, and the corridor swallowed the moment, and suddenly I was back inside myself again...inside the part of me that is always expected to function no matter what just happened.

The part that signs decisions.

The part that sits through meetings.

The part that says yes when everything else is screaming no.

Aethylla.

The word doesn’t feel like a name anymore.

It feels like an outcome.

Something already sealed.

Something already decided without my body getting a vote.

I make it back to my wing without seeing anyone.

That’s the strange thing about palaces, people assume they are always full of eyes, but the truth is you can disappear inside them if you know exactly how to look like you belong to the silence.

My room is too bright when I enter it.

I don’t remember leaving the lights on.

Or maybe I did.

Maybe I just don’t care anymore.

I stand there for a moment without moving.

Just… standing.

Like if I don’t move, the decision might reverse itself.

Like stillness can undo authority.

It can’t.

I already know that.

My wrist burns faintly.

Not physically.

Not painfully.

Just… aware.

The bond again.

Always there now.

Always reacting at the worst possible times.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and stare at my hands.

They look the same.

That’s the most insulting part.

Everything feels changed except the one thing I can see.

I don’t hear Rowan at first.

I don’t feel him either.

That’s new.

He’s usually somewhere in my awareness now, even when I’m not looking for him.

Like a presence that exists just outside the edge of thought.

But there’s nothing.

Just silence.

Just the weight of everything I didn’t argue against.

Hours pass in fragments.

Or maybe minutes.

Time doesn’t behave properly when your mind refuses to stay inside it.

At some point, I realise I haven’t eaten.

Or moved.

Or spoken.

That’s when I know I’m slipping again.

Not dramatically.

Not visibly.

Just… inward.

The first sign is my breathing changing.

Subtle at first.

Then sharper.

Shorter.

Like my body is forgetting how to complete the process properly.

I press a hand against my chest.

That used to help when I was younger.

It doesn’t help now.

Nothing really does anymore once it starts.

Aethylla’s name appears in my mind again.

Unwanted.

Uninvited.

Permanent now, apparently.

I stand up too quickly.

The room tilts slightly.

Not enough to fall.

Just enough to remind me I’m not stable.

My fingers curl slightly at my sides.

I tell myself to breathe properly.

I do.

It doesn’t fix anything.

The silence in the room starts to feel louder.

Not sound.

Pressure.

I walk.

That’s the first instinct.

Movement.

Always movement.

Because standing still makes it worse.

Standing still makes everything catch up.

I don’t realise I’ve left my room until I’m already in the corridor.

Barefoot.

Still dressed in the same formal clothes from earlier.

Still carrying the weight of the conversation like it’s physically attached to me.

No guards stop me.

They never do when I look like this.

There’s a version of me people recognise as “not to be interrupted.”

This is apparently one of those versions.

The air outside my wing feels colder.

Good.

Cold is better.

Cold is simpler.

Cold is something you can feel without interpreting.

But it doesn’t help for long.

Because my thoughts are already too loud again.

Rowan’s face flashes in my mind.

Not dramatic.

Not intense.

Just… present.

The way he looked when I told him.

The way he didn’t fight it.

The way he said understood like it cost him something to say it.

Something tightens in my chest.

Not quite pain.

Not quite emotion.

Something between them.

I keep walking.

Faster now.

Not aware of direction.

Just motion.

The garden comes into view eventually.

I don’t remember deciding to go there.

But my body did.

Or something inside me did.

I step onto the path and the sound changes immediately.

Stone softens into earth.

Silence becomes less sharp.

But it doesn’t go away.

The orchids are somewhere in the distance again.

I don’t look for them this time.

I can’t.

Because if I do, I might remember what it felt like before everything started collapsing again.

My breathing is worse now.

I notice it properly.

Too shallow.

Too fast.

I stop walking.

That’s the mistake.

Everything catches up at once.

Aethylla.

The council.

The bond.

Rowan.

The look on his face when I left.

The fact that I didn’t stop it.

The fact that I chose not to stop it.

My chest tightens sharply.

Harder than before.

I try to inhale.

It doesn’t complete.

My hand grips my shirt instinctively.

Like I can physically pull air into myself.

It doesn’t work.

No.

No, not now.

Not here.

I step back.

Then again.

But my legs feel wrong.

Disconnected.

Like they’re not fully following instruction anymore.

The world starts narrowing.

Not visually.

Mentally.

Edges closing in.

Thoughts stacking too fast to separate.

Rowan.

That’s the clearest thought.

Rowan.

I try to focus on that.

It doesn’t stabilise me the way it used to.

It just… hurts differently.

My knees hit the ground before I realise I’ve fallen.

The impact doesn’t register properly.

Nothing does.

Air.

I need air.

I know that.

I can’t get it.

My fingers press into the ground.

Hard.

Trying to anchor myself.

Trying to force control back into my body.

It doesn’t respond.

Somewhere far away, I think I hear footsteps.

But I’m not sure.

Sound feels unreliable right now.

My vision blurs at the edges.

Not dark.

Just too much.

Too fast.

Too close.

Rowan.

I need...

I don’t finish the thought.

Because I can’t.

Because my body is doing something else entirely now.

I don’t notice him at first.

Not immediately.

Not until I feel something shift in the space beside me.

Presence.

Close.

“…Caelum.”

His voice cuts through something.

Not all of it.

But enough.

I try to turn my head.

It takes effort.

Too much effort.

Rowan is there.

Kneeling.

Already reaching.

Already assessing.

Too late.

Or almost.

His expression changes the second he sees me properly.

That’s when I realise how bad it is.

“Hey,” he says quickly. “Look at me.”

I try.

I fail halfway.

His hand touches my shoulder.

Steady.

Grounding.

But I’m not fully here anymore.

Not fully conscious of anything except pressure and noise and the feeling of not getting enough air no matter how hard I try.

“Caelum,” he says again, sharper now.

Not angry.

Just urgent.

I want to answer.

I can’t.

My body jerks slightly.

Not controlled.

Not intentional.

Rowan shifts closer immediately.

His hand comes up under my arm, supporting me as I slump forward.

“Okay...okay, I’ve got you,” he says.

I don’t know if I hear it or feel it.

It’s blurred now.

Everything is.

And then...

he pulls me in.

I don’t resist.

I don’t have the capacity to.

His arm tightens around me, steadying my weight.

His voice lowers.

Slower.

Measured.

Like he’s pulling me back with sound alone.

“Breathe,” he says.

I try.

It doesn’t work properly.

But something about him being there makes it slightly less impossible.

Not fixed.

Just… less far away.

I cling to that.

To him.

Without meaning to.

Without choosing to.

And somewhere in the chaos...

I realise how long I must have been alone in this before he found me.

Too long.It gets worse before it gets better.

Not the panic itself...Rowan steadies that in a way I don’t fully understand yet...but what comes after.

The silence inside my head doesn’t go away.

It just changes shape.

I’m still on the ground when my breathing finally starts to return to something resembling normal.

Not calm.

Not steady.

Just… possible.

Rowan doesn’t let go.

Not immediately.

His hand stays on my back like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he stops touching me.

Maybe I would.

I feel close to that.

My fingers are still gripping his shirt.

I only notice when I try to loosen them and can’t at first.

Like my body forgot how to release tension.

“Easy,” Rowan says quietly.

Not commanding.

Just there.

I swallow hard.

My throat feels raw, like I’ve been holding back words I never got to speak.

Or maybe I have been holding them back.

For years.

My head is still slightly bowed, pressed close to him.

I should pull away.

I don’t.

Because I can’t tell where I end and everything else begins right now.

“Stay with me,” Rowan says again, softer this time.

I let out a shaky breath.

“I am,” I manage.

But it doesn’t sound convincing.

Even to me.

And then it happens.

Not sudden.

Not dramatic.

Just… a shift.

Something inside me loosens in the worst possible way.

My brother’s face comes into my mind.

Uninvited.

Sharp.

Immediate.

The way he looked at me during the council period.

Not just jealousy.

Something deeper than that.

Something closer to resentment sharpened into hatred because it had nowhere else to go.

“You always get everything,” he had said once.

Not loud.

Not in front of others.

Quiet enough that it felt more honest than anything said in public.

Everything.

As if he knew what that word actually meant in my life.

As if he understood what I’d been given instead of what I’d lost.

My chest tightens again.

But this time it isn’t panic.

It’s something heavier.

Something that has been sitting there for longer than I want to admit.

Rowan shifts slightly, like he feels the change.

His hand presses a little more firmly against my back.

Grounding me before I even fully tip.

But it’s too late.

Because my mind has already started unraveling in another direction.

“I didn’t even want this,” I say suddenly.

My voice cracks halfway through.

I didn’t mean to say it out loud.

But once it starts, I can’t stop it.

Rowan doesn’t interrupt.

He just listens.

That makes it worse.

And better.

My throat tightens again.

“I didn’t want any of it,” I repeat, quieter.

The words feel wrong in my mouth.

Like they don’t belong to a king.

Like they don’t belong to me at all.

A shaky inhale.

My fingers curl slightly into Rowan’s shirt again without thinking.

“My brother…” I start.

Then stop.

Because saying it makes it real in a way thinking it never did.

Rowan waits.

Always waiting.

Never rushing me even when I’m clearly breaking.

I force it out.

“He hates me.”

Silence.

Not disbelief.

Not surprise.

Just… listening.

I swallow hard again.

“It’s not just jealousy,” I add quickly, like I need to clarify it before it becomes something smaller than it is.

“It’s… hatred. Like I did something to him personally just by existing in the position I’m in.”

My chest tightens again.

I hate how much it hurts to say it out loud.

Because I’ve known it for years.

But knowing it and admitting it are different things.

“He looks at me like I took something from him,” I whisper.

My voice breaks slightly.

“And I don’t even know what I was supposed to give up to make it fair.”

My breath stutters again.

Rowan shifts closer without hesitation.

His presence steadies the edges of me, but not the centre.

The centre is still falling.

“I tried,” I say suddenly.

More forcefully this time.

“I tried to make it easier. I tried to step back where I could. I tried to be what they wanted so he wouldn’t have to carry...”

My voice cracks.

I stop.

Because I realise I’m not even sure what I was trying to fix anymore.

Just that nothing worked.

Ever.

My throat tightens painfully.

“And he still looks at me like I ruined his life,” I whisper.

That time it doesn’t sound angry.

It sounds broken.

A pause.

The kind that feels like it stretches too far.

Rowan’s hand moves slightly on my back.

Not rubbing.

Just… steady pressure.

Present.

“I don’t know how to make it stop,” I admit.

The words come quieter now.

Less controlled.

Less royal.

More… me.

“I don’t know how to fix something I didn’t even start.”

My breathing stutters again.

Not full panic this time.

But close enough that I notice it immediately.

My chest tightens with it.

And then it hits fully.

Not like before.

Not sharp.

Not chaotic.

Just overwhelming.

Slowly flooding everything at once.

My vision blurs at the edges.

Not darkness.

Just pressure.

“I can’t do this,” I whisper.

It’s not dramatic.

It’s just honest.

Rowan tightens his hold slightly.

“Look at me,” he says quietly.

I try.

I really do.

But my head feels heavy.

Too heavy.

“I didn’t choose any of it,” I say suddenly.

My voice cracks harder this time.

“None of it. Not the crown. Not the council. Not the marriage. Not him hating me for something I don’t even understand.”

My breath stutters again.

My fingers shake slightly where they grip him.

“And now I’m just supposed to accept it,” I add, voice breaking further.

“Like it’s normal. Like I’m not...”

I stop.

Because I don’t know what I am anymore.

Rowan’s voice cuts in, softer than before.

“You’re not alone in it right now.”

That almost breaks me more.

Because I know what he means.

And because I can feel how much I needed to hear it.

My breath shakes again.

And then I do break.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just… collapsing inward all at once.

My forehead drops against Rowan’s shoulder again.

My grip tightens on his shirt.

Not controlled anymore.

Just instinct.

Just needing something real to hold onto.

“I don’t want him to hate me,” I say, barely audible now.

The words shake as they leave me.

“I don’t want any of them to.”

Silence.

But Rowan doesn’t move away.

Doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t let go.

“I don’t know how to be what they need and still be… me,” I whisper.

And that one feels like the truth underneath everything else.

Rowan’s hand moves slowly over my back again.

Steadier now.

Like he’s trying to hold me together without forcing me to stop feeling.

And for a moment...

I just stay there.

Breathing unevenly.

Held in place by someone who didn’t ask me to be anything other than present.

Even if I’m falling apart while doing it.