41. Rowan
I listen to Caelum speak like the rain is the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
Not because I don’t understand him.
Because I understand him too well.
Every word he says lands somewhere I didn’t know was still exposed.
“I care that you left.”
That sentence shouldn’t have weight.
But it does.
It sits in my chest like something alive, refusing to move.
The rain doesn’t soften anything.
It exposes it.
Soaks through all the things we’ve been pretending are controlled.
Titles.
Duty.
Distance.
All of it meaningless in the space between us right now.
He steps closer.
I don’t stop him.
I don’t think I could even if I tried.
And when he says he heard me...
when he admits he heard me say I love him...
something inside me goes very still.
Not calm.
Not confused.
Just… still.
Like my body is waiting for permission to feel what my mind already accepted long ago.
I exhale shakily.
“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” I say quietly.
It comes out rougher than I expect.
Caelum’s expression shifts slightly.
Not away.
Not back.
Just… human.
Unguarded in a way I haven’t seen in public. Or in private, really.
Not like this.
“I did,” he says.
Simple.
Honest.
No royal filter.
That’s what breaks whatever restraint I still had left.
Not the words.
The certainty behind them.
My hands move before I can overthink it.
I grab him, not forcefully, not carefully, just completely.
And I kiss him.
It isn’t gentle.
Not at first.
It’s too long coming.
Too restrained for too long.
Too many moments of almosts and stops and walking away and not saying what we meant.
He freezes for half a second.
Then he responds.
That’s all it takes.
The world collapses into something smaller.
Just breath.
Rain.
Heat.
Him.
When we finally break apart, neither of us moves away.
Neither of us pretends that didn’t happen.
Neither of us tries to turn it into something smaller.
Caelum’s forehead presses briefly against mine.
Like he needs the contact to stay anchored.
Like I do too.
And for the first time since I met him...
I don’t feel like I’m holding myself away from something I want.
We stay there in the rain for a long time.
Not speaking.
Not needing to.
Just existing in a way that finally stops feeling like a mistake.
A FEW DAYS LATER
The palace changes after that night.
Not openly.
Not visibly.
But something in the air shifts.
Like everyone knows something happened without knowing what it was.
I’m still assigned to Caelum.
Or I was.
Until breakfast.
We’re sitting in the dining hall.
It’s too early for conversation.
Too structured for honesty.
The usual kind of morning that pretends nothing happens outside protocol.
Caelum sits across from me.
Different somehow.
Quieter.
But not distant.
Never distant anymore.
Not since the rain.
Then the doors open.
A priest enters.
And I immediately know something is wrong.
Because he’s holding something.
Not scrolls.
Not papers.
A recording device.
Royal standard issue.
Caelum notices it too.
His posture shifts slightly.
Subtle.
But I see it.
The priest bows.
Then speaks.
“I bring a matter of court concern.”
Caelum doesn’t answer.
I don’t either.
The priest places the device down.
Activates it.
And the room fills with us.
The rain.
The garden
.
The way Caelum pulled me into him like nothing else mattered.
The way I kissed him.
The way we didn’t stop.
It plays out in full detail.
No editing.
No mercy.
Silence drops instantly over the hall.
Heavy.
Final.
My stomach tightens.
Not because I regret it.
Because I know what this means for him.
For us.
For everything tied to his name.
Caelum doesn’t move.
At first.
Then I see it.
The shift.
The break.
His breathing changes.
Shallow.
Too fast.
Hands tightening slightly on the table.
“No,” he whispers.
Barely audible.
But I hear it.
The recording ends.
The priest bows again.
Like this is procedural.
Like this is just another violation dressed as protocol.
Caelum stands suddenly.
Too fast.
Chair scraping back.
“Enough,” he says sharply.
But his voice cracks halfway through.
Then it hits.
The panic.
I’m up immediately.
But not fast enough.
Caelum staggers slightly.
Hand to his chest.
Breathing collapsing into itself.
“Caelum...” I start.
But he’s already gone inward.
Already trapped.
The room shifts.
Guards move.
Voices rise.
But none of it matters.
I reach for him.
But someone stops me.
A hand on my shoulder.
Authority.
Cold.
Final.
“The Crown has decided,” a voice says.
I turn slowly.
Because I already know before I hear it.
“You are relieved of duty.”
It takes a second to register.
Not because I don’t understand.
Because I do.
Too clearly.
Caelum is still struggling to breathe.
Still breaking in front of everyone.
And I’m being removed from him while it happens.
I try to step forward.
But the guard tightens his grip.
“Leave the premises,” he repeats.
Caelum looks at me then.
Just briefly.
Through panic.
Through noise.
Through everything collapsing.
And I see it.
The same thing I felt in the garden.
The same thing neither of us can say safely here.
He doesn’t want me to go.
But he can’t stop it.
So I leave.
AFTER
I’m back in my old life faster than I expected.
Too fast.
The palace doesn’t hesitate when it removes you.
It just replaces you.
Kai is the first person I call.
I don’t tell him everything.
Just enough.
“He got pulled into a panic attack,” I say.
“And I got removed.”
Kai is quiet.
Then:
“That was going to happen eventually.”
I don’t respond.
Because I already know that part is true.
Zayn is next.
And eventually… Caelum.
Or I try to reach him through Zayn’s phone when mine gets flagged.
It’s risky.
But I don’t care.
He answers.
Not immediately.
But he answers.
“Rowan,” he says.
His voice is strained.
Still not fully steady.
I pause.
Then:
“I’m okay.”
Lie.
But not entirely.
“You shouldn’t have left,” he says immediately.
Not anger.
Fear.
I swallow.
“It wasn’t my choice.”
Silence.
Longer this time.
“I can’t lose you,” he says quietly.
That lands harder than anything else.
I exhale.
“I’m still here,” I say.
“Just… not there.”
Another pause.
Then:
“Don’t go back,” he adds quickly.
I know what he means.
Illegal racing.
Stripping.
My old life.
The one I always fall back into when everything else gets taken away.
“I have to,” I say.
Not fully true
.
But not fully false either.
“No,” he says sharper now.
“You don’t understand what that does to people. What it does to you.”
I close my eyes briefly.
Because I do understand.
More than he thinks.
“It’s just one race,” I say quietly.
A pause
.
Then softer:
“One more.”
That’s when the line goes quiet.
Not disconnected.
Just heavy.
Caelum doesn’t respond immediately.
And I already know what that silence means.
He’s afraid.
Not of losing me to racing.
But of losing me completely.
And I don’t have a good answer for that.
Not one I can give him over a phone.
Not one that fixes anything right now.
So I end the call.
And for the first time since the rain...
everything feels like it’s moving again.
Even if I don’t know where it’s going.