Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Nin and the room seemed to hold their breath together.
Cedric stared at the door long after it clicked shut when the queen made her leave, his mouth set in a thin line. Anticipation of what he would say, the inevitable reprimand, paled compared to the silence sinking into her bones.
“I swear I didn’t tell her,” she said just as he opened his mouth to speak.
“I know.”
“She had summoned me to her quarters and—” Nin blinked suddenly, the realization of what he had said dawning on her. “You… what? You know?”
Cedric nodded, his expression composed as he half-turned to her. The side profile of his dark hair sweeping over his forehead, grazing the golden frames of his spectacles, inspired a pleasant fluttering in her stomach, clashing with the nervous energy buzzing within her.
“So, you’re not angry?” she dared to ask, her fingers twisting the silk at her sides.
“How could I be?” A faint tug pulled at one corner of his lips. “Her Majesty came to those conclusions on her own. Foolish of me to think I could deceive a mother regarding her own daughter.”
“She is far more perceptive than we gave her credit for,” she agreed.
“Indeed.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Especially considering how little time she spends with her daughter. That was an error on my part.”
“I don’t blame you, though,” Nin admitted, rubbing at her arm.
They fell into an uncertain silence, and she shifted from foot to foot. Lucille feigned busywork by smoothing the duvet, which was already neat.
Nin glanced at her, hoping the woman would somehow ease the awkwardness descending upon them.
Instead, Lucille clapped her hands. “Everything looks to be in order. I think I’ll take my leave,” Lucille announced before curtsying.
Nin blanched as the chambermaid exited the room, taking the last semblance of support with her. She would have to sit in discomfort or confront it head-on. Nin took a deep breath to prepare.
“So—” she started.
“I wished to—”
Their words collided, and they both stuttered, gesturing to the other to finish what they had started.
“No, you really,” she insisted.
Cedric cleared his throat. “Very well. I simply wished to apologize to you.”
“No,” Nin said, surprising even herself. “I’m the one who should apologize. I acted impulsively that night. Going alone was a mistake. You were right—I got hurt.”
“Be as that may,” he seconded, and though his tone was mild, he seemed to search for the right words in the reflection of his polished boots.
“While I respect your courage, your judgment is questionable. But I also… I wished to reassure you I wouldn’t hold a grudge against you.
Especially when I know you were trying to do what was necessary. ”
“You wouldn’t?” she asked, relief stirring with a whisper of hope that had betrayed her before. Although, faced with his earnest sympathy, she couldn’t help but surrender to its appeal once more.
A subtle warmth and a soft glimmer appeared in his eyes. “Never. I… I was simply worried. And perhaps my concern came more from selfishness, because…” He paused, his voice lowering. “I couldn’t trust myself to survive another failure.”
His confession hung in the air, fragile enough that Nin feared she could shatter it with a single breath.
He was no longer the unyielding tutor, or the steadfast captain barring her from freedom.
She saw him for what he truly was: a man riddled with unspoken fear for her well-being.
The revelation shouldn’t have been new, for the thought had winked in and out of existence occasionally when she wasn’t cross with him, yet it struck her like a thunderclap.
The hope she allowed to sprout spread its light through each of her limbs.
She reached out—her touch a mere whisper against his hand, but he flinched, not out of fear but of surprise as he glanced at her fingers with rounded eyes behind his spectacles. For a moment, his thrumming pulse rushed against her skin before he pulled away.
“Well,” Cedric said, tugging at his cravat as though bracing himself, “we would do ill to disobey our queen.”
The disappointment of his retreat did not come. Instead, a newfound understanding—a tentative optimism wrapped around her heart. Nin lifted her chin. “You truly mean to work with me?”
“How could I refuse?” he said mildly. “Her Majesty was quite clear.”
“Yes, but…” Her voice faltered. “Do you want to?”
He did not answer at once. When he finally spoke, it was constrained and measured.
“Please understand, it is not that I do not wish to,” he said. “It is that I have witnessed what happens to those with the best intentions. Failure can not only ruin reputations, but it can also ruin a family’s entire world, even cost them their lives.”
His voice carried an irrefutable sincerity, shaped by fear and long memory. She gestured to the chair, hoping the small comfort might ease whatever plagued him, but he dismissed it with a hand.
“No, it’s all right. We do not have to indulge in the unhappiness of my past.”
“I would like to listen,” she said, imploring him.
He glanced at the chair she had offered, seeming to mull the invitation before accepting it. Nin sat across from him, noting the hunch of his shoulders as he folded his hands over the table.
“If you insist,” he murmured, but a deep-seated resignation filled his sigh.
“When I was a boy, one of my father’s trusted friends accused him of treason.
He claimed that my father was sending secret information about the royal family to a neighboring country.
There was no proof, but the whispers alone were sufficient.
The court's pressure was overwhelming. We lost our titles, our land, and Father was sent to prison to be hanged at the gallows.” His knuckles grew white.
“It taught me that one mistake could destroy not only the accused, but everyone bound to them.”
Nin’s chest ached.
“Fortunately, the queen investigated the matter in secret,” he continued. “She proved the rumors false and restored my family’s honor. My father was spared.”
He drew a breath.
“I owe her everything. Two years ago, she appointed me captain even though I was only twenty-five. In return, I have done everything in my power to protect her and her daughter, whom she entrusted to me.”
Cedric’s eyes met hers.
“So, when I see you in danger—” He paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “All I can think of is how easily it can fall apart. How everyone—you, the princess, Lucille, and my men—is at the mercy of my actions. I lose control because I am terrified of failing.”
She reached out for his hand without thinking, but this time he did not pull away.
“You’re right,” she said, gently squeezing his fingers. “The world can be cruel. It can take and take without remorse and still come back for more. But it also gives. The people we love are what keep us standing when everything else can break us.”
Alain’s sunken eyes and sullen face surfaced. The years of battling through a game of survival had chewed her up and spat her out more times than she could count. Emotions clogged her throat, escaping past the barriers she had built to keep herself from collapsing.
“I know it must be awfully lonely,” she continued, her voice trembling. “To feel like you are constantly failing even when you are doing everything in your power to do the right thing.”
Cedric exhaled a shaky breath that seemed to come from the depths of his pain.
Nin squeezed his fingers gently. “But if you would like… perhaps we could lean on each other. Then you don’t have to carry this burden alone.”
A comfortable silence settled around them. His fingers remained around hers, warm, steady, and protective. She memorized the calluses against her skin, the strength of every digit encompassing her hand.
“Lean on each other?” he echoed with a tug of his lips. His eyes locked with hers, and her breath caught at the raw depth of his expression. “As uncertain as I am about the future… I would love nothing more.”
Something in her chest loosened. For the first time since she had taken the princess’s place, she no longer felt alone.