Chapter 49 Evening Plans
Evening Plans
We do eventually go to luncheon. I am flushed and very aware of him beside me as we walk into the dining hall. He looks entirely composed. As if he has not just held me upright with my legs over his shoulders an hour ago.
It is infuriating.
He speaks to three nobles before we even sit down. I sit quietly, listening and watching the way he shifts into prince without effort. Calm, strategic, untouchable.
When the table clears and it is just the two of us, he finally exhales. “I have a political dinner tonight,” he says. “The Duke of Valereth. If he commits funds, we can reinforce the western line before winter.”
“Will he?” I ask.
“He likes to feel indispensable. So I will make him indispensable.”
I smile faintly. “And I suppose that requires you to wear that expression.”
He glances at me. “Which one?”
“The one where you look like you are three moves ahead of everyone else in the room.”
He reaches for my hand beneath the table. “I am.”
I squeeze once before pulling back.
“I’m going to the tavern tonight,” I say lightly.
His brow lifts. “I just built you a game room.”
“I know,” I say. “And I love it.”
He studies me. “And?”
“And I do not plan on going to the tavern as much anymore,” I admit. “I would rather be here with you.”
Something in his shoulders eases at that.
“But,” I continue, “I want to celebrate my birthday properly. With Emva and Torsin.”
He goes very still. “I can go with you.”
I laugh immediately. “Absolutely not.”
His brow lifts. “Why not?”
“Because you would turn it into a diplomatic incident within ten minutes.”
“I would not.”
“You would.”
“I am perfectly capable of behaving in a tavern.”
“You are perfectly capable of threatening three men for looking at me and declaring martial law before the second round of drinks.”
He does not deny this.
“I do not like you away from me,” he says finally.
The honesty in it is quiet. Not dramatic.
“And I do not trust the Threns.”
“You are being unreasonable,” I reply gently. “I have been going there for months.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before you were mine.”
I bite my lip, trying not to smile at his words. I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “You are impossible.”
“I am cautious.”
“You are territorial.”
“Yes.”
I fight a smile. “It will be light banter. Bread. Ale. Torsin being insufferable.”
“I am more insufferable,” he says flatly.
“You are.”
His mouth almost lifts into a smile.
“I promise I will be fine,” I say. “I will not even stay late.”
He studies me for a long moment. “Very well,” he says finally.
I blink. “That was easier than expected.”
“I will have guards nearby.”
“You will not.”
“I will.”
“Colsar.”
He exhales through his nose. “Fine. No visible guards.”
“That is still guards.”
“Non-intrusive guards.”
“You are exhausting.”
“And yet.”
“And yet,” I admit.
He rises from his chair and leans down slightly, voice low enough that no one else hears. “If anyone touches you.”
“They won’t.”
“If anyone tries.”
“They won’t.”
His hand brushes lightly along my side, the touch both warning and claim. “I will not be civilized about it,” he repeats softly.
I stand. “I would expect nothing less.”
Luncheon ends quietly.
He rises first and offers me his hand, and there is something in his expression that makes my stomach tighten.
“Come with me,” he says.
“To dinner with the Duke of Valereth?” I ask lightly. “Hardly sounds festive.”
“No. To my study.”
I follow him through corridors that seem longer than usual. He does not speak, his hand lingering at the small of my back, firm and possessive. The door shuts behind us.
His study smells of ink, leather, and cedar. He crosses to the desk and opens a drawer, withdrawing two parchments and laying them flat. My pulse begins to climb.
“These,” he says calmly, “are our marriage papers.”
I nod.
“And these,” he adds, placing the second parchment beside the first, “are our contract.”
My lungs constrict.
“These say we are married forever. No matter what.”
My ears begin to ring.
“These list the exceptions.”
I can hear my own breathing now, harsh in the quiet room. Each inhale catches before it fills my lungs. Is this because of the tavern? Or worse, because I don’t know how to please him? Because I’m not enough?
I swallow but it doesn’t work. My chest tightens like something is being cinched around it. “So,” I manage, though my voice fractures, “this is because I’m going out tonight?”
He looks up immediately. “What?”
I cannot get enough air.
“Is it because…” I press my hand to my ribs as if that will help. “Because you weren’t pleased? Or because I insisted on the tavern?”
My vision blurs before I realize I am crying.
“I can change it,” I say quickly. “I won’t go. I don’t have to go.”
He rounds the desk in three strides. “Asha.”
I cannot stop the tears. I cannot stop the thought that I am being replaced before I have fully been chosen. “I don’t know when people stop loving me,” I whisper, the words quieter than I intend.
“Or if they ever did.” My voice breaks. “Or how to make them stay.”
He lifts his hands and cups my face, just enough to keep me from turning away. “Look at me.”
I try to drop my eyes anyway. He does not allow it. His thumbs brush beneath my eyes, wiping away what I failed to hide.
“This,” he says, holding my gaze without wavering, “is something neither of us was taught to survive.” The words linger between us. “It is what happens when two people who have only ever known solitude begin to want each other anyway.”
He pulls me against him, one arm wrapped fully around my back. “I am not ending this.” His voice is calm, certain. “I am not displeased with you. I am not upset about the tavern.” He presses his forehead to mine. “I am terrified of losing you.”
My hands clutch at his shirt.
“I am cracking,” he continues. “Against instinct. Against everything I was taught about what I am.”
His grip tightens. “And soon I will say it. Fully. Because I know it is true.” He pulls back just enough to see me clearly.
“You will go to this tavern. You will celebrate your birthday. You will come back.” His thumb traces the curve of my jaw.
“And when you return, we will consummate our marriage.”
Heat floods my face but he does not look away.
“I want the pleasure. Yes. But that is not what keeps me awake.” His hand moves to my waist. “I want you next to me. Beneath me. Everywhere. When I close my eyes, I see you.” He inhales slowly.
“I do not see heirs.” His voice lowers, not with hunger now but with something deeper. “I see a family.” My breath stutters.
“I have never wanted that. Not like this.” His fingers press into my back. “Siakars are solitary. We survive because we do not depend on anyone.” His eyes soften. “And yet I need to be near you.”
For a moment he simply holds me. “I am afraid. Not of you…but of what you draw from me.”
My tears slow. “I thought you were ending it,” I whisper.
His expression shifts. “I am not freeing you,” he says. “And I am not freeing myself.” He turns back to the desk. “These papers were written when we did not trust each other.”
He lifts the contract, studying it for a brief, unreadable moment.
“And I do not want exceptions.” Then he tears it straight down the center, the rip loud in the quiet room.
He doesn’t stop there. He splits the halves again, and then once more, until the parchment is nothing but fragments between his hands.
He releases them, and the pieces drift to the floor. “These,” he says, placing his hand over the marriage parchment, “are the only ones that matter.”
A knock interrupts us.
“Enter,” he says.
The little, round clerk who had brought me the addendum before our wedding ceremony waddles in, ledger tucked beneath his arm.
The clerk bows stiffly. “You summoned me, Your Highness?”
Colsar does not look at me when he answers.
“Yes.” He gestures to the shredded parchment scattered across the floor.“Record in the royal ledger that the marital contract between myself and Princess Asha is hereby declared invalid and void.”
The clerk hesitates only a fraction. “Void, Your Highness?”
“Void,” Colsar repeats. “Strike every clause. Every exception.”
The clerk opens the heavy ledger and dips his pen.
Colsar’s voice remains calm. Formal now. Prince.
“And record this as well.”
The pen pauses.
“Princess Asha is my legitimate wife. Without exceptions. Without conditions. Without temporal limitation.”
I don’t move.
“She is bound to me under the full authority of the crown and recognized as such in all matters of succession and state.”
The clerk scribbles more quickly now. Colsar signs the ledger, his pen moving in clean strokes. The scratch of ink on parchment sounds louder than it should.
“There will be no addendums,” Colsar adds. “No private agreements appended to this marriage.”
He signs.
As Crown Prince, his name is not ornamental. His signature binds unless Sevrin contests it before the council, and even then the burden would not be simple.
The clerk nods. “It shall be recorded.”
He closes the ledger and bows out.
The door shuts, then silence.
I stare at the torn contract pieces on the floor.
He steps toward me. “You are my wife,” he says quietly now, not as a prince or ruler but as himself. “Legitimate. Recognized. Unconditional.”
My throat tightens. “You terrified me,” I whisper.
“I know.” His hand comes up to cradle my jaw. “I will not undo this,” he says. “And I will not allow anyone else to.”
Then he reaches into his pocket. “For this,” he says quietly, “there are no conditions.”
He turns his hand, and a ring rests in his palm, plain gold, unadorned save for a single blue diamond.
It is not meant to draw the eye, but to endure.
Something in me stills as he takes my hand and slides it onto my finger, the metal warm from his skin, the motion unhurried as though he understands the gravity of what he is doing and refuses to rush it.
“You cannot leave me,” he says softly. “Ever.”
The words carry possession, yes, but beneath it lies something less controlled, something almost unguarded. It feels less like a command than a confession, tempered in steel.
I step into him and wrap my arms around his neck. “I don’t want to,” I whisper.
He exhales against my hair. “Good.”
I lean closer and press my mouth to his ear. “Husband,” I whisper.
His arms close around me immediately. Happiness like this never goes unchallenged. I know that. I have always known that. But in this moment, I enjoy the warmth of his arms and the fact that there are no contracts left between us.
I wait until twilight out of instinct more than necessity, because even though I no longer need permission to step beyond these walls, my body still remembers what it meant to move carefully.
The wardrobe opens with a familiar sigh, and I reach for the clothes I once wore without thinking.
Trousers softened by use. A loose shirt.
A vest that fits closely enough to narrow my shape.
As I change, the silk and ceremony of my new life fall away, replaced by fabric that feels honest against my skin.
I bind my hair, tuck it beneath a cap, and draw a small glamour across my eyes until the gold dims into an unremarkable brown.
It is not fear that makes me hide it. It is freedom.
If no one notices me, no one studies me, and if no one studies me, I can simply exist.
I stand before the mirror, neither princess nor prize nor political promise, just a girl in borrowed boots who wants the air on her face.
Another night rises in my mind, Eravic kissing me outside the tavern.
That girl feels distant now. Then his words at my wedding return.
You have a family that loves you. I had wondered if it was true, if they would come for me, and beneath that, the harder question: do I want them to?
I pull the shirt over my head.
I glance at the door, then at the window. I could pass through the front door like anyone else. Instead, I unlatch the window. Some instincts do not disappear simply because someone cares for you.
The night greets me as I climb down and drop lightly to the ground below. I no longer have to sneak, yet the quiet exit feels truer somehow, a small claim on myself that predates titles and contracts.
I brush dirt from my palms and straighten.
I am early, which is rare. Since I am usually late, I decide this will be a pleasant surprise. I make my way toward the city with a small, private smile.
For once, I am not running from anything. I am simply going to celebrate.