“…accelerated timeline.”
“…contain fallout.”
“…no, that was my decision.”
He never blamed me for anything. Not even once. And I know that should not have mattered, but it did. By the fifth evening, I wandered into the kitchen without meaning to and saw that he was there, sleeves rolled up, speaking quietly to one of the maids about inventory.
“Make sure she has what she prefers,” he said. “If she asks for something, get it.”
The maid nodded, and he turned back around, noticing me. I did not know if I was imagining it, but his gaze softened, almost imperceptibly.
“I can speak for myself,” I said sharply.
“I’m aware.”
“Then stop treating me like porcelain.”
He dismissed the maid with a nod, the two of us now alone in the kitchen. He continued staring at me as he leaned against the counter, too tall against the frame. He filled the kitchen in a way that seemed unnatural, as if he was taking too much space in a place he wasn’t supposed to.
“I’m not.”
“It feels like you are. Like I am something fragile, and all my little whims need to be satisfied, and you need to be the one doing it.”
“I am simply ensuring you are comfortable, Elisse.”
“I am not comfortable, and it has nothing to do with things I want and don’t want and everything to do with being here outside of my own will.”
“I know.”
Silence stretched between us, but he didn’t move closer and didn’t even try to touch me. He had actually not touched me since the last time he had kissed me, and I had asked him to stay away from me. I had sensed his restraint and the deliberate distance he had created between us, and the way it made me unnecessarily restless. I hated that my body remembered him. Hated that when he moved past me in the hallway, close enough for his arm to brush mine, heat shot through me before I could suppress it. Hated that at night, when he lay on the opposite side of the bed and didn’t reach for me, my mind filled in the absence.
The attraction hadn’t faded, but it had only sharpened with the time I spent close to him. It almost felt like a wound that refused to close. More times than once, I had caught myself watching him and the way he moved. It was measured, controlled, and economical. I noticed the way his voice shifted slightly when speaking to Anya, becoming softer and almost protective. I noticed the way he never interrupted the staff while they were going about their work. The way he noticed when I skipped meals and quietly adjusted something without confronting me about it.
It was strategic, I told myself. I reasoned with myself that he was simply managing optics and managing me along with it. He wasn’t being kind, but he was being careful instead. More than a week had passed when I found him on the balcony, the city lights reflected in the glass behind him. He didn’t turn when I stepped outside, but his shoulders tightened slightly, enough to tell me that he knew I was there.
“I know you’re there,” he said calmly.
“I wasn’t hiding.”
“No. You were not.”
The air between us felt different. A little less volatile and a little more aware that something had shifted.
“My brothers will come eventually, you know. I think they just don’t know where I am, and it is a little difficult to find me, which is what is taking so much time,” I said.
“Yes. You are right. They will come eventually.”
“You sound very certain.”
“I am.”
“So what are you doing? Just waiting?”
“Yes.”
“For war? Have you lost your mind?”
“I am waiting for confrontation.”
