And as I stare at two consuls, the question doesn’t feel far-fetched anymore.
And if that’s true... were Montague and Black already at Ryker’s side the moment Mael confessed our kiss?
Were they there, murmuring the shaming words, poisonous enough to sway him, turning him from me before I had the chance to speak my truth?
Was he manipulated into avoiding me? Rejecting me?
The conviction that something horrible is amiss builds in my chest like a rising tide, cresting too fast, too violently, to contain. It surges through me before thought can restrain it.
I step forward and seize Ryker’s hand, gripping tightly enough to feel the tremble beneath his skin. My smile breaks through, too vicious to be called polite.
“I would be delighted to join you for the night,” I say, my voice cutting clean through the field.
Ryker, still untouched by the weight of my thoughts and the terrible shape of the conclusions I’ve drawn, squeezes my hand in return. His smile blooms and it strikes with a tenderness so pure it hurts to witness.
Because the smile feels fragile. And I don’t intend to protect it.
Betrayals of this scale leave no part of the heart intact. And when the truth begins to surface, I fear it will be my hand that delivers the blow that breaks what remains of that light within him.
Awave of floral sweetness envelops me when I open the door to my rooms. I gasp as I step into what was once my receiving room, but now looks like something out of a dream.
Rows of ruby-red roses cascade over every surface, their velvety petals glowing under the flicker of golden candlelight. The walls are lined with racks of dresses, shimmering fabrics catching the light like a sea of stars.
And in the center of it all stands a table with a towering black-and-red cake, its layers dripping with glossy icing, surrounded by trays of pastries too perfect to eat.
I blink, overwhelmed, unsure if any of this is real.
Eva’s high-pitched squeal shatters the silence. “Ryker must have known you’d accept his invitation to the ball!” she exclaims, already elbow-deep in the dresses, her excitement infectious. Of course, the king has never missed an opportunity to make a grand gesture.
“Not Ryker,” comes a low, resonant voice from the side.
I spin around, my heart leaping. Kaelzar stands in the doorway to my meeting room, his broad shoulders resting against the frame, his face shadowed but unmistakably solemn.
It’s him. Not Ryker. Him.
“Happy birthday, Trouble,” he says.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. All day, I’ve quietly nursed resentment that he hadn’t acknowledged my birthday. Andnow… this.
A flood of emotions crashes through me. Guilt, warmth, and a sharp, aching pull of longing. He not only remembered, he planned all of this. For me.
My cheeks burn, and I drop my gaze, unable to face the weight of it. The cold, cruel man I thought I’d figured out just revealed a depth I never gave him credit for.
“When did you… How?” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.
Kaelzar pushes off the doorframe and straightens, a sharp breath escaping him like he’s releasing something heavy.
“There’s a bath ready for you,” he says, tone careful. “The oils are from Maraneethos. They’ll soothe your skin and give it a shimmer for tonight. A masseuse will arrive in two hours, followed by a hairdresser. He’s bringing nail paint too if you still want it red.”
I stare at him, utterly floored. He remembered a throwaway comment about coloring my nails, of all things. I laughed it off at the time, dismissing the idea as impossible. But he didn’t.
Is anything impossible for this man?
My gaze drifts across the room again, at the roses, the imported oils, the dresses fit for a queen. It's all so extravagant.
“How did you even get all this?” I ask slowly, my voice quieter than I intend. “Did you steal it?”Hurt someone for it?I don’t ask the last part, but I know he still hears it.
He lowers his head slightly, and I catch a flicker of disappointment that briefly crosses his face, hitting me in the gut unexpectedly. But then he lifts his eyes to mine, his expression calm and neutral.
