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He drags both hands through his hair. “You saw that, did you?”

“I’m pretty sure everyone on this side of the isle saw it.”

He exhales through his nose, jaw clenched like he’s holding in too much.

Finally, he says, “Arkyn confronted me about… us.”

Us.

The word warms my belly like sunshine, and butterflies stir to life.

Before I can savor their flutter, realization sweeps in and smothers them.

“He disapproves of us?” I ask.

“No, little witch. You’ve got it all wrong.”

Frustration burns through me, hot and fast. “Why don’t you speak plainly for once?”

“I didn’t bring you here to upset you further.”

My breathing is shallow. “Then why did you bring me here?”

“This theater is one of my favorite places in Eleutheria.” He crosses to the piano, pressing a single black key—low and haunting. “I thought… I guess I thought you’d like it. The floral motifs. The silence.”

My mind spins, swirling with confusion and hurt.

“You speak like you care for me,” I say, voice cracking, “and yet the moment your friend confronted you about us, you ran. You left me spiraling. I⁠—”

There’s so much more I want to say, but I stop myself before I say something I’ll regret.

“You what?”

“You can read my face well enough,” I say bitterly. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“No.” The word is hard. Final. “Say it. Whatever it is. So I can apologize.”

“I don’t want another apology from you, Riven!”

I storm across the stage, needing distance, needing air. But the theater feels too small, the walls pressing in like velvet curtains closing around us. It’s as if we’re just two actors trapped in a tragedy, the kind that simmers with longing, every glance a confession, every silence louder than words. So much build-up, just to end unhappily. So much tension, only to collapse into heartbreak.

We both deserve better.

He follows me—of course, he does—crowding my space as if he cannot stop himself from coming closer.

“Nightshade!” I shout.

He stops.

Eyes wide.

“I can’t think straight with you around me.” My voice trembles. “And I can’t keep doing this”—I gesture between us, helpless, raw— “whatever this is without honesty and open communication. From both of us.”

I pause, letting the words settle.

“You have haunted me for days. In dreams. While awake. I thought we were friends. I thought we understood each other. But then you… You—” My throat tightens, eyes burning with the pressure of unshed tears. “You pushed me away, Riven. And I—I keep wondering what I did wrong. I feel like a witchling again, forced into isolation by my coven matron for whatever reason she saw fit that day.”

“I panicked,” he says, burying his hands in his trouser pockets. “After Arkyn confronted me about us, I was afraid the other brides would catch on, that you might feel uncomfortable with rumors spreading. Court gossip twists everything good into something rotten. I just… I wanted to protect you from that.”