Chapter 9 The Tower

NAYA

The corridor is a long, narrow stretch before me. Dark and endless. The cold stone beneath my feet whispering with every step. The sconces along the walls are flickering as they cast long shadows that waver and dance, stretching thin like ghosts reaching for something. My breath is quiet, but it is there, quickening as I move.

And behind me-footsteps.

Soft, measured. Following.

I do not turn. I do not ask. I only walk faster.

And Kael matches my pace.

The air shifts, thickening with the unspoken. My hands curl at my sides, and my pulse hammers against my ribs, a caged bird, frantic, desperate. I round the corner, and so does he.

I walk faster.

He does too.

I turn into the hall where my tower room waits, my safe haven, my prison. I lift my skirts just slightly, enough to help me move more easily. My breath hitches as I pick up speed, my heart thrumming like a talking drum.

And then-

I run.

The sound of my own steps fills the air, the corridor blurring around me as I race toward the door.

Kael runs after me.

The heat of his presence, the force of his pursuit, it presses against my back like an oncoming storm. The distance between us shrinks too fast, too soon.

My fingers fumble against the doorknob. I wrench it open, throw myself inside, and try to slam it shut before he can reach me.

But Kael is faster.

The door is wrenched from my grip, swinging open with force that steals the breath from my lungs. He steps inside in one fluid motion, the air around him humming. The door slams behind us and the lock clicks into place. The silence after is deafening.

I cannot breathe.

Everything crashes down all at once, dragging me under, pressing against my ribs, against my throat. The room tilts, blurs, and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing it to stop, willing myself to stay afloat, to hold steady.

But I am not steady, I am breaking and I cannot stop it.

The first sob is so quiet I barely even hear it. But then another and another. Until the walls crack, and the dam shatters, and I am shaking, my body folding in on itself as the grief spills free.

"I hate it here," I whisper, my voice splintering. "I don't want to be here. I don't-" My breath stumbles. "I miss home. I miss them. I miss-"

The words choke me, jagged things clawing their way out.

Kael moves before I can stop him. His arms wrap around me, his hold is firm and warm, pulling me into him. His hand smooths over my back, slow, steady, an anchor against the storm inside me. He does not speak at first. He only holds me.

And when he does, his voice is low, thick with something I cannot name.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I know it's difficult. But you'll love it here. You will. The beauty, the grandeur, the privileges-everything you had before, you will have here too. I'll make sure of it."

I shake my head, over and over, but he does not understand. He does not know that I am not mourning the life of a princess, but the life I left behind in the shadows, in the quiet, in the comfort of being unseen.

He does not know that I do not want gold-threaded silks or rooms the size of palaces. He does not know that I do not want this but he holds me anyway and I let him.

Later, when the storm inside me settles into an exhausted hum, Kael steps back, hands lingering as if reluctant to let go.

"You need to eat," he says gently. "Call for a maid. Tell them to bring something for you."

I nod, too weary to argue, too hollow to resist. I ask for food, for a maid to come quickly, and Kael stays by my side, watching, waiting.

When the maid arrives, she is young, wide-eyed, her hands trembling slightly as she bows. The clothing-if I can even call it that-barely covers her breasts and buttocks. It is made of gold and black beads dangling from gold strings, it is more suitable as an accessory than clothing.

"What's your name?" I ask softly.

She hesitates. "Marian, Your Highness."

I study her, the way she keeps her head bowed, the way her fingers twitch against the barely-there skirt.

"Are you comfortable wearing that?" I ask.

Her breath catches. A flicker of something-fear?-passes through her eyes before she shakes her head.

I move to one of my unopened trunks, unfasten the clasps, and pull free a dress. Not one of the extravagant gowns lined with pearls and gold, but a simple one. Soft. Uncomplicated.

I hold it out to her.

"Wear this," I say. "And from now on, whenever you're with me, only wear things like this. I'll make sure you have more."

Her hands tremble as she takes it, eyes darting to Kael, as if seeking permission. He only lifts a brow but says nothing.

A moment passes. And then, ever so slowly, a smile blooms at the edges of her lips.

"Thank you, Princess," she whispers.

She disappears to change, and when she returns, the stiffness in her shoulders has eased, the tightness in her throat softened. She runs the bath for me, filling it with warm water, fragrant bath oils, flower petals that float upon the surface. I'd ran similar baths for Princess Lira just days ago, I still can't believe I am impersonating her right now in enemy territory.

Marian and Kael excuse me as I hide behind the curtains to undress. I gradually feel lighter as the dress and jewellery comes off.

Steam curls into the air as I sink into the warmth, my despair dissolving into the water. For the first time since arriving, I feel something close to comfort. By the time I am dry, wrapped in soft linen, Marian returns with a tray of food.

I eat.

Mouthful after mouthful, the flavours rich, the warmth settling deep. I eat until I feel full, until I remember what it is to feel something other than emptiness.

And when the last bite of dessert melts on my tongue, the door opens once more.

Kael steps inside. He does not ask permission, he does not hesitate. He simply walks in as if he belongs here, as if he is meant to be here.

I do not stop him.

He settles across from me, pouring wine into two goblets. I accept mine without a word. For a moment, we sit in silence.

"Tell me more about your kingdom," he says, swirling his drink. "Your home. Your childhood."

I school my expression. The lies come easily, practiced, effortless. I weave stories of grand balls and silk-lined corridors, of tutors and lessons, of a life meant for royalty.

He listens, eyes sharp, lips curving at the edges as if he is reading between the lines.

And then, as if testing the waters, I say, "I shouldn't give away too much. It wouldn't be wise to share sensitive information about my kingdom."

He laughs, deep and amused, shaking his head. "Clever."

I only sip my wine.

A shift. A pause.

"I'm tired," I say. "I'd like to rest."

His gaze lingers, searching, unreadable. But then he sets his goblet down, rising to his feet.

He does not leave immediately, he steps closer, taking my hand in his.

He leans forward and then...He plants a kiss. Not on my lips, just my hand. He moves slow, deliberate, his lips brushing against my skin. The kiss feels more...heavy. Like it is something scandalous.

A moment stretches between us, my mind whirs in my ears. I don't want to move because the moment feels so fragile.

"Have a lovely day, Princess," he murmurs.

He turns, leaving the room without another word.

I stare after him, my pulse a quiet, steady ache. I let myself fall to the firm bed, staring at the ceiling, I admire the only beautiful thing in the room: the hanging chandelier. It looks so out of place in this dreary prison.

Just as out of place as I feel.