I must have drifted into sleep somewhere between the steady crackle of dying embers and the soundless scream echoing in my chest. But even in slumber, my body stays tense like it's waiting for something. For someone.
And just before dawn, he comes.
The door opens softly, but the presence that fills the chamber is heavy. Thicker than the shadows clinging to the corners. I don't stir, not at first. I keep my breathing even, feigning sleep but every sense in me is awake, alert, reaching for him.
Cassian.
He stands at the foot of the bed for a moment, silent. Watching me. Or perhaps just gathering himself. The firelight has faded to embers now, but a bluish haze of morning begins to stretch through the high windows, painting him in a cold glow. The man who held me last night is not the one who stands before me now.
This man carries something darker. Final.
He sits on the edge of the bed. Close, but not touching.
"You're awake," he says softly.
I turn then. Slowly. My eyes meet his. They're tired, bloodshot, but resolute.
"What did you do?" I ask, voice barely a whisper.
He doesn't hesitate.
"I brand him," he says, voice low, steady. "With the royal crest — turned upside down. Marked him as a betrayer. Not just of the crown… but of something far more sacred."
My chest tightens. I swallow.
"He never speaks your name," Cassian continues. "I make sure of that. Not once. But the brand speaks for him now. In the underworld… if not in Matica."
I sit up slowly, the blanket falling from my shoulders. My palms are cold against my thighs.
"And then?" I ask, not sure I want the answer — but needing it all the same.
Cassian's gaze doesn't waver. "I give him the fire."
The words strike me like a breath held too long. The fire.
He knows.
He knows without asking. That I burn the diary not just to destroy it, but to reclaim something. And he mirrors it, not with questions or court, but flame.
I stare at him, a thousand things pressing against my ribs. But all I can say is, "Thank you."
He stands then, pacing to the hearth. His shoulders are tense beneath the sheer fabric of his night robe, darker at the seams …soot, maybe. Or ash.
"I don't do it for the realm," he says quietly. "I mean, I do. But not first. I do it because no one violates what I love… and walks away breathing."
That stops me cold.
He turns back to me.
"I know I'm not king yet," he says, coming closer again, "and there are those who doubt if I'm fit to rule. But if protecting you without exploiting your pain means I lose the court's favour... then damn the court."
My throat tightens.
He kneels beside the bed, one hand resting on my knee, the other brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
"I will be the kind of king Matica needs," he whispers. "But I'll also be the kind of man you can trust with your silences."
My eyes sting. I don't cry. But the ache in my chest pulses like something alive.
We sit like that for a long time, the dawn bleeding slowly across the floor, the warmth of his hand anchoring me to this quiet, sacred moment.
Finally, I speak.
"Does anyone know?"
"No," he says. "They see the mark. They witness the execution. But no one knows why."
"Good," I whisper. "It was never theirs to know."
Cassian nods. He stands again, takes a deep breath.
"I draft a law," he says. "A new one. The Royal Veil."
I tilt my head, curious.
"It declares the private words and thoughts of any royal as untouchable, sacred. Anyone who dares violate it faces exile... or worse."
A slow, quiet smile pulls at the edge of my mouth. "You're building a kingdom of fire and boundaries."
"No," he says. "I'm building a kingdom where no one like Bako will ever get close to someone like you again."
And in that moment, I believe him.
Cassian may not yet wear the crown, but he passes a test no coronation could measure. He chooses love without demanding confession. Power without spectacle. Justice without cruelty.
And me, without conditions.
I reach for his hand.
He doesn't flinch.
We stand there in the growing light, shoulder to shoulder, two souls stitched together by fire, vengeance… and something far deeper than either of us can name.
Something like trust.
Or maybe, something braver.
Something like forever.
***
The next few days pass like a slow but steady sunrise—light returning to a sky that had long forgotten warmth. A heaviness I hadn't even known how to name seems to lift, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe again. Like I belong again. The diary is gone. Bako is silenced. And I no longer wake up with my past pressing against my skin like a bruise.
I begin to gather my books again, preparing to resume my studies. Cassian handles the remaining palace affairs with calm precision, Lord Johnson's final trial, the tightening of court alliances, the whispers from the council about his ascension. I trust him with all of it. But there are still two matters that belong to me alone.
Nancy.
And the Queen.
By evening, I am dressed in quiet resolve. No embroidery. No crown. Just dark green linen and purpose.
The guards at the guest wing step aside the moment they see me coming. Nancy has been under house arrest for a month now, confined to here but still taken good care of.
I step into her chamber.
She hears me. She knows it's me. Her reaction is instant.
She scrambles out of bed, legs unsteady, nightgown twisted. She kneels, actually kneels before me, her hands clenched in her lap, her head bowed like a guilty schoolgirl awaiting punishment. There are no tears. No excuses. Only a fragile silence and a woman who knows her end has arrived.
I don't waste time.
"Nancy," I say, my voice sharp, absolute. "You are to leave Matica. For good."
Her shoulders tense.
"You will never return. I don't care where you go, but by tomorrow morning, you are to leave the palace and this kingdom. You're not to visit anyone. You're not to say goodbye. No letters. No gifts. No manipulation."
I pause. Let the weight settle.
"I will have the guards escort you out of the borders myself. You will walk away from this life and never look back. Do you hear me?"
She nods quickly, still kneeling, still shaking. But she doesn't raise her eyes to mine. Maybe she knows she wouldn't survive what she might see there.
I don't give her the mercy of another word.
I turn and walk away.
The doors close behind me with a definitive thud, sealing her fate.
And mine.
One more thread cut.
One more ghost exiled from my future.
Tomorrow, I return to my books, to my place beside Cassian, and to the woman I am becoming, no longer haunted, no longer hunted, no longer holding my breath.
Let the palace whisper.
I am still standing.