The candle burned low, its flame trembling against the silhouette of the two.
Theodore leaned closer, his breath brushing Selene's temple. She didn't pull away. The distance between them collapsed, and suddenly the silence wasn't heavy.
His hand moved to her waist, tentative at first.
He saw Selene's look of approval, then held her firmer when she didn't resist.
Her lips parted, a faint sound escaping her throat, half sigh, half surrender.
Theodore kissed her—slow, deliberate, as if he feared she might vanish if he rushed.
The kiss deepened. His fingers traced the curve of her spine, careful not to touch the bandaged skin — yet clearly desperate to feel her.
Selene's hands found his shoulders, pulling him closer, anchoring him. The air grew thick, the candlelight painting their bodies in gold and shadow.
Her shawl slipped, forgotten. His coat followed, discarded onto the floor. The bed creaked under their weight as Theodore pressed her gently down, his lips trailing from her mouth to her jaw, to the hollow of her throat. Selene arched beneath him, her breath quickening, her body trembling.
Every touch was a plea. Every kiss? It felt like he was making up for everything.
"Can I?" He whispered her name, voice brimming with honey. She answered with silence, with the press of her lips, with the way her body yielded and demanded in equal measure.
The night unfolded in waves—slow, burning, relentless. The kind of intimacy that makes the air itself feel dangerous, that leaves cheeks flushed and hearts pounding. They moved together as two people who had been broken and were trying, desperately, to mend with flesh and desire.
When it ended, the candle had guttered out. Only the stars remained, blinking faintly through the window. Theodore lay beside her, chest heaving, his arm draped across her waist. Selene's eyes were closed, her breath steady.
And for a moment, it felt like they had achieved peace.
The next morning, Selene sat by the window, her shawl wrapped neatly around her shoulders. The hyacinths on the desk had wilted further, their petals curling inward.
She stared at them blankly, her expression unreadable.
Theodore entered quietly, his posture softer than usual. He carried a tray — tea, bread, fruit. He set it down without a word.
Selene glanced at him, then back at the flowers. "You didn't have to." She didn't move an inch from where she stood.
"I wanted to," he said.
She nodded faintly, her face calm. "Thank you."
It was a strange display right after sharing such an intimate night together.
No anger, no nothing... Just plain civility.
To anyone watching, it would seem she had forgiven him. Her tone was gentle, her words polite. She accepted the tea, sipped it slowly, and even offered him a faint smile.
But beneath the surface, something was strange.
Her eyes never softened fully. Her smile never reached her eyes. Her silence did not mean peace agreement—it was distance.
She spoke of the weather, of the garden, of the physician's instructions. She listened when Theodore spoke, nodded when he apologized again, even touched his hand lightly when he faltered.
It looked like forgiveness.
And it felt like forgiveness.
But was it really?
Theodore—He believed her faint smile meant that perhaps she'd already forgiven him, and now he was trying to make up for it to ease this unsettling feeling deep inside.
But Selene knew better.
She had simply surrendered him with her body, just like before. She could do it over again, but not with her heart.
She had not forgiven him with her heart and soul.
And that difference, although subtle, was the kind that could shatter them again when one walks too harshly on thin ice.
Later, Anna entered with fresh linens.
Selene spoke first. "Alice hasn't been punished. Has she done anything yet?" she inquired, her fingers clutching the cup elegantly.
Anna hesitated for a moment. "The Duchess is… considering." Her tone was evidently reluctant.
Selene's eyes narrowed. This was nothing new—but this incident surely created rumours. Wouldn't it be harmful for the estate to leave the perpetrator unpunished?
But there was one thing that she hasn't forgotten, her opponent was a princess, and she was only a duchess in name. Truth be told, she held no power at all.
Anna folded the linens. "What would you do?"
Selene's voice was soft, and her gaze was unrelenting.
"People who think they've won stop watching," the corner of her lips twitching into a smile. "So you strike when the lot don't get off their high horse. Can you imagine the fall?"
Anna stared, unsettled. And Selene returned to her tea, humming blissfully.
Theodore found her in the garden that evening.
She was seated beneath the willow, eyes on the pond.
He approached carefully. "You shouldn't be outside." His voice was filled with gentle worry.
"I shouldn't be alive either," she said. "But here we are." Selene shrugged off his concern as if it were unnecessary, leaving him speechless.
He sat beside her. "You.." He parted his lips as if to say something, yet paused. He gazed at the woman in front of him, trying to match his breathing with hers.
Selene tilted her head. "Did you say something?" she asked.
Theodore resigned with small laughter.
"You feel like a different person. I guess being at death's door really does change a person."
She smiled faintly. She clicked her tongue sarcastically and laughed at his words. "Before I learned that love doesn't shield you from poison?"
Theodore winced. "Selene—"
She cut him off. "I'm not angry." She smiled plainly and guided her eyes back to the pond.
"..You should be." He frowned. He was probably the only man on earth who would request such to his wife, all while being desperate enough for 'forgiveness'.
"I'm tired," she said simply. "Anger takes energy."
Theodore studied her. Selene's eyes flicked to the horizon.
Alice stood in her chamber, pacing.
The Grand Duchess entered, her expression sharp and clearly impatient.
"They're mending the broken," she said.
Alice bristled. "But it cannot be the way it was before," she tried to reason.
"She's sharper now," the Duchess corrected. "You've given her reason to think."
Alice's lips parted, but no words came.
The Duchess leaned closer. "Pitiful women are dangerous when they stop crying."
Days passed since that night.
Selene walked through the garden slowly, her steps measured.
Servants whispered—she looked fragile, pitiful.
But her eyes missed nothing.
She noticed the way Alice avoided her gaze.
She noticed the way the Duchess lingered at windows..observing her closely.
She noticed Theodore's exhaustion—his guilt.
And she reacted with nonchalance.
A faint smile.
A quiet nod.
A bland personality that made her seem harmless.
One evening, Theodore confronted her again.
Alice overheard the servants whispering.
"She's calmer now. The duchess hasn't had panic attacks for a while."
"Did you notice it too? She's gotten sharper at recognizing people. She called me by name aswell!"
"She's not crying anymore."
Alice clenched her fists.
The Duchess's words echoed: Pitiful women are dangerous when they stop crying.
Alice realized something — Selene's actions currently didn't mean that she'd been completely numb and broken— perhaps she'd long been one before, and just now has started to finally fix herself.
Theodore returned to the annex late that night.
Selene was seated by the window, the stars reflected in her eyes.
He stood beside her. "I don't understand you anymore."
She smiled faintly. "Good."
He frowned. "what?" his face displayed confusion. He was clearly not pleased with that reply, nor did he expect it.
"Because if you don't understand me," she said softly, "neither will they."
Selene offered her most gentle smile, which pushed Theodore to discomfort.
Selene leaned back, her voice calm, almost playful. "I guess being at death's door changes people."
The candle burned low.
Selene's shawl slipped from her shoulders.
Her eyes were steady, never leaving the world outside of her sight.
"I'll forgive you when it matters," she said.
Theodore's heart clenched at the word. "And when will that be?" he wasn't impatient…he was merely unsure if he really did deserve it the more he saw her act.
Selene's lips curved faintly. "When I decide."
The silence that followed was heavy. Yet somehow, both of them could breathe with ease. One clung to the foolish hope of return, and the other desired a taste of freedom.
Selene had already been numbed down and broken, and the estate had no idea what kind of woman they were creating.
A woman with ambition greater than materialism was far more dangerous.