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The warmth of Rye's kiss still lingered in the air like thick perfume.
He stood before me now, one hand resting at my waist, the other trailing softly up the curve of my back as if memorizing me.
"Evelynne," he whispered, "you don't have to hold back anymore. Not with me."
I didn't speak. I just let him guide me gently toward the bed.
The sheets were pale ivory, the firelight painting my silhouette in soft gold as I sat on the edge, uncertain.
Rye knelt before me like a man offering devotion, tracing his fingers along the edge of my gown — reverent, careful, but deliberate.
"You're everything I ever wanted," he murmured. "Everything the crown needs."
He leaned in again, kissing my shoulder, then my collarbone.
His hands moved to the delicate clasps at the back of my gown.
My breath caught — not from longing, but from ache.
"I've always been waiting for this moment, my love" Rye whispered, his hands now under my gown, his hands caressing my skin
"Rye…" a soft moan escaped my lips as he squeezed my soft molds, his fingers brushing over my harden peaks.
He looked up at me, his eyes dark "I want you Evelynne….I always have,"
I placed my hand over his.
Still.
"Rye…" my voice broke gently through the hush. "Please stop."
He froze.
I turned slightly, my dark eyes meeting his.
There was no anger there. No fear. Just quiet exhaustion.
"I'm not ready," I said softly. "I… I can't."
The moment thickened.
The flicker of the fire dimmed against the growing silence between us.
Rye's hands slowly pulled away.
He exhaled, jaw tightening faintly — just a flicker of something buried.
But his voice stayed even. "Of course," he said. "Of course. I didn't mean to rush you."
I offered him a small, grateful nod and rose from the bed, drawing my gown closer.
Rye sat there a moment longer, staring at the fire like it had spoken against him.
When he finally stood, he crossed the room and paused at the door.
"You know," he said over his shoulder, "every time you push me away, I wonder if it's really because you're not ready… or because you're still waiting for someone who left you behind."
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't need to.
He smiled thinly.
"Sleep well, Evelynne."
And then he was gone, the click of the door far too loud in the quiet that followed.
******
The morning sun streamed through the high, arched windows of the Great Assembly Hall, spilling gold across the marble floor like paint on silk.
The ceilings soared high above them, carved with scenes of ancient Elowen — battles fought, peace forged, queens crowned.
At the heart of it all stood a great round table, its edges inlaid with ivory and pearl, surrounded by the highest-ranking lords, dukes, councilors, and monarchs of allied lands.
Today, the King and Queen of Elowen presided over one of the most important gatherings in decades.
The final meeting before my coronation.
The doors opened with ceremonial grace, and silence fell across the room as I entered.
I walked between the pillars like the echo of a forgotten goddess — poised, regal, untouched.
My gown was a deep rose-gold velvet, stitched with silver threads in the shape of lilies and stars.
My long dark hair was coiled into an elegant twist, pinned with a crownlet of soft opal and moonstone.
If ever there was a queen in all but name, I was her.
My presence drew every eye — not just because of my beauty, but because of the strength beneath my silence.
There was wisdom in my posture, a woman grown from years of duty, grief, and survival.
The King, my father, stood at the head of the table.
Gray now touched his beard, but his voice still carried the fire of a seasoned ruler.
"Gentlemen," he said, gesturing for them to sit.
"And ladies. Thank you for gathering on this sacred day — the final step before my daughter ascends as the rightful Queen of Elowen."
I took my seat beside him — not behind, not across, but equal.
The Queen, elegant as ever, gave me a subtle look of quiet pride.
One by one, the nobles began to speak.
Some raised questions about the security of the borders, others about alliances, dowries, and heirs.
Some questioned how much power I would wield without a husband crowned beside me.
I listened patiently, responding when needed — My voice calm, intelligent, always composed.
"I understand the importance of a strong consort," I said at one point, my tone velvet-wrapped steel.
"But strength does not only come from marriage. The kingdom stands because of legacy and leadership — and I will uphold both."
My words stirred murmurs of approval — and a few quiet glances between lords who'd once doubted me.
Rye, seated nearby with the diplomatic delegates, watched me closely.
His smile was soft, but behind it flickered pride laced with something darker.
I was perfect. Flawless. Desired by the realm.
And slowly becoming untouchable to him.
He didn't like that.
As the meeting continued, formal pledges were made.
One by one, the dukes stood to offer oaths of loyalty, each kneeling before me with hands over their chests.
By the time the final scroll was signed and sealed, I had been acknowledged by name as "Her Majesty-to-be."
A fanfare of trumpets sounded beyond the chamber walls.
The Queen leaned close, whispering with a small smile,
"You carried yourself beautifully, my love."
I smiled in return, but it didn't quite reach my eyes.
I glanced across the room, catching Rye watching me — his expression unreadable.
The weight of the kingdom pressed around me like silk armor, beautiful and inescapable.
The court saw a soon-to-be queen.
But....
I still felt like a girl missing a piece of her soul.
******
The heavy wooden doors closed with a soft thud behind me.
The King's private chambers were dimly lit, warmed by the low fire in the hearth and the soft scent of cedarwood that lingered in the air. Tapestries of past rulers hung along the walls — all watching, silent and still.
I stood quietly, hands folded before me, the rich folds of my deep blue gown trailing behind me like shadow.
my father stood by the window, one hand clasped behind his back, staring down at the courtyard below where nobles still lingered after the council.
"I appreciate you coming," he said without turning.
"I always come when summoned, Father," I replied calmly.
He turned then, studying me.
My features had matured over the years — still breathtaking, still regal — but my eyes… they'd changed. The softness had faded into something sharper. Less like moonlight and more like cold steel.
"You've grown," he said at last.
"I've had to."
The King nodded slowly, stepping forward, folding his arms. "That's exactly what I wanted to speak with you about."
I arched an eyebrow faintly. "About what? My readiness? The coronation? My relationship with Rye?"
His brow furrowed. "No… about you."
That caught me off guard. Just a little.
He went on, his voice gentler now — the voice of a father, not a monarch. "There is a change in you, Evelynne. A distance. A coldness. I see it in your eyes. Hear it in your voice. You walk like you've buried something inside you and are afraid to dig it out."
My throat tightened — but my face remained composed.
"I'm becoming the woman this kingdom expects me to be," I said, every word precise. "Isn't that what you've always wanted?"
"I wanted you to be strong," he said, stepping closer. "But not hard. Not lonely. Not lost."
My lips parted, but no answer came.
After a long silence, the King added, "This bond with Rye… I know the court believes it, but I've seen you truly love before. And this… this isn't it."
My expression wavered — just for a moment. my eyes lowered.
"I don't have time for love anymore," I whispered.
The King exhaled, pain flickering in his eyes. "You deserve to be loved, Evelynne. Not possessed. Not paraded. Loved."
My voice was quiet now. Barely audible. "What I deserve doesn't matter anymore, Father. What Elowen needs does."
He took my hands in his, gently. "But you are Elowen. If your heart turns to ice, what becomes of us?"
I gently pulled my hands back, turning away.
"I'll be ready for the coronation."
And with that, I walked out of the chamber, my gown trailing behind me like the end of a forgotten lullaby.
The King stood still for a long while.
And wondered when, exactly, he'd lost his daughter to the throne.