Rowan, overwhelmed by everything that had happened in such a suffocating rush, spent the entire day shut away inside his room in the Eastern Palace. The weight of the sudden chaos of being moved, guarded, and practically labeled as the imperial consort pressed on him so heavily that he could only lie sprawled across his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
He didn't bother to eat, didn't bother to move. He just wanted silence, a moment to breathe and a moment where no one was telling him what he was supposed to be.
Zalyric, meanwhile, had been pacing the halls of the main palace with a frown etched between his brows. For hours, he had contemplated whether he should go to Rowan, knock on his door, force himself into Rowan's space and demand he speak but each time he stepped toward the Eastern Palace, he stopped halfway.
