Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 404. A Goodbye
She should've turned around. She should've gone inside. The night air was starting to chill against her bare neck, and the wind had a bite that hinted at rain in the next few hours. But she didn't move.
Not yet.
Footsteps approached—not heavy like the king's, but sure and deliberate. She didn't need to turn to know who it was.
Prince Artheur.
Of course he came.
Rose drew a slow breath and faced him as he stepped fully into the courtyard light. He wasn't hiding anymore. He didn't even look hesitant.
His cloak swept gently around his ankles, fur lining catching the breeze. His expression was calm, formal—but there was something underneath it. The kind of weight people wore when their words came rehearsed, but still hard to say.
Behind him, stationed not far, were a few castle guards. Claire stood quietly to the side, arms folded behind her back, eyes trained but not intrusive. A few of the remaining foreign delegates were still visible near the far columns, murmuring amongst themselves in that curious way politicians did when they smelled gossip.
Artheur bowed slightly, hand to his chest. "Your Majesty."
"Prince Artheur." Rose nodded back with equal grace, tone neutral but not cold. "You're still here."
"I was about to return to my quaters," he said. "But I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."
"Oh?" She raised a brow slightly, more intrigued than surprised.
He straightened, folding his arms loosely behind his back. "Me and my delegation will depart at first light tomorrow. I want to express my gratitude before we go. For the hospitality."
She dipped her head politely. "Of course. I hope there is nothing lacking during your stay?"
"Nothing at all," he said. "Everything is... perfect."
Rose smiled faintly. "I'm glad. We've done our best."
There was a short silence. Just the breeze curling between them, rustling the hem of her dress and flicking his cloak to the side. Then Rose asked the question she knew protocol demanded.
"Do you wish to speak with the king before you leave?"
Artheur's expression didn't change much, but there was the faintest flicker of tension in his jaw.
"No," he said. "That won't be necessary."
"Still on bad terms?" she asked, her voice softer now, more personal.
He met her gaze without flinching. "You know we are. Always have been. And I suspect... always will."
Rose nodded once, slowly. "I'll convey your farewell to him, then."
"Thank you," Artheur said quietly.
She thought he'd leave after that. It was the clean point to end—formality served, courtesies exchanged.
But he didn't move.
He stayed right where he was, hands now folded in front of him, gaze drifting just a little lower, somewhere between thought and hesitation. A flicker of something uncertain, like the words in his chest were heavier than he'd prepared for.
"You want to say something more," Rose said gently.
His eyes returned to hers. There was no denial. Just a small nod.
"Maybe," he said. "If you don't mind. It's... personal."
"I'm listening."
He took a small step closer. Not too much. Just enough that the words wouldn't carry to the others standing at a distance.
"I know," Artheur began, voice low, even, "that there's nothing between us anymore. That there hasn't been for a long time."
Rose didn't interrupt. She held his gaze. Let him speak.
"But still... I never thought the woman who once walked beside me, halfway down the altar steps, would become queen of another kingdom."
Rose's chest tightened—not from pain—but from memory. From the echo of a time so far away it almost felt like someone else's story.
"We made it to the altar," she said quietly, her voice holding both memory and edge. "But we never made it past the vows."
Artheur's jaw clenched. "I remember."
A long pause hung between them, thick with everything that wasn't said in the years since that day.
"I told myself back then that I'd finish what we started," Artheur went on. "But he took you."
Rose's gaze didn't waver. "He didn't steal me, Artheur. He claimed me. Publicly. Legally. Like I was part of the spoils."
"I fought for you," he said, a little sharper now—not angry at her, but at the truth. "You saw me. On that altar. I stood my ground."
"I know," Rose said softly. "I saw you fall."
That quiet admission cracked something in the air.
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