Today Princess Davinia decides to attend the weekly head class, a tradition among the royal women where princesses, noble ladies, and queens gather to bead, embroider, and engage in polite conversation. Though still new to the task, Davinia hopes her presence will show willingness to adapt, to belong.
She arrives early, her hands fumbling with the threads and beads, as usual. But soon, the other ladies begin to trickle in, laughing, gossiping, their words sharp beneath the sweet veneer of honeyed tones. Hidden behind a low divider, Davinia hears them before they notice she's there.
"I give it three months before he remarries," one of them says with a smirk.
"Three? You're generous," another replies, giggling. "She's barely fit to be seen, much less to bear an heir. She can't even bead properly, two weeks, and she still knots her thread like a peasant."
"Maybe that's why Prince Kaelum avoids her like a plague," a third whispers. "Everyone knows he hasn't even consummated the marriage. You think he ever will?"
"Doubt it. That poor girl will end up a footnote, no children, no title worth anything, just a forgotten name in court records."
Davinia's fingers go still. Her heart twists painfully in her chest as each word lands heavier than the last. She's been trying, she truly has, but their judgment slices into the places her insecurities already live.
Then, unexpectedly, Princess Milena's voice cuts through the venomous air. "Interesting," Milena says coolly. "Because I distinctly recall you," she points at the third speaker, "crying every night for a month because you couldn't thread a needle without your maid's help."
"And you," she nods to the second, "nearly set the tapestry hall on fire with your candle because you were too busy flirting with a guard to notice." the girl gasped bowing her head in shame.
"If effort is the standard, Davinia has already surpassed you all. Perhaps you should stop betting on her failure and reflect on your own shortcomings."
There's silence, uneasy, shifting silence. Davinia, on the other side of the divider, is already blinking back tears. She rises quietly, hoping to slip away before anyone sees, but her haste betrays her.
She turns to run and crashes directly into a tall figure. Hands steady her shoulders. She looks up through watery eyes.
Kaelum.
He says nothing at first, his expression unreadable, but his gaze flickers to the women behind her, then back to her. He'd heard it all. He had been there, listening with her. Davinia pulls away quickly, embarrassed and devastated, trying to steady her breath, but he still says nothing. His silence, as always, is its own kind of noise. And then… he walks past her into the room of stunned noblewomen. And she has no idea what he's going to say.
Kaelum walked in with measured steps, the spurs on his boots clicking against the polished floor, each sound biting sharper than the last. The women all turned, stiffening when they saw who had entered. Princess Milena straightened her spine, but even she looked mildly surprised. No one had heard him come in. No one knew how long he had been listening.
Davinia stood by the door, caught between the desire to flee and the horror of witnessing what would come next. Her fingers trembled at her sides, and she quickly wiped the corner of her eye where a stray tear clung.
Kaelum's gaze swept across the room, cool until it landed on the trio of women who had mocked Davinia so easily just moments ago. "You speak with such certainty about my marriage," he said at last, voice low, rich, and cutting like steel. "I wonder, when did any of you earn the right to speak on my behalf?"
No one answered. Not a breath stirred. He took another step forward. "You mock her for not learning to bead in two weeks, but it took one of you," he looked directly at Lady Elodie. "six months to memorize the names of your own servants. Should I have made wagers on your intelligence then?"
The blood drained from her face.
Kaelum turned next to Lady Clara. "And you. You say she isn't fit to bear an heir? What would you know of the weight of a crown, when the only burden you've ever carried is the number of lovers you've taken behind your husband's back?"
A few audible gasps cut the air.
Davinia's mouth parted in disbelief.
His words were not soft. They were like crafted weapons. And every noblewoman in that room now knew the ice they had always admired in him had teeth. Kaelum's gaze finally landed on the last woman, the one who had said he would never touch his wife.
"And you... You said I would never consummate my marriage." His voice dropped, laced with something darker. "Shall I provide proof to the contrary? Or do you simply crave the details?"
The room turned deadly silent. Davinia felt her knees weaken. Her face burned. The heat rose from her chest to her cheeks like wildfire.
"Enough," Milena said sharply, not to Kaelum, but to the room. "You've all embarrassed yourselves. If this is how you represent nobility, no wonder you were never chosen to stand beside a crown."
Kaelum turned halfway, but his eyes found Davinia, standing stunned at the door. "Come," he said simply, and for the first time, his voice to her wasn't cold, it was warm, commanding, but without cruelty. "You don't belong among cowards."
Davinia didn't hesitate. She walked toward him, each step feeling like she was shedding something heavy, humiliation, doubt, the silence that had weighed her down for weeks.
As she passed by the noblewomen, none of them dared meet her gaze.
Kaelum reached for her hand. Not forcefully, not stiffly, but in a way that shocked her. He held her hand. His fingers closed around hers with a quiet protectiveness she never imagined he possessed. And as they walked out together, her trembling, him composed, Davinia realized for the first time that something had changed.
He had defended her. In front of everyone. The cold prince had spoken up for her. And the court would not forget it.
The corridor stretched in long silence, their footsteps the only sound as Kaelum led her away from the embroidery room. His grip on her hand never faltered, firm, warm, steady.
When they reached the double doors of their chamber, he pushed them open and stepped aside for her to enter first. She obeyed, quiet and shaken, her cheeks still hot from earlier. The heavy doors shut behind them with a soft thud, and the quiet inside was near suffocating.
Kaelum didn't move to leave. Instead, he turned and leaned against the door, crossing his arms. "Why didn't you say something?" he asked. His tone wasn't cold this time it was sharp, edged in something close to frustration. "You stood there, letting them humilate you."
Davinia flinched at the question. She lowered her gaze, the tips of her fingers curling into her palms. "Because…" her voice broke, softer than she wanted it to be. "Because they weren't entirely wrong."
Kaelum's brows lifted slightly. "I do struggle with beading," she said, eyes still fixed on the ground. "I'm not graceful like the other princesses. I barely know anyone here. I eat alone. I sleep alone. My own husband doesn't even look at me."
That last part came out like a whisper. He straightened from the door but didn't approach. She couldn't bring herself to lift her gaze to him.
"And maybe they're right about everything else too," she added, her voice trembling. "Maybe we'll never... consummate anything. Maybe I'll never bear an heir. Maybe I'm just a placeholder until you find someone better."
Then Kaelum's voice cut through it, low and level. "So… is it a child you want?"
Her head snapped up. He was watching her, arms still crossed, but there was something unreadable in his gaze. It wasn't pity. It wasn't even indifference either. "If it's a child you want," he repeated, "that can be done. Easily."
Davinia's lips parted. He had said it so bluntly. So casually. Like it was nothing to him. "Y-You'd just… give me a child?" she asked, cheeks flaming. "Just like that?"
Kaelum took a step forward, and her heart skipped. "That was the expectation of this union, wasn't it? An heir?" He tilted his head slightly. "You want a child. I can give you one."
Her breath hitched. The fire in her cheeks burned hotter, but not from shame. "And what about everything else?" she whispered. "You'd sleep with me, but still keep pretending I don't exist?"
Kaelum's gaze darkened for a fraction. "You misunderstand," he said softly. "I never said I wanted to ignore you."
His words stunned her. He looked away for the first time, as if irritated with himself, and ran a hand through his hair. "I just don't know what to do with you."
That stunned her more than anything else he had said. Kaelum turned back, stepped closer again. He was now right in front of her, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his body. She felt so small standing there in his shadow, dressed in soft cream silks that clung to her form more tightly than she intended.
"You're not like the other princesses," he said. "You don't preen. You don't grovel. You don't chase after empty power like most of the women here." He reached out, fingers brushing lightly against the ends of her hair, almost as if by accident.
"You make mistakes, Davinia. But you own up to them. That… is rare." Her throat dried.
"Then why do you treat me like I don't exist?" she asked, barely able to speak.
Kaelum exhaled deeply, his hand falling back to his side. "Because if I let myself start to care…" He paused. His jaw tightened. "I won't know how to stop."
And with that, he turned away. Leaving her trembling in the stillness of their shared chamber, heart racing, skin flushed, and head spinning from the realization that her cold husband wasn't made of ice after all.
He was fire, he'd just been trained too long to smother it. Yet she wondered what his last statement was supposed to mean.
He had strode past her toward the adjoining chamber. She turned, watching in silence as he slipped through the carved wooden door that led to the bath. She heard the water run, the soft thud of his boots coming off, the shift of clothing.
And then nothing. Just the sound of splashing water and her own thundering heartbeat. Davinia sank onto the edge of the bed, clutching the silky edge of her robe, her thoughts tangled.
Why did he keep doing this? Pulling her close one moment, only to push her away the next. One second cold as stone, the next… almost human. Almost hers. Her eyes drifted toward the bathroom door.
She could imagine it all too clearly. The outline of him behind the door, droplets of water trailing down his chest, over those taut muscles she'd seen in the training room. His broad back, those strong arms. The water gliding along the lines of his collarbone and disappearing beneath. She covered her face, heat rushing to her cheeks. Gods. What was wrong with her?
She jolted upright as the bathroom door opened. Kaelum stepped out, towel drying his dark, damp hair. A deep blue robe clung to his body, tied low at his waist, still damp from the steam. Drops of water glistened on his chest, the V of his robe revealing far more than was decent.
Her mouth went dry.
He didn't say a word as he walked past her and pulled the covers back. She watched, stunned, as he slid into the bed beside her.
"What… what are you doing?" she asked, blinking rapidly.
"Resting," he said casually, turning over onto his side. "In my chamber."
She swallowed hard. "You've never—since we married, you've never…"
"I know," he cut in smoothly, eyes still on the opposite wall. "Might as well start today."
She stared at him like he'd grown two heads. Kaelum. In the same bed with her. He pulled the covers to his waist and shifted slightly, broad shoulders visible beneath the robe, hair still wet and curling slightly at the ends. He said nothing more, no explanation, no warmth.
Just might as well start today like it was the weather he'd been referring to.
Davinia sat stiffly for a while, unsure if she should lie down or flee the room entirely. Eventually, she reached for a book on her nightstand, an old one she hadn't yet opened. It was titled The Historical Foundations of Avalorm, the script gilded in silver.
She didn't want to bead. Not after today. And the gardens were crawling with whispers and stares she couldn't face yet. At least history wouldn't judge her. She curled up on her side of the bed, the book resting on her knees. But even as she tried to read about the founding kings and the fractured alliances, her eyes kept drifting to the man lying beside her. The quiet rise and fall of his chest. The sharp cut of his jaw. The droplets of water clinging to his neck.
He was inches away, but still miles from her reach. And yet… he had defended her. He had come to her aid. Even if he claimed it meant nothing. Even if he promised never to love.