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The silence that followed my mother's departure was unbearable.
It thickened the air like smoke, bitter and suffocating.
Rowen stood by the tall window, his arms at his sides now, the sharp lines of his uniform catching the fading sunlight.
His eyes were cold. Focused.
Rye stood across the room, chest heaving as if holding back a fire.
His fists clenched.
"You think you can just come back here" Rye said through gritted teeth, breaking the silence.
"Like a damn ghost. Show up at her coronation, touch her, kiss her, like the last five years never happened?"
Rowen didn't speak.
Didn't flinch.
Only stared.
That stare made Rye angrier.
"You don't deserve her," he snapped.
"You left her. You chose to go. And now you think one look and a few sweet words will undo all the pain?"
Still, Rowen said nothing.
Not a twitch in his jaw.
Not a blink.
Only that calm, glacial stare, as if Rye's rage couldn't reach him.
Rye's voice cracked, trembling with fury.
"I've been here. Every day. I held her when she cried. I gave her something to live for."
"No," Rowen finally said, quiet and sharp.
"You gave her something to survive for. There's a difference."
Rye's face flushed with rage.
"She was mine!" he barked. "She is mine!"
Rowen took a step forward, slow, deliberate.
The way a predator steps out of the shadows.
"She was never yours," he said flatly. "Not truly."
"Say that again," Rye snarled.
Rowen's eyes narrowed. "You heard me."
Rye moved fast, grabbing the edge of the table and shoving it aside, the crash echoing through the room.
"Say it again, and I swear, I'll kill you!"
he growled, chest rising and falling like a man on the brink.
Rowen didn't even blink.
He took one more step, and now they stood only feet apart.
The difference between them was like a storm and a stone.
Rye burned.
But Rowen, Rowen was ice.
Hard.
Cold.
Still.
More dangerous than fury itself.
"You think I'm afraid of you?" he said quietly.
"If you raise your hand to me, Rye, you'd better make it count. Because I won't give you a second chance."
The air between them was electric.
One breath too loud and it would explode.
But Rye didn't move.
His knuckles were white. His mouth twisted. But something in Rowen's stare, the calm, ruthless precision, held him back.
And maybe… the part of him that still feared losing me completely.
A long silence followed.
And then Rowen, voice still low, added
"You don't love her. You love the crown."
That… was the blow.
Rye staggered back as if struck, jaw locked.
Rowen stepped away toward the door, his voice quiet as he passed.
"And that's why you'll lose."
He opened the door and disappeared into the hall.
Leaving Rye alone.
Breathing hard.
And drowning in his own rage.
*******
The moon hung high above the palace, its silver glow spilling softly across my bedroom floor.
The wind stirred the sheer curtains, bringing in a cool breeze and the distant rustle of trees beyond the garden.
But sleep refused to come.
I lay on my side in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the wall as the events of the day churned over and over in my mind.
The coronation.
Rye
The kiss.
And… Rowen.
My fingers curled over the flower bracelet at my wrist.
My chest ached, that slow, dull kind of ache that never quite fades.
I hadn't cried since the garden.
But the tears were still there, just waiting, just behind my eyes.
Then
A knock.
Soft. Three times.
I sat up slowly, my heart jumping.
Another pause.
"Evelynne,"
Came a voice.
Deep.
Familiar.
Gentle.
I rose from the bed without thinking, my silk nightgown whispering around my ankles.
I moved to the door, hesitating only briefly before opening it.
There he stood.
Rowen.