Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 405. I Never Blame You
"I never blamed you," Rose added. "Not for losing. Not for letting them take me. You weren't the one who turned me into a treaty."
"I should've died before letting that happen."
"Don't say that." Her voice was suddenly steel. "If you had died, that would've been the end of everything I remembered fondly. I needed to know you lived. Even if it wasn't with me."
Artheur exhaled slowly, the weight in his chest visibly dropping a fraction. "You were taken from me, Rose. And I spent years wondering if I'd ever see you again—not as a queen behind marble walls, but as the woman who used to love."
"You're not the only one who wondered," she said. "But wondering doesn't change what happened."
"I never stopped caring."
"I know." Her tone softened. "But that doesn't mean we go back to what we were."
A moment passed. Then she stepped slightly closer, not touching him, but enough to show she wasn't afraid of the past they shared.
"We became who we are because of that day," she continued. "You became a better prince. I became a queen. And Angelus… whether we like it or not, he won."
Artheur looked away for the first time, just briefly. "He didn't win everything."
"No," Rose said, voice low. "But he earned what he has now."
His head turned toward her again, eyes searching. "Do you love him?"
She met that gaze squarely. "I didn't, at first. Not when he marched into the ceremony with blood on his hands and power in his voice. I hated him. I wanted to scratch his name from history."
"And now?"
"Now… he's the man I stand beside because he built something with me, not around me. He didn't just make me queen. He made space for me to become one."
She paused, her voice softening, not from hesitation—but because what came next was a truth she rarely admitted aloud.
"But yes," she added, gaze steady on Artheur's, "I once loved him. Before he became the king. Back when he was just the prince of Asteria. It was… real. Quiet. Something I never expected."
Artheur's expression didn't shift, but his shoulders stiffened—barely perceptible.
Rose continued, her voice low, even. "Then came the war. The blood. And that love turned into hate so quickly I could barely breathe through it. He shattered everything I thought I knew."
A breath.
"And then… somehow, it turned back into love again. Slowly. Painfully. Like learning to walk after a wound that never fully healed."
She glanced away for a moment, her eyes catching the dim flicker of torchlight dancing across the stone walls. The wind tugged at the hem of her sleeve, like it wanted to steal the words back.
"It's maddening, really," she said with a faint, bitter smile. "Seems like I can't escape him."
That landed heavy between them. And Artheur, proud as he was, nodded slowly—like he respected it, even if it stung.
His voice, when it came, was quiet. "That sounds more honest than anything I've heard in court all week."
Rose looked back at him. "You asked. I answered."
"And I'm glad you did. I didn't come here to pull you back," he said after a breath. "I just… needed to see for myself. The girl I was supposed to marry, ruling alongside the man who took her from me."
Rose tilted her head. "And?"
"You belong here," he said simply. "I don't think I ever would've made you shine like this."
Rose gave him the smallest, sad smile. "That's the first time you've stopped fighting fate."
"I'm tired of losing to it."
Artheur looked at her like she was something holy and distant. Like a ghost from another life that had finally found peace.
"And despite it all," he murmured, "I'm glad you found your place."
"I did," she said. "And you should too."
He gave a faint smile, more weary than bright. Then he bowed again, deeper this time. "Goodnight, Your Majesty."
She watched him walk away under the torchlight—back straight, steps steady, the weight of a hundred lost days finally slipping off his shoulders.
Only when he disappeared past the corridor did she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Then she turned back toward the darkened halls of the castle.
Toward the chamber where the man who once tore her life apart now waited, not as a conqueror—but as the only one who stayed long enough to rebuild it with her.
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