The temple was still when you rose from the cool stone steps, the scent of incense still lingering on your sleeves. The morning light filtered through the stained-glass window above the altar, casting soft prisms across the floor where you'd left your prayer beads glinting like an afterthought.
You didn't rush.
You adjusted your borrowed cloak. Smoothed your sleeves. Quieted your breath.
He will have sent them by now.
Outside those doors — without doubt — royal guards waited. But you wouldn't let them find a shaken woman. You would give them something believable. Something they could retell, with just enough reverence to matter.
"Mira," you murmured.
She turned at once. "Yes, my lady?"
"Take my arm. Hold me like I'm unwell. Not faint. Just… worn."
Her lips parted, then closed again. "Yes, Your Majesty."
You walked slowly down the marble corridor, Mira's hand gently steadying your spine. Not a limp. Not a feint. Just the steps of a queen who had fasted too long. Prayed too hard.
The great doors of the temple opened.
As expected, two royal guards stood at attention, stiff in polished leather and steel, eyes sharp despite the morning haze.
One stepped forward with a bow. "Your Majesty. His Grace has requested—"
"—To know of my whereabouts," you finished quietly. "Inform the King I spent the morning in prayer, as I promised Her Grace, the Queen Dowager."
The guard blinked. "Shall we escort you—?"
"There's no need." You let Mira support a portion of your weight, your voice dipping with just enough fragility to pass. "The fast made me light-headed. But I wanted to keep my vow."
You paused at the edge of the step, sunlight catching in your lashes.
"Tell the Queen Dowager I lit a candle for her health."
The guards bowed. Their hesitation spoke volumes — they didn't know whether they had failed their orders or fulfilled a quiet act of reverence.
Let them wonder.
Let them whisper.
The Queen walked to the temple alone?
For the Dowager?
Even while unwell?
You had no crown, no heir, no king's hand reaching for yours. But you had story. You had perception. And the Queen Dowager's favor was worth more than half the court combined.
By the time you returned to the palace, afternoon light had turned gold. Mira still walked beside you, her coat draped over your shoulders, your expression carefully unreadable.
A steward was waiting in the east corridor.
"Your Majesty," he said with a bow. "The King has requested a physician see to you upon your return."
Of course he had.
"Very well," you replied.
You didn't ask whether Casian had summoned him from concern or duty. It didn't matter. What mattered was being seen accepting it.
The physician came promptly. You sat beside the open window, sunlight pouring across your skirts. He examined your pulse, checked your eyes with the reverence of one afraid to offend.
"Mild exhaustion," he said delicately. "Perhaps some fasting strain. Nothing grave. I'll prepare a calming tea and recommend medicated incense."
"That will do," you said with quiet dignity.
You dismissed him, then sat still, watching the sway of the trees in the garden below.
Mira entered with a satchel of herbs and incense. You turned toward her with a nod.
"Draw the curtains. And let no one in."
She blinked. "Not even—?"
"Not the Queen Dowager. Not the King. No one."
She didn't question it. "Shall I say you're resting?"
You allowed a faint smile.
"Yes. Let them believe I'm resting."
Let them believe you were fragile.
Let them believe you were soft.
For three days, you did not leave your rooms.
The excuse remained unchanged: you were recovering.
The physician returned once, satisfied. Servants came and went in silence. Mira stood guard as fiercely as any sword.
Each morning: incense, honey tea, a single whispered prayer.
Each night: silence.
And you didn't ask for him.
And he did not come.
Until the third morning.
You heard it first — the heavy door thrown open. Raised voices in the outer hall.
Then a guard's voice: sharp and protective. "Her Majesty is not to be disturbed."
"I gave no such order," came Casian's voice — colder than the stone walls, sharper than steel.
The doors groaned open.
You didn't move.
Mira stood at your side, fanning slow air over your cheeks. A second maid stoked the incense. A third folded linens, all arranged precisely as you had rehearsed.
You lay still beneath a pale quilt, your face bare of paint, your skin allowed to appear sallow — intentionally so.
"Let me look pale," you had told them. "Let him see what he's done."
He stopped midway into the room.
A silence swept through like a winter draft.
"Leave us," Casian said.
Mira didn't move. "Her Majesty is resting. She hasn't had strength for conversation."
You stirred slightly — just enough.
A soft flutter of lashes.
A shallow breath.
"Let them stay," you murmured, your voice hoarse but audible.
The room froze.
You opened your eyes — slow, tired, deliberate — and met his gaze. It landed on you like a blade. But your expression didn't flinch.
His brows knit together. He took a step forward, then paused.
You looked away first.
"Is there something urgent, Your Majesty?"
The title stung. It used to mean intimacy. Now, it was a barricade.
"I came to see if you're well," he said.
"I've been ill," you said, still not looking at him. "The physician's notes are available."
"Three days without stepping out is hardly—"
"I was fasting," you interrupted, gently. "For your mother's sake. For the blessing we clearly lack."
His jaw clenched.
"You look… worse than before."
"That tends to happen," you said, eyes steady. "When one is… unwanted."
The fan stilled. The incense thickened.
He stepped closer, more cautious now.
"I never said you were unwanted."
"You didn't have to," you replied. "I understood."
He stared at you — as if trying to find the girl he once knew beneath the woman he barely dared to touch.
"If that's all," you added, "I'd like to rest."
His lips parted. No words came.
He left without another glance.
And only then did your chest tighten, your throat burn.
But no tears came.
You wouldn't give him that.