The heavy silence that followed Christopher's curt dismissal settled over the study like a physical weight, far more crushing than the stone of the palace walls. Jackline remained seated, a statue of defiance, the truth of his words a bitter pill. He despises me as much as I him. A cold certainty, perhaps even a useful one. But retreat was not in her nature.
Eventually, the silence became too much. Jackline moved, her limbs stiff and unfeeling, a marionette whose strings had been cut. She pushed herself up from the chair, her eyes fixed on the heavy oak door, avoiding his face.
She reached the threshold, her hand brushing the cold, carved wood. The hallway beyond felt vast, a desolate and echoing space. Outside, the sounds of the palace continued—maids, hushed and nervous, sweeping up the remnants of the morning's shattered porcelain, their whispers a distant tide.
No. I will not yield.
She stopped, turning on her heel with a swish of heavy velvet, her resolve hardening into something sharp and cold. Christopher was back to his studies, his attention seemingly consumed by a leather-bound tome on the desk.
"No," she said, her voice low but steady, cutting across the room. "I'm not going to stay away."
Slowly, almost reluctantly, his gaze lifted from the page, the deep pools of his eyes utterly devoid of warmth. A shiver traced its way down her spine, but she held her ground, then moved back to her seat with deliberate, slow steps, ignoring his stare.
"I'm not asking you to play your role as my husband," she continued, her voice gaining strength, driven by a rising frustration at his immovable arrogance. "All I ask is that we find common ground, for the sake of the kingdom."
The nerve of the man! The sheer, infuriating entitlement etched on his features as he merely observed her, a silent, impassive wall.
She waited. A heartbeat passed, then two, stretching into an eternity of strained quiet. He offered no response, not a flicker of agreement or even anger, only that damnable, neutral observation. Jackline pressed on, each word a challenge.
"I don't want your love, Your Highness. I just want you to allow me to rule by your side. We have a shared responsibility here."
His silence was a goad, a calculated insult. The control he exerted over his own emotions, a sharp contrast to the tempest in her own chest, was maddening. Jackline braced herself, the air crackling with unspoken resentments.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was soft, dangerously calm, yet it carried the finality of a death sentence.
"I don't repeat myself twice Princess," Christopher said, his eyes narrowing to cold slits. "Now get out."
Jackline froze, the blood draining from her face. The chilling finality in his tone left no room for appeal or negotiation. It was an order, pure and simple, not a request or a political disagreement. The silence rushed back in, but now it felt different—not merely heavy, but menacing, a physical manifestation of the chasm between them.