Weeks bled into months, and the distance between the stables and the throne room began to feel like a vast, uncrossable ocean.
King Alaric had moved Caelum's quarters to the High Tower, surrounding him with a rotation of "Alpha Mentors"hardened, scarred men who spoke only of conquest and suppressed any flicker of emotion. Caelum was no longer allowed to walk the grounds unescorted. His schedule was a brutal cycle of strategy meetings, border skirmishes, and grueling physical trials designed to trigger his final, permanent shift.
Whenever i caught a glimpse of him,across a crowded courtyard or from a balcony,he looked more like a statue than the boy i knew. His eyes were constantly scanning the horizon, fixed in a permanent, haunted stare. He looked older. He looked tired. But most of all, he looked lonely.
The Gilded Cage
i was also facing my own war at home. my father had forbidden me from visiting the training pits, claiming it "ruined my posture for the marriage market." Instead of a sword, my hands were now forced to hold embroidery needles and heavy silk fans.
my home was filled with the scent of expensive perfumes and the droning voices of suitors.i was paraded like a prize mare at every feast. I had to learn to smile while my heart was screaming, to nod at men who discussed about me as if i was a piece of land to be traded.
"Smile, daughter," my mother said, tightening my corset until I could barely breathe. "The King is watching. Our family's standing depends on your grace tonight."
The Near Miss
The closest I have been to him in three months was during the Festival of the First Hunt. The entire court was gathered in the Great Hall. Caelum sat at his father's right hand, his face a mask of cold stone.
As i passed the high table to take my seat, my sleeve brushed against his. It was a fraction of a second, but it felt like a lightning strike. I looked up, and for a heartbeat, the mask slipped. I saw the raw, suffocating grief in his amber eyes,the silent plea of a drowning man.
He reached out, his fingers twitching as if to grab my hand, but King Alaric cleared his throat, a sound like a death knell.
"Caelum," the King barked. "Focus. The Duke is discussing the silver trade."
Caelum's hand retreated, clenching into a white-knuckled fist on the table. I moved on, the weight of his gaze burning into my back. I realized then that they weren't just training him to be a King; they were training him to forget me. They were starving the man to feed the beast.
The Breaking Silence
That night, i sat by my window, looking up at the High Tower. A single torch flickered in the window of his room. I took a piece of parchment and wrote a single word: Wait.
But as I watched, the light in the tower went out, leaving the world in total, brooding darkness. The pressure was no longer just a burden; it was a physical force, pushing us both toward a breaking point that neither of us would survive intact.