"Rhae," Isabella called softly.
Rhaegar gave a faint acknowledgment. "What is it?"
"I wish to ask you something."
He turned his head to look at her.
She met his gaze directly, her eyes unwavering as she spoke each word with deliberate clarity.
"Do you… love Caelith?"
Rhaegar fell silent for a brief moment. Then he answered. His voice was quiet—yet resolute beyond doubt.
"Yes."
Isabella stood still, caught unprepared.
She had imagined many answers. That he might deny it. That he might evade the question. That he might dismiss her curiosity altogether. But never had she thought he would answer with such stark and unguarded certainty.
She looked at him—and in that instant, whatever indistinct feeling had lingered in her heart seemed to dissolve like mist beneath the morning sun.
A smile returned to her lips. She lifted a hand and gave his shoulder a light, familiar pat.
"Very well," she said. "I understand."
Rhaegar watched her quietly.
