By the time Rael returned to the palace, the sky had begun to darken, the last remnants of sunlight fading behind the tall spires as lanterns flickered to life one by one along the corridors.
The marble floors reflected the glow faintly, each step echoing just enough to remind him of the space he occupied-vast, ordered, and entirely unyielding.
Servants bowed as he passed.
Guards straightened.
Doors opened before him without question.
Everything moved as it should.
Everything-
Predictable.
And yet-
It felt colder.
Rael's gaze drifted briefly to the tall windows lining the corridor, the glass now reflecting more shadow than light, his own figure faintly mirrored in their surface.
Composed.
Unshaken.
A lie.
"...Your Highness."
The voice came softly, yet it carried through the corridor with quiet certainty.
The Pope stood near one of the archways, the pale fabric of his robes catching the lantern light in soft, muted tones, his presence almost otherworldly against the rigid structure of the palace.
His hands were folded neatly before him, his posture composed, his gaze steady-too steady.
"She is in the east wing," The Pope said, hands folded before him. "The attendants say she has not left since supper."
He knew who he meant.
Amaria.
Rael gave a short nod. "I know."
"The prophecy has stirred the church more than they expected," he said softly. "And the royal family fears society more than any prophecy."
Rael let out a quiet breath through his nose. "Society fears what it cannot place."
"And Amaria cannot yet be placed."
That much was true.
When Serena, the young Saintess, had first spoken the prophecy aloud, it had not happened in a grand temple before a crowd, but in one of the palace's private chapels, before a handful of people whose silence mattered. The blessed child of the Goddess, she had said. Not a noble-born daughter raised under the watchful eyes of courtly mothers. Not a princess. Not someone groomed for reverence. Amaria had appeared almost from nowhere, and yet the prophecy had settled around her name with frightening certainty.
The church had wanted caution. The royal family had wanted control. And so they had hidden her away in the palace under the pretense of protection while they debated how society might react if a girl of obscure origins was suddenly declared sacred.
Rael had been given a role in it.
Observe her. Stay near her. Learn her intentions. Determine whether she truly was as harmless as she seemed.
It was a duty he had accepted with little thought.
Until now.
"She is well?" he asked, though the question came more out of habit than interest.
The Pope inclined his head. "As well as someone can be when she is watched by both priests and royals."
A trace of humor might have touched another man's mouth at that. It did not touch Rael's.
He left the Pope there and continued toward the east wing.
The chambers given to Amaria were quieter than the rest of the palace, tucked away behind carved doors and softly lit hallways where guards stood at discreet intervals. It was not a prison, not truly, but it was not freedom either. When he entered, he found her standing beside a tall window, where the last of the evening light cast her in pale gold.
She turned at the sound of the door. Her white dress was simple compared to what court ladies wore, the fabric light and graceful rather than ornamental. Her blonde hair fell loosely over her shoulders, and her blue eyes were clear as ever.
"You're here again," Amaria said with a small smile.
Rael closed the door behind him. "Yes."
She studied him, then tilted her head. "You look troubled."
Most people would have spoken more carefully to him. Most people would have hidden their observations behind courtesy. That was what had once made her stand out.
Now, oddly, it only made him tired.
"You're supposed to be watching me, aren't you?" she asked lightly.
"Among other things."
"That sounds unpleasant."
"It is not meant to be pleasant."
Amaria gave a soft hum and turned partly back to the window, her fingers resting against the frame. "And have you learned anything important?"
Rael looked at her, at the pale curve of her profile against the fading sky, and realized with a dull sort of irritation that he had not truly been watching her at all. Not in the way he was supposed to. Not today.
Because every attempt to focus led him back to Esmeralda.
To the garden. To the shade. To that quiet, cutting indifference.
He stayed only long enough to make his presence count, spoke only enough to avoid suspicion, and when he left, his report remained unwritten.
Later, alone in his chambers, he sat before his desk with parchment spread out before him, untouched. The room around him was immaculate - dark wood shelves, a hearth gone low, heavy curtains pulled against the night, and a single lamp burning steadily at the edge of the desk. Shadows gathered in the corners, stretching longer as the hour deepened.
His pen hovered above the page.
Nothing came.
At last he set it down.
He did not want to see Esmeralda.
That, more than anything, should have told him to stay away.
He was hurt. More than hurt. Something bruised and unsteady had settled inside him after that conversation, and part of him wanted distance simply to preserve what little pride remained. If he saw her now, he might hear those words again. He might find the same calm look in her eyes. He might confirm that all the change had been his alone.
And yet the thought of not seeing her was worse.
Rael stood abruptly, the chair scraping behind him.
The Palace was deep in silence by the time he reached the Duchy again. Night had washed the estate in silver-blue shadows, and the air was cool enough that each breath felt sharper in his lungs. He did not use the front entrance. It would have been proper, and therefore impossible. Instead, he moved along the outer balcony, the stone cold beneath his boots, the curtains of her chamber stirring softly through the open window.
When he stepped inside, moonlight spilled across the floorboards and the edge of her bed in a pale, ghostly sheen.
"Who goes there?" Esmeralda called out.
She sat upright almost at once, more alert than someone truly asleep should have been. Her hair had loosened around her shoulders, and the thin fabric of her nightclothes made her look softer, younger, and infinitely more dangerous for it. Her gaze softened upon knowing it was only Rael.
"Oh, Your Highness.." She yawned as she relaxed herself from having been woken up.
"You shouldn't be here," she said immediately, voice low and sharp. "It's improper."
"I know."
"Then, kindly leave, Your Highness. We'll discuss whatever it is you need to say tomorrow."
"I can't."
That made her still.
Rael took a step forward, then another, careful and deliberate, until the moonlight no longer separated them so cleanly.
"From the start," he said, and found that his voice had lost all of its princely polish, "yes, it was strategic. You followed me around like I meant the world to you and I didn't care as long as the engagement happened. I won't insult you by pretending otherwise."
Esmeralda said nothing.
"But somewhere along the way," he continued, "it stopped being only that."
Her eyes widened just slightly.
Every word after that felt like stepping off solid ground with no certainty of where he would land, but he said them anyway.
"Every conversation. Every argument. Every time you looked at me as though I were something to be tolerated rather than admired - it changed something in me." His mouth curved into something bitter and self-aware. "I did not realize how much until today."
Still she said nothing.
"My heart burns for you, Esmeralda."
Silence followed.
Rael laughed once under his breath, though there was no humor in it. "Say something."
But Esmeralda only stared, as if the language itself had abandoned her.
And somehow, that was answer enough.
A smirk touched his lips then, faint and tired. "You really didn't expect this."
Before she could gather herself, he leaned down and pressed a brief kiss to her forehead.
She froze.
Completely.
When he pulled back, her expression was still blank with shock, but her breath had quickened.
"You do not need to answer me now," Rael said quietly. "But understand this much."
He held her gaze, steady and unyielding.
"I am not dissolving our engagement."
Then, before she could recover enough to protest, he stepped back toward the window. The curtains stirred around him with the night breeze, and a final glance was all he allowed himself before disappearing once more into the dark.
Esmeralda remained seated in the moonlight, silent and motionless.
Her cheeks now flushed.
This time-
Not because of his face.
She was already aware of Rael's intentions.
And for the first time, Rael thought, perhaps she would finally be conscious of him.