Chapter 37
The estate assigned to Selene and Brian was far from the capital, far enough that the kingdom's noise could not easily reach it, but not far enough to be considered exile. It was a place designed for appearances—grand halls, polished floors, carefully maintained gardens that suggested peace even when none existed inside.
It was called a honeymoon residence.
But neither of them used that word.
Because there was nothing romantic about it.
From the moment they arrived, silence became their first shared language.
The servants bowed deeply when they entered, careful not to look too long at either of them. Word had already spread through the palace corridors before they even arrived: the Third Prince had been bound to Selene by royal decree. Not chosen. Not desired. Assigned.
And Selene—
once almost the Seventh Prince's bride—
had been reassigned like a political correction.
Inside the estate, everything was arranged with precision. Fresh flowers in crystal vases. Linen so white it felt artificial. A dining table set for two even though no one had yet decided how long meals together would last.
Selene walked through the hall without touching anything.
Brian followed at a distance, not out of courtesy, but out of restraint. There was something in the air between them that made proximity feel like an unnecessary risk.
When the door to their shared chamber closed behind them that evening, the atmosphere changed entirely.
The silence inside was no longer polite.
It was confined.
Selene stood near the center of the room for a moment, slowly removing the outer layer of her ceremonial attire. Each movement was controlled, deliberate. Not emotional. Not rushed.
Brian stood near the window, still fully dressed, his gaze fixed outside where the sky was already darkening into night.
Neither of them spoke.
Not because they had nothing to say.
But because everything that could be said would worsen what was already unstable.
Finally, Selene broke the silence.
"This is not a marriage," she said quietly.
Brian did not turn.
"It is legally recognized as one," he replied.
That made her pause briefly.
Then she let out a faint breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but carried no warmth.
"Of course you would answer like that."
Brian finally turned his head slightly.
"You expected something different?"
Selene met his gaze now.
"Yes."
A simple answer.
But it carried weight.
Because expectations were the only thing that had truly been broken in her life recently.
Brian stepped away from the window now, moving further into the room, though still maintaining distance between them.
"This arrangement is not personal," he said.
Selene tilted her head slightly.
"Everything involving the royal family is personal," she replied.
That statement lingered between them.
Because neither of them could fully deny it.
Brian studied her for a moment longer than necessary.
"You are not the person I would have chosen," he said calmly.
Selene's eyes sharpened slightly.
"And you are not the man I would have accepted."
That honesty hung in the air like something sharp.
Not insulting.
Just true.
Outside, wind moved softly against the estate windows, brushing against the glass like something trying to listen.
Inside, the tension remained contained.
Controlled.
But alive.
Because this was not a union built on affection or trust.
It was built on enforcement.
And enforced things rarely stayed still for long.
—
The wedding itself had been brief.
No grand procession.
No emotional vows.
Only ceremony.
Only law.
Selene had walked down the aisle again in white, but this time the fabric felt like repetition of humiliation rather than tradition. Brian had stood waiting, composed but distant, as though observing a formality that had nothing to do with him personally.
The court had applauded.
But it was not celebration.
It was acknowledgment.
The kingdom had closed a problem.
Or at least tried to.
Because neither Selene nor Brian gave them the satisfaction of appearing united.
Not even for a moment.
When the officiant declared them bound, Selene had not smiled.
Neither had Brian.
And that alone had been enough to unsettle the court more than the annulled royal wedding ever had.
—
That night—their wedding night—became something neither of them acknowledged as tradition.
The chamber assigned to them was large, elegant, designed for intimacy that did not exist. Soft lighting illuminated silk curtains and carved furniture meant for shared life.
But the distance between Selene and Brian remained unbroken.
Selene stood near one side of the room, untying her gloves slowly.
Brian remained seated near a desk, going through documents he had brought with him, as though refusing to acknowledge the concept of "wedding night" entirely.
Minutes passed.
Then Selene spoke again.
"You are avoiding this."
Brian did not look up.
"I am prioritizing relevance," he replied.
Selene turned slightly toward him.
"This is irrelevant to you?"
He paused briefly.
"No," he said. "It is irrelevant to emotion."
That answer irritated her more than she expected.
Because it placed everything they were in a category she could not argue with easily.
Logic.
Structure.
Function.
She walked a few steps closer.
"And what happens when structure fails?" she asked.
Brian finally looked at her fully.
"Then it is rebuilt."
Selene's lips curved faintly.
"And you think you will rebuild this?"
"I think it does not require rebuilding," he said calmly. "It requires endurance."
That word stayed between them.
Endurance.
Not affection.
Not acceptance.
Endurance.
The room fell silent again, but now it felt different.
Not empty.
Not peaceful.
But restrained tension waiting for time to decide what it would become.
—
Days passed in the estate.
They ate together only when required.
Spoke only when necessary.
Shared space only because it was assigned.
And yet—
something unexpected began to happen.
Not warmth.
Not reconciliation.
But friction.
Constant friction.
Arguments began over small things first—timing, strategy, wording of letters sent to the capital, interpretation of royal expectations. Then they escalated into sharper exchanges, each of them refusing to yield control over even the smallest decision.
"You are too rigid," Selene said one evening.
"And you are too adaptive," Brian replied.
"That sounds like criticism."
"It is observation."
Their eyes met.
Neither looked away.
Because beneath the arguments, something else was forming.
Awareness.
Recognition.
And something neither of them wanted to admit yet.
That despite their resistance—
they understood each other too well to ignore.
And that made them more dangerous together than either had expected.
—
But neither of them called it a bond.
Not yet.
Because accepting that would mean accepting that the Queen had not just assigned them to each other.
She had placed them in the one situation where refusal still did not equal separation.
And for two people like Selene and Brian—
that was not a beginning.
It was a challenge.
One neither was ready to lose.