The garden party was a performance. And I was its unwilling centerpiece.
Music hummed from the far end of the garden—just loud enough to distract, not so loud it could mask the real conversations happening in whispers behind jeweled fans.
I stood beside the advisory circle, a cluster of nobles and minor councilmen positioned for visibility and proximity to me. Jackson was mid–conversation with a merchant family from the West, praising trade routes hadn’t approved yet.
Ronan lingered at my side, quiet and watchful. But my attention wasn’t on the delegation. Not really.
It was on her.
Elena moved like a flame in stone. All edges and silence and flickers of something that didn’t belong here. She was paired with Asher, and that was its own problem.
He wore court black like a funeral shroud, every step laced with a kind of calculated laziness that made people forget how dangerous he was.
She looked beautiful. Distant. Composed. But not at all relaxed.
Her fingers rested too lightly on his arm. Her posture was too precise. I watched her lips move occasionally, but only in response–never first. Her smile, when it surfaced, was quick to fade.
She was surviving. Not shining.
Asher leaned in and whispered something to her. I caught the flicker of tension in her shoulders. Her head turned slightly–away from him, not toward.
Zane stirred sharply. Ours.
I swallowed down the instinct. The possessiveness, I didn’t have that right. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But it burned anyway.
“She’s improved her posture,” someone beside me noted absently. Lady Corwin, I think. “Still a little rough around the edges, but… she draws attention. Unpolished charm.”
That was one way to put it.
I kept my expression neutral, the one I wore for council meetings and political standoffs, I knew how to perform. The garden party was just another battlefield with softer weapons.
Vanessa circled near the fountain, laughter bright and deliberate. Nora stood beneath the trellis, perfectly still and exquisitely framed, answering questions like a diplomat in waiting. The crowd loved her.
But I kept watching Elena.
I told myself it was necessary. I needed to understand her. Needed to confirm if the woman who kissed me in the greenhouse was the same one now smiling politely at nobles who would gut her with a word.
I’d almost called her up to my chambers a dozen times. Almost summoned her. Demanded answers.
But I didn’t.
Because I wanted her to come to me. On her own. I needed to know she would choose honesty without being cornere
she was. If she didn’t…
1/3
at she trusted me with who
Zane growled again, low and unsettled, I could feel him pacing beneath my skin.
I wasn’t afraid of her lying. I was afraid of what I’d do if she did.
The thought chilled me.
I shifted my weight and nodded to a passing delegate. Across the garden, Elena tilted her head as Asher said something else–closet this time. Her eyes didn’t find me. Not even once.
But mine never left her.
I told myself it was observation. But
like a warning.
The morning sun had barely cleared the eastern tower when Ronan stepped into my study. He didn’t knock. He never did when either something important or private came up.
==
I stood by the hearth, one hand braced against the carved stone mantle, the other clenching and unclenching at my side. I hadn’t slept. Not really. The fire had burned low hours ago, but I hadn’t stirred to stoke it.
Ronan stopped a few feet behind me. “You know I don’t like waiting to be told what you already decided.”
“I haven’t decided anything,” I said, voice low. “That’s the problem.”
He sighed and set a folder on the edge of my desk. “Trial formats. The usual suggestions from the planning council–public showcase, rotating partnerships, a minor domestic challenge.”
I didn’t look at it.
“You haven’t summoned her,” he said after a pause. “Not once. Not since she sang.”
I straightened slowly, spine stiff. “She hasn’t asked to see me either.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I turned then, locking eyes with him. “It’s the only one I have.”
Ronan studied me for a long moment. “You want her to come clean on her own.”
“I need her to,” I corrected. “If I force the truth out of her, it won’t matter what she says. It’ll be out of fear. Of exposure. Of losing her place.”
“And if she never does?”
I clenched my jaw in response.
Ronan’s gaze narrowed. “Damon,”
I looked away. The silence between us grew thick, the kind that pressed against the ribs.
“I’m not avoiding the truth,” I said quietly. “I’m avoiding what I’ll become if it’s all a lie.”
There it was. The words sat between us like something sharp.
Ronan stepped closer, his voice more measured now. “You don’t trust yourself.”
“No,” I admitted. “Not where she’s concerned,
Because the truth was fhadn’t been this drawn to someone since Natalie. Not even close. I hadn’t wanted to be. woman had cracked something open. And now I didn’t know how to close it again.
let myself risk it. But this
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Chapter 67
Zane growled softly in the back of my mind. Not angry. Just restless. He still wanted her. Still pulled toward her like a tide that retired to turn
That scared me more than any council rebellion.
“Do you think I’m weak for letting her back in?” I asked.
Ronan blinked. “No. I think you’re lonely and she challenges you.”
–
I gave a short, bitter laugh. My best friend had a way with words that left little doubt as to his meaning “That’s not a comfort.”
“No,” he agreed. “But it’s why you haven’t ruined this yet.”
Yet. The word lingered.
I moved toward the desk, picking up the trial folder. My eyes flicked over the headings without reading them, I didn’t want fanfare or pageantry. I wanted something controlled. Contained.
“Design the next trial yourself,” I said. “I want to see how she performs when there’s no one to charm. No one to protect her. Just pressure and instinct.”
Ronan nodded, but his posture shifted–subtle concern bleeding through his usual calm. “You think she’ll fail?”
“I think I need to know who she is when no one’s watching.”
He hesitated. “And if she breaks?”
“Then at least I’ll know it was never real.”
The finality of it made something cold settle in my chest. Zane stirred again–unsettled, unsatisfied.
Ronan stepped back, collecting the folder and offering a quiet, “Understood.”
As he left, I returned to the window, the same one I’d watched her from hours earlier. She hadn’t broken yet. But I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold the line.
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