Page 17 of Lost Heir
Selene's response was a quiet retreat; her gaze shifted towards the window, the open vista a silent witness to her turmoil. “He ... he thought if his parents saw us together, it might …” she trailed off, her uncertainty palpable.
I pressed for more, needing to understand. “Might what, Selene?”
With a ponderous sigh, she glanced back, her vulnerability framed against the backdrop of the room. “Might offer us a better chance at being together,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Selene,” my voice was laced with concern, “why would you entertain such thoughts? Engaging with Marcellus in this way ... it's dangerous. My mother—”
She interrupted with a nod, a silent acknowledgment of the precarious path she treaded. “I know, I do. After seeing her reaction ... Well, it's clear she disapproves. She already doesn't like me.”
I reached out, offering reassurance by squeezing her hand. “It's not about dislike, Selene. My mother operateswithin a realm of caution. She doesn't know you, and that's where her distrust stems from. Don’t take it personally, but also remember what kind of person she is and guard yourself against her.”
Selene's eyes met mine, a mix of gratitude and resolve within them. “I will. I promise.”
6
The relief of shedding the journey's grime in a bath left me feeling rejuvenated, yet the solitude of my chambers was stifling with the knowledge that the court ladies were watching my every move. With Selene comfortably settled in her own room and Viktor tasked with the delicate matter of staffing, the Eastern palace's corridors echoed with a silence that spoke volumes of my isolation. Each step felt calculated, a stark reminder of the scrutiny that waited around every corner.
Seeking a small reprieve, I ventured to the kitchens and returned laden with simple comforts—a bowl of grapes and a modest jug of wine. It wasn't the luxurious A Thousand Roses wine from the Rose Petal Lounge, but it promised a semblance of solace for my solitude.
The sight that greeted me upon my return to my chambers, however, was anything but solitary. Caelan, perched on the edge of my bed as if he belonged there, stirred a mix of irritation and surprise within me. “What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice low, a blend of curiosity and caution coloring my words.
His gaze swept over me, a smile playing on his lips as he noted the changes in my appearance. “You look … different. In a good way. You look like Princess Lyanna again,” he observed, his eyes lingering on the subtle transformation wrought by a dress and my freshly braided hair.
A snort escaped me at his approval, laced with a hint of derision. “I'm guessing you prefer me this way,” I retorted, moving past him to place the wine and grapes on my desk, enacting a barrier between us.
“I do,” he confessed, unabashed. “This is who you are. Who you should have been all along.”
His words, meant as a compliment, felt like chains tightening around me. I braced against the desk, the wood creaking under the force of my grip.
Caelan glanced at the wine with open disapproval. “You really shouldn’t drink so much. Why don’t I get one of the court ladies to bring you some tea instead?” he offered.
His suggestion was the spark that lit the powder keg of my frustration. Spinning around, I blocked his path, the word “No!” a sharp rebuke. “I don't want tea. If I did, that's what I would have brought.”
“Lyanna—”
“Caelan, stop!” The plea burst from me, a mix of anger and desperation. “Please, just stop. If I wanted someone to dictate my choices, my mother is more than capable of doing so.”
He paused, his advance halting as he processed my outburst. “I'm not trying to control you, Lyanna. I'm trying to help,” he said, his voice softer, an attempt to bridge the gap that had opened between us.
Yet, in that moment, the gap felt like a chasm. His presence in my chamber was an unwelcome reminder of the liberties he’d already taken and the autonomy he threatened.His proximity, once a source of comfort, now felt like an intrusion, a challenge to the independence I’d fought so desperately to reclaim.
I found myself cornered, both physically by Caelan's imposing presence and emotionally by the weight of his accusations and expectations. Exhaling a frustrated breath, I leaned back against the desk, the cool wood a minor relief against the tension that crackled between us. “I know you believe you're helping, but this—this constantoversightis suffocating, Caelan. I can't live like this.”
His reaction was immediate, a mix of hurt and anger sharpening his words. “So, it's suffocating whenIdo it, but if it was Ronan, you'd be fine?” His voice was a low growl, his jealousy barely contained.
I met his challenge head-on, my patience fraying. “If it was Ronan, he wouldn’t be telling me what to do,” I shot back, standing my ground.
Caelan scoffed bitterly and closed the distance between us, his movements deliberate. “You think you know him so well, but you don’t, Lyanna. He’s a—”
“You don’t knowanythingabout him!” I exploded. My voice rose and I pushed him away, needing to reclaim my space.
He paused and surprise flashed across his handsome features before he regained his composure, his gaze sharpening. “And you do?” he challenged, skepticism lacing his tone. “Wasn't Ronan the one who deceived you with his lies? Or did I get that part wrong?”
I furrowed my brows. “How did you—”
Caelan's frustration boiled over, and his pacing became a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil. “Nothing is a secret around here, Lyanna! When will you get that through your thick skull?” His warning was clear, tinged with aprotective fervor that bordered on possession. “And just as a warning, don’t even think about going to the Northern palace to see him. Don’t give the rumors credence.”
I couldn't hide my irritation, my voice laced with defiance. “I'm well aware of what I should and shouldn't do.”
