Theron’s expression hardened the mont he saw Rosalyn standing inside his bedchamber. Every servant in the palace knew better than to cross that threshold uninvited. Even when his mother had sent won to him in the past, few had ever dared to step this far.
But Rosalyn...
She stood there as if she belonged, utterly unbothered.
Her gaze moved over him with quiet, deliberate interest, starting from his disheveled hair, trailing down to his lips, pausing just a fraction too long before drifting lower. Over his chest. Further still... until it lingered.
Theron’s grip tightened on his robe, pulling it closed with more force than necessary, concealing the unmistakable evidence of a morning he had no intention of explaining. The way her attention settled there did not escape him.
It seed nothing escaped her.
Her eyes flicked briefly toward the divider, curiosity sharpening, as though she could peel back the space beyond it with sheer will.
"You look... unlike yourself this morning, Your Highness."
He didn’t answer.
He simply watched her, silent and steady, though the faint disruption in his breathing betrayed more than he cared to admit. She had walked in on him like this, unannounced, uninvited... and he hadn’t even had the chance to compose himself, let alone regain control over his own body.
Before he could gather his thoughts, or wrestle down the last remnants of that lingering tension down there, Rosalyn stepped closer.
Instinct told him to move, to put distance between them.
But sothing in her approach halted him.
There was no hesitation in her stride. No uncertainty. She advanced with a focus that felt almost... predatory. Her eyes were sharp, assessing, as though she were studying him, reading him, preparing to strike.
And Theron, the warrior that he was, did not retreat.
He held his ground.
She stopped just a foot away. Close enough that he could feel her presence, steady and unyielding. Then, slowly, she lifted her hand.
Theron didn’t flinch. He simply watched, waiting.
Her fingers caught the lapel of his robe, tugging it slightly toward her. For a brief, disorienting mont, he thought she ant to expose him further...
But instead, she leaned in... and inhaled.
His brows drew together.
That...
That was sothing Aveline would do. The mory struck him unbidden...the softness of it, the intimacy of it, the quiet way she would linger as if morizing him. And when Aveline did it...
His jaw tightened.
The tension coiled low in his body sharpened, unwelco and imdiate.
But this...this was not Aveline.
This... felt wrong.
"A prince..." Rosalyn’s voice pulled him back, smooth and composed as she straightened.
He looked down at her.
"...doesn’t wake up unsettled for no reason."
Her fingers released the fabric, only to smooth it back into place with slow, deliberate care. Her hand lingered there, resting lightly over his chest, as though testing the steady beat beneath.
"Or perhaps..."
Her gaze lifted to et his, sothing knowing flickering within it.
"...soone kept you up?"
Theron’s teeth ground together, the sound sharp in the quiet.
"You overstep, Lady Rosalyn."
His hand closed around her wrist, firm and unyielding, and pushed it away from his chest, leaving it suspended between them. The contact lasted only a mont, yet it was enough to make sothing in him recoil. Almost unconsciously, he wiped his palm against his robe, as if to rid himself of the sensation.
His voice, when he spoke, was cold, and precise enough to cut.
She had crossed a line. A line no one crossed. No one—except Aveline.
Only she had ever been allowed to step past his boundaries, to blur them, to ignore them entirely and still be welcod. She could trespass, disrupt, even break him, and he would let her.
But this woman...
Rosalyn had no such right.
Not because of her lineage. Not because of the title forced between them. Not even because she stood here as his betrothed.
None of it gave her permission to stand this close. To question him. To touch him.
Rosalyn didn’t flinch.
She looked at him without blinking, absorbing every shift in his expression, every flicker of restraint. She could feel his anger; see it in the tightness of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders.
And she dismissed it.
What could he do to her?
"Am I overstepping, my prince?" she asked softly, stepping closer again, as if his warning had ant nothing at all. "Aren’t you mine to stand beside?"
Theron turned his face slightly, gaze drifting away from her. The proximity, the intrusion... it had chased away the last traces of that restless tension in his body. Grounded him in sothing colder. Sharper.
All he had to do... was not think of Aveline.
But the mont her na brushed through his mind, it returned. That dream... The feel of her beneath him. The warmth of her skin. The taste of her lips...
His eyes shut, breath drawing in slow and controlled. His hands fisted on his robe.
Rosalyn saw it... The distance... the distraction. And sothing in her hardened.
"You’ve changed."
A pause, deliberate.
"Since Aurelmont."
His eyes opened, turning to her with a faint, restrained frown. He studied her as if trying to place her, to understand what authority she thought she had to make such a claim.
He had never known this woman. Not truly.
What could she possibly know of who he was—before or after?
Before he could speak, she continued. "Speaking of Aurelmont..."
Her tone shifted, light, almost careless, but her gaze remained fixed on him, sharp as a blade.
"I heard about a woman brought here recently from there."
Her attention drifted to her fingernails, as though the subject were nothing more than idle curiosity.
"I found myself... interested."
A beat.
"So I offered a bounty. For any information about her."
Though her body angled away, her eyes never left his face. Watching. asuring. Waiting.
Theron gave her nothing. Not a flicker. Not a breath out of place. Only his heart betrayed him with a sharp, sudden beat against his ribs.
Aveline.
This woman stood in his chamber, speaking of her as if she were prey.
"You have strange interests, Lady Rosalyn," he replied evenly, his voice steady despite the storm beneath it.
But he needed her to continue. Needed to know how much she knew.
Rosalyn smiled. It was a beautiful smile, and entirely devoid of warmth. She turned toward the door, the conversation already dismissed in her mind.
"Whatever has your attention..." she said lightly, a faint smirk touching her lips, "...won’t for long."
At the threshold, she paused and glanced back at him.
"I don’t share what is mine."
The door closed behind her.
Silence returned.
Theron stood still for a mont, his hands slowly curling into fists at his sides.
He had thought distance would keep Aveline safe. That staying away, denying himself, denying her... would be enough.
But now...
A quiet, unwelco realization settled in.
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