The night is quiet.
The fire in the hearth burns low, shadows swaying slowly across the stone walls.
The room is warm… but the space between them is not.
Thorne looks at Selys for a long time.
Not with accusation.
But as if searching for something he has lost… and hoping to find it in her eyes.
The silence stretches.
Longer than it should.
Then he says quietly,
"Are you… ready?"
Selys flinches slightly.
"Ready… for what exactly?"
Her voice is soft. Cautious.
He steps half a pace closer.
Takes her hands gently — not to restrain her, but to steady her.
"To tell me… if there is something I do not know."
Her heart begins to race.
I'll tell him everything.
Now.
Before the silence turns into a wall.
She lowers her gaze to the carpet.
"At the banquet… there was a nobleman."
She pauses.
"He was mocking us… as he usually does."
Thorne does not speak.
"He stepped closer than he should have."
She swallows.
"Then His Majesty intervened."
Only then does Thorne's jaw shift.
"He came himself," she continues.
"He stopped him. Said some guests forget their boundaries."
Silence.
The fire crackles softly.
"Then he asked me to return home. Said I looked tired."
She lifts her eyes to him briefly.
"But I didn't go back immediately. I went to the garden. I needed to breathe."
A short hesitation.
"Lord Marrow found me there. He said a carriage was waiting… by royal order."
Thorne shows no shock.
No anger.
And that unsettles her more.
"I couldn't refuse," she whispers.
Silence.
Then she adds, more quietly,
"And since the preparations for the celebration began… he has kept me near him."
This time, Thorne looks directly at her.
"Near him… how?"
"He would call for me often. Even when I had nothing to do."
"In his office… he offered me tea."
"He would ask if I was comfortable."
"Sometimes… I would simply sit there."
She hesitates.
"And he would look."
The air changes.
Finally, Thorne asks,
"And you did not tell me… why?"
"I didn't think it—"
"Think it what?"
She raises her eyes to him.
"That it meant anything."
And there… for the first time, his expression changes.
It is not jealousy.
It is a slow, painful understanding.
He steps closer.
"Do you know why you didn't think it was important?"
She freezes.
His voice grows quieter.
"Because you do not see yourself the way others see you."
She says nothing.
He does not let her retreat.
"When you enter a room… you don't notice how the conversation stills."
"You don't notice how eyes are drawn to you."
"You don't notice that you are… different."
Her breathing falters.
A flash in her mind—
His hand brushing over the fabric while she adjusted the collar of his coat.
A touch that lingered a second too long.
A steady gaze… nothing to do with orders or protocol.
Another memory—
She had been sitting by the window during the preparations.
She glanced up by chance…
And found him watching her.
Not like a king observing a servant.
But like a man studying an idea.
Back to the room.
"When he came close to me at the banquet…"
Her voice is barely audible.
"It didn't feel like a king standing near a servant."
Silence.
Thorne steps closer again. Very close now.
"And you didn't tell me."
She lowers her eyes.
"I didn't think it was dangerous."
A faint smile touches his lips — without warmth.
"That… is exactly what makes it dangerous."
A long silence.
Then he lifts his hand slowly.
His fingers touch her chin gently, raising her face toward his.
"Look at me."
She hesitates.
Then she does.
In her eyes he sees everything—
confusion… curiosity… something she has not yet named.
He whispers,
"You have no idea what you do when you walk into a room."
Her eyes widen.
"And no idea what that might do… to a man accustomed to taking what he wants."
Before he can say more—
A knock.
Soft.
Then again.
Thorne stills.
"Thorne?"
Ronald's voice.
"May I come in?"
Thorne steps back at last.
"Yes."
Ronald enters, dressed simply for the night. No formality.
In his hand is a letter sealed with royal red wax.
His expression is serious.
"It just arrived."
He looks at Selys.
"It is addressed to you."
A heavy silence.
The royal seal gleams in the firelight.
The parchment is fine… the kind reserved for private correspondence.
Thorne stares at it.
Then murmurs,
"So it begins."
Ronald leaves quietly.
The door closes.
Selys holds the letter.
She does not tremble.
She does not step back.
She only studies the seal.
"Open it," Thorne says.
She does.
Her eyes move across the lines.
A personal summons.
Attendance at sunset.
No official escort.
For a very brief moment…
Something passes through her eyes.
Not fear alone.
Curiosity.
"It invites only me."
Not a question.
A fact.
Thorne watches her.
"You want to know why."
She looks up at him quickly.
"Of course I want to know."
Silence.
Then, softer,
"Don't you?"
He steps closer.
"Be careful of the questions you choose to ask."
Not a threat.
A warning.
"I'm not afraid," she says.
Then, almost a whisper:
"I only want to understand."
He looks at her for a long moment.
A cold realization passes through his eyes.
"Understanding is never innocent."
The fire crackles.
Outside, the wind shifts direction.
And for the first time…
Selys wonders whether she has just stepped into something
she will not be able to step out of.
---
She is still holding the letter.
She opens it again slowly.
The paper is thick.
The scent faint — wax and a subtle fragrance not used in ordinary correspondence.
Her eyes move over the lines.
An invitation to attend a "routine review of palace staff records."
A standard administrative procedure.
But—
The final line is different.
"You are requested to attend personally at sunset."
Not "the staff."
Not "the assigned group."
You.
Alone.
She lowers the letter slowly.
"It's a records review."
Her voice is steady.
Thorne does not reach for it.
"In that wording?"
She glances at it again.
"It happens every year… but never on a fixed date."
A small hesitation.
"And usually the invitations are delivered the same day to avoid… alteration."
"Alteration of what?"
"Whispers."
She looks at him.
"So fear does not arrive before truth."
Silence.
Thorne steps closer.
"Is accompaniment allowed?"
She lifts her eyes to his.
Here is the moment she had not planned —
not weak,
not defiant,
just honest.
"Servants may be accompanied by a family member… up to the entrance."
She pauses.
Lowers her gaze slightly.
"If you wish."
A long silence.
The fire dims further.
She looks at him shyly… but does not withdraw the offer.
"Do you want my consent… to accompany me?"
A small question.
But not small at all.
It is a request for protection.
And an admission that she does not wish to go alone.
Thorne studies her.
He sees something new in her eyes.
Not fear.
Awareness.
He knows this is not merely a review.
And he knows the king does nothing without reason.
At last, he reaches out… takes the letter from her.
Folds it slowly.
"You will not go alone."
He does not raise his voice.
He does not declare war.
But in his tone there is a promise.
And an unspoken threat.
The fire dies down completely.
And the night… grows heavier.