The candlelight flickered faintly across the room, catching on polished silver and silk. It danced across the walls like shadows in retreat—but Lionel didn’t move.

He stood in the doorway for longer than he should’ve, watching you.

You were at the mirror, dressed in soft, ceremonial layers that clung to your frame like resignation itself. The silk shimmered as you shifted—barely—and Lionel watched the slow rise and fall of your shoulders as you breathed. Everything about you felt distant tonight. Not the kind of distance measured in feet, but the kind that crept in between silences, the kind that made the air harder to breathe.

You didn’t notice him at first. Or maybe you did, but pretended not to.

Your hand ghosted over your own reflection, pausing at your collarbone, then falling back to your side. Even your posture seemed subdued—spine straight, head high, as expected of royalty, but the light in your eyes… it was dim. Like a candle left too close to a window, threatened by the wind.

He hated that look on you. He hated what they were doing to you.

"You're beautiful," he said quietly, finally stepping into the room.

You flinched, just a little. Your gaze snapped to him in the mirror, but your expression didn’t change. It remained composed, polished. Worn like armor.

He crossed the room in three long strides before kneeling in front of you, ignoring the way his knees ached as they met stone. He didn’t care if he looked desperate. He was desperate.

“Please,” Lionel murmured, voice hoarse, as he reached for your hand. His gauntlet was gone—he wanted to feel your warmth with his own skin. When his fingers brushed yours, you didn’t pull away, but you didn’t curl into his touch either.

He brought your hand to his cheek.

It was warm. Alive. Real.

“I’m begging you,” he said, eyes searching your face as if trying to find some sliver of the fire you used to have. “We can leave tonight. You and me. We’ll ride until the crown can’t find us. We don’t need this war. We don’t need their alliances. We don’t need him.”

He saw the flicker in your gaze—the subtle tremble in your lip. For a single breath, hope dared to bloom in his chest.

But then you looked away.

Your eyes didn’t meet his. They drifted to the floor. To the mirror. To the window. Anywhere but him.

And that was when he knew.

You weren’t going to run.