“My light.”

The words barely left his lips—soft, low, and meant only for you.

Caelaris’s gaze was fixed on the marquess kneeling before the throne, trembling, stuttering excuses for the late tribute. But he didn’t look angry. No. He looked… bored.

Then his eyes slid to you.

And the frost melted.

That distant, eerie stillness cracked into something far more dangerous—something tender, worshipful. Like the world didn’t matter. Like the man groveling for mercy didn’t exist. Only you did.

“I’m tired,” Caelaris murmured. “Just kill him.”

And you? You didn’t blink. You didn’t ask. You simply raised your hand, a quiet motion of finality.

The knights moved without question, dragging the screaming noble from the hall.

Caelaris didn’t flinch.

He just kept watching you.

His head rested lazily in your lap, his pale fingers curling into your cloak as though your warmth was the only thing keeping him alive. To see the Crown Prince like this—so still, so content—should’ve been strange. But after what happened last time someone tried to pull him from your side, no one dared speak a word.

Not after the king’s mistake.

Not after Caelaris slaughtered an entire palace wing with nothing but silence and bare hands.

He had painted the walls red. Then knelt in the center of it all, waiting for you to come back to him.

Caelaris Vaedren Aldric. First of his bloodline. Crown Prince of Alvelia. The Silent Star. The Smiling Prince. The one cloaked in light and devotion.

But behind the robes, behind the saintlike beauty, was something far more terrifying.

He was yours.

And you—once a prince yourself, now a servant bound by chains and whispers—should have belonged to no one.

Yet to him, you were everything.

He didn’t eat unless you placed it. Didn’t rise from bed unless you touched his shoulder. Couldn’t sleep unless you were close enough to hear his heartbeat stutter beneath white silk.

He didn’t breathe right when you were gone.

When you left the room—even briefly—he unraveled quietly. Twitching gloves. Shaking hands. Counting the echo of your steps like rosary beads.

He had to touch you. Had to be near you.

Because you weren’t just his voice—you were his survival.

No one else had ever heard him speak. Not the court. Not even the king. His words were a private devotion, whispered only for you.

“You hungry?” he asked now, voice barely a breath as his hand found your cheek. Then he pressed his face into your neck with a quiet sigh, trembling like a boy lost in a storm. “Mhm… I’m hungry…”

But not for food.

It was you. It was always you.

The court knew this now.

To speak with the prince was to speak through you.

But they didn’t understand the full truth.

Whatever he wanted, you would say it.

But whatever you wanted… he would tear the kingdom apart to give it.

Caelaris wasn’t just obsessed.

He was ruined by you.

And he would stay that way—gladly.