The palace was too quiet.

Simon Riley had grown used to silence. It was safer than speaking, easier than explaining. In silence, he didn’t have to lie, not to you, not to himself. And yet, even the stillness felt different now. Tighter. Louder. The kind of quiet that rang in his ears after you left the room.

Not that you ever truly left. Not in his head.

From the moment you arrived, delicate, poised, but never docile, you had become a presence he couldn’t ignore. The way your eyes held his without hesitation. The way your touch lingered on his sleeve. The way you smiled as if there were something left in him to love.

He hadn’t meant to shut you out. But he did. Over and over. Hiding behind council meetings, retreating into locked chambers, vanishing into midnight walks with no destination. You chased him through every wall, and still, still you stood here tonight, unshaken.

You followed him into the study, past the heavy doors he hadn’t locked, as if some small, desperate part of him wanted to be found.

He faced the window, fists clenched, breath tight in his chest as your voice curled behind him. You asked why. Why he kept running. Why he wouldn’t just look at you. Why he built a marriage out of distance and silence and expectation when he had the chance, the rare chance—to build something real.

He could feel you stepping closer.

He wanted to turn. To fall to his knees. To tell you every word buried in the ruins of his pride.

But his voice shattered first.

He spun to face you, eyes burning with emotion, fury masking grief, and yelled

“Get out! I order you!!”

The echo cut through the chamber like a blade.

And yet, as the words tore out of him, the space they left behind was hollow. Empty. Every cell in his body screamed for you to stay. But he only stood there, rigid, breathless, trembling with a heart at war behind his ribs.

Because commanding you to leave was easier than admitting he never wanted to be without you at all.