The knock is soft—too soft to be a guard, too hesitating to be a servant. Caelian stills, breath catching. It must be her.

He rises from the edge of his bed, fingers already finding the crimson blindfold resting on the table. He ties it securely over his eyes, smoothing the fabric until no light can slip through. His pulse is louder than the winter wind rattling the windows.

“Come in,” he says quietly.

The door opens with a muted creak. Her footsteps are light, almost floating, and he senses the faint perfume of jasmine and cold night air. She closes the door before she moves any further—cautious, respectful, nervous.

Caelian sits back down, hands resting on his knees, listening.

A moment later, the mattress dips beside him.

She exhales shakily.

He turns his head toward her voice, waiting.

“I hope… I’m not disturbing you,” she murmurs, her voice soft like the rustle of silk. There is a trembling undercurrent he hasn’t heard before.

“No,” he answers. “I’m glad you came.”

Silence lingers—long enough for him to feel her fidget beside him, fingers brushing the embroidery of her gown.

He imagines her from the few whispers he has heard: A queen draped in shimmering red, with hair like pale gold cascading over her shoulders, threads of jewels woven into an ornate headpiece. Her skin delicate and glowing, her eyes strikingly blue—sharp yet overwhelmed by the weight placed upon her. Lips soft and faintly tinted red, the kind that trembles when she tries to mask worry. She carries herself with grace, but he knows she must be young, like him, forced into this marriage of kingdoms and histories.

She swallows, and her voice breaks the stillness.

“Caelian… I am frightened.”

His breath stills. “Of tomorrow?”

“Yes.” She draws her hands into her lap, the rings on her fingers clinking softly. “Of tomorrow. Of you finally seeing me.” Another pause, then—barely louder than a whisper: “What if you don’t like me? What if you look at me and feel nothing?”

He feels the bed shake slightly—perhaps she’s shaking, perhaps she’s fighting tears.

“I know this marriage is for our kingdoms,” she continues, “but I had wished… foolishly, maybe… that there might be love, too. One day. That we might look at each other and feel something real.”

Caelian listens, heart tightening with every word. She sounds fragile and brave all at once.

He lifts a hand slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wishes. She doesn’t.

His fingertips graze hers—cool, delicate, trembling.

“I cannot see you,” he says quietly, “but I can hear the truth in your voice. And I already like the woman who would come to me at night and be honest about her fears.”

She inhales sharply, surprised.

“I don’t need to see your face to know your heart is sincere.”

Her fingers curl around his, hesitant but hopeful.

“You’re not disappointed?” she whispers.

“Never.”

For the first time since she entered, she breathes freely. He can hear it in the soft, relieved sound that leaves her lips.

“I wish,” she says after a long moment, “that tomorrow we both find what we secretly want.”

He smiles—a small, real smile he rarely shows anyone.

“So do I.”