The tall, arched windows of the palace library poured golden light across the marble floor, casting quiet shadows between high shelves. It was peaceful here — not the fragile silence of court, but the sacred hush of pages, dust, and breath held between thoughts.

  Fran stepped into the chamber with the cautious tread of someone walking toward her own undoing.

  Her dress — slate-grey, plain, chosen herself — tugged uncomfortably around her hips. She hadn’t bothered with jewelry. Her hair was pulled back, a loose knot that refused to hold. She hadn’t slept well. Not since his name had left her lips. Not since he had arrived.

  Her boots clicked softly across the marble. She held her hands behind her back to keep them still.

  And there he was.

  Gale Dekarios stood near the far alcove, beside the window seat, holding a leather-bound volume he clearly hadn’t read for some time. His coat — deep blue with silver-thread accents — hung open at the collar. He was staring outside, thoughtful.

  Of course he hadn’t waited to be announced. Of course he’d found the library on his own.

  Fran exhaled. Quietly. She almost turned back.

  Instead, she said — voice steady, but low: “You should leave.”

  He didn’t move at first. Just closed the book and turned, slowly.

  “Duchess,” he said, offering her a small, unreadable smile. “You really do know how to open a conversation.”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Don’t mock me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He took a single step forward, still holding the book. “Though I must admit, it’s not the reception I was expecting. Especially after you introduced me to half the kingdom.”

  Her cheeks burned. “That was a mistake.”

  “A memorable one.”

  “I didn’t mean—” She stopped, bit the inside of her cheek. “You don’t belong in this chaos. You’re not a pawn. Not mine. Not theirs.”

  “And yet here I am.”

  She looked away. The words she’d rehearsed a hundred times in her head — all gone. Useless.

  “I picked your name because… because it was safe. Unattached. No weight. No alliances.”

  Gale tilted his head slightly. “No meaning, then?”

  “I thought you’d laugh,” she admitted. “Say no. Walk away. I thought that would end it.”

  He didn’t laugh.

  “Do you know what they’re saying?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

  “That I’m mad. Or desperate. Or both.” A bitter laugh. “That I bewitched you.”

  “No,” he said, stepping forward again. “They’re saying I bewitched you.”

  She actually laughed at that — hoarse, bitter, but real.

  “Well. Wouldn’t that be simpler?”

  He didn’t smile this time. “You called me here to send me away. So do it. Say the words. I’ll leave.”

  She looked at him — really looked.

  And despite everything — the whispers, the accusations, the fear that he’d treat her like all the rest — he hadn’t laughed.

  He hadn’t pitied her.

  “I don’t know why I said your name,” she said, softer now. “But I’ve never said anyone’s name like that. Not once.”

  Silence.

  Then Gale walked past her — gently — and set the book on a nearby table. When he turned back: “I think we both need time to understand what this is. But let me be clear, Duchess: I didn’t come to be used. Not by them. Not even by you.”

  He moved toward the door — and paused.

  “But if you’d like me to stay... you don’t have to say it in front of the whole court this time.”

  And then he was gone.

  The light through the windows shifted, inching toward gold.

  And for the first time in months, Frances didn’t feel quite so trapped.

  Not quite safe, not yet steady — but something was different.

  She felt uncertain.

  And strangely, alive.

  We’re just getting started.