The Halewyn estate smelled like polished floors, strained courtesies, and whatever perfume Mother decided screamed "perfect daughter." It was too sweet, honestly. Like honey hiding something rotten.
I sat still while the maid pinned up my hair, trying not to flinch when she tugged a little too hard. Across the room, Mother and Father were smiling at me. Smiling. At. Me.
Suspicious. Highly suspicious.
My brothers, as usual, hadn't even said hello.
"You look beautiful, darling," Mother said, clasping her hands. Her voice was sugary. It freaked me out more than when she ignored me.
I nodded slowly. "Thank you."
They'd never bothered before. So why now? Why the silk dress? Why the royal invitation? And why—most terrifyingly—were they treating me like I mattered?
Something was coming. I could feel it in my bones, and not in a cute, poetic way. More like in the "you're about to be shoved into something insane" way.
The carriage ride to the palace was a blur of gold and nervous glances.
I stared out the window while Lilia babbled beside me, more anxious than I was. Which was saying something.
"You don't think they're marrying you off, right? Right?" she whispered. "Wait, don't answer. I hate that look on your face, Eli. You're too calm. You're freaking me out."
"I'm not calm," I said. "I'm just...collecting data."
She groaned and smacked her forehead. "Oh gods. You're in logic mode."
Always. Especially when everything smelled like danger wrapped in brocade.
The ballroom was an avalanche of color, of light, of too many eyes.
I hated attention. But tonight, it was glued to me. The noble wives stared in dresses like they bled gold. The sons of dukes ogled. Jealous daughters whispered.
And at the front, beside the King, stood him.
The Crown Prince Cael Virellith.
Cold. Perfect. Terrifying.
And he was looking at me like he'd been waiting for years.
My breath caught. His stare was carved from ice and fire at once. Unreadable. Unyielding. And burning.
King Thomas's voice cut through the tension. "Tonight, I announce the engagement of my youngest son—Crown Prince Cael—to Elianna Halewyn."
The room exploded. Gasps. Whispers. A wine glass shattered somewhere. Lilia choked on air beside me.
I just stood there.
Frozen. Confused. Shocked.
Cael moved first. The crowd parted like he was the tide and they were nothing but sand.
He didn't walk—he stalked. Like a predator who'd finally found the prey he'd been waiting for.
When he stopped before me, he didn't ask. He took my hand. Claimed it.
His fingers were cold. I could feel it even through his gloves. His grip was...possessive.
And then, softly, dangerously: "Petal."
The nickname hit me like lightning. My mind reeled back
Age five. A garden party. I'd seen him sitting alone. Sad. Cold. So I gave him flowers.
"You look sad," I told him. "Flowers cheer me up."
He didn't smile. Until I tripped trying to pick up a fallen petal and burst into tears.
He laughed. Quiet, but real.
He never forgot. And neither did I.
Back in the present, my heart was slamming against my ribs.
He brought my hand to his lips, brushed a kiss against my knuckles like he was sealing a deal. Eyes locked on mine. And in that moment, everything else blurred.
"You've grown," he murmured, low so only I could hear.
I swallowed. "So have you."
He smirked. Dangerous. Dark. Like he was waiting to ruin me.
Across the room, Queen Herienette's face was pale. Cathleen Virellith—the ever-poised sister—looked ready to shatter her wineglass in two. And Selene Dorne?
Oh, she was glaring daggers. Literal. Daggers.
She had been soclose. Everyone knew it. Everyone thought she'd be the one on the Prince's arm.
Instead, she was watching me like she wanted to burn me out of existence.
And the prince—her prince—was still holding my hand like it belonged to him.
Later, in the quiet chaos of the side hallway, Lucas cornered me. Cael's ever-present right hand.
"You alright?" he asked, eyes scanning me like I was a battlefield.
"Define alright."
He chuckled, low and fond. "You didn't faint. That's a start."
"I don't faint," I muttered.
He raised a brow. "Sure."
Lilia joined us with a squeal. "You're famous now! Like, royal famous. And being fiancée of the cursed prince…. You're going to die. Or get assassinated. Or wear a crown!"
"Not sure which is worse," I muttered.
But I couldn't stop thinking about the way Cael had looked at me.
Like I was the only thing in the room.
Like I'd always belonged to him.
Flashback, age thirteen.
Cael was fifteen. There was a diplomatic meeting and I had gotten bored, wandering off to a side room with old scrolls.
I read something aloud. Didn't realize he was behind me.
"You read Old Virean?" he'd asked, startled.
I'd nodded, casually. "It's not hard. Just...needs pattern spotting."
He stared like I'd grown another head. Or maybe like he wanted to keep me.
Flashback, age sixteen.
Cael was eighteen. It was a celebration. I was dressed up. People were watching me for once. He'd stared at me all night. Intense. Silent.
At the end, when I'd stumbled out for air, he'd followed.
He didn't say much. Just stared.
And then, when I asked, "Why are you following me?"
He'd said, "I don't know yet. But I want to."
I hadn't slept that night.
Present.
The night ended. But not really. Because Cael didn't leave me alone. Not even for a second. And when we stood outside, the garden dark and quiet around us, he turned to me.
He was so close.
Too close.
But he didn't touch me.
Didn't kiss me.
Didn't move.
Just looked at me like I was already his.
And whispered, "You're the only thing I've ever wanted for myself."