adjust the strap of my leather bag as I step out of the car. The university's grand columns loom ahead like old friends welcoming me home. My limp is much better now, thanks to weeks of physiotherapy. But the emotional limp? That's healing at its own pace.
Cassian insists on walking me in. "You sure you don't want me waiting through your first class?" he asks, tucking his hands in his pockets, sunglasses low on his nose.
I smirk. "And let the entire law department believe the Crown Prince has trust issues?"
He chuckles but doesn't deny it. "Can you blame me?"
I glance at him, softer now. "No. I actually love that you're here."
He walks beside me, his steps deliberately slower to match mine. "I rearranged a board meeting in Kinthari just to be here."
"You didn't have to," I say, though I'm glad he did.
"I needed to," he replies. "We promised each other — no more gaps, no more assumptions. I'm going to be where I say I'll be."
We reach the lecture hall entrance, and I pause. "They're going to stare. The professors, my mates..."
"Then let them. You're my wife. They'll get used to it."
There's a warm silence between us. A couple of students glance in our direction, whispering. Cassian leans close, just enough for me to feel his breath.
"I'll pick you up after class. Text me if you need anything."
I nod, holding his gaze. "Thank you."
He taps my chin with a soft finger. "We're rebuilding, Celeste. One brick at a time."
I watch him walk away, blending back into his world of royal black cars and security details, while I head into mine—lecture notes, textbooks, and tort law.
Later that week, at the Royal Palace Garden, the therapist gently presses down on my thigh as I grit my teeth. "You're recovering quickly," she says with an encouraging smile. "You'll be running again in weeks."
Cassian is off to another province today, but his absence doesn't sting the way it once did. He left a handwritten note on my bedside table this morning: "You're stronger than you think. And you've got me, always. Don't forget your meds." A pressed violet from our garden was folded into the note. I carry it in my bag like a love letter to my strength.
Esther walks over with a smoothie tray. "The prince called three times already. I think he's trying not to smother you."
I laugh. "I'll allow a little smothering. Just until the limp is gone."
At night on a video call, Cassian appears on screen in his hotel room, jacket off, tie undone.
"How's the leg?"
"Better. My therapist says I might outrun you soon."
He smirks. "Impossible. I'm built for speed."
I raise a brow. "More like speed and scandal."
He sobers slightly, then says, "You trust me more now?"
I nod slowly. "Yes. I see the effort. It's not about perfection, Cassian. It's about being here, even when you're not."
He smiles. "That means everything."
I bite my lip, then ask, "Are we getting back to who we were?"
"No," he replies, "we're becoming better than we were."
***
The evening air is unusually calm, too calm for the storm I feel swirling beneath my skin. Sleep has become a stranger again, and I know why. My body is healing, the limp is almost gone — but my mind can't rest. Not when something so personal, so intimate, is still missing.
My diary.
The one that lived beneath the third drawer in my dressing table, locked and hidden away. The one I never went a day without writing in. Every fear, every suspicion, every name. Gone for months now.
Esther walks beside me in silence as we make our way to the guest chambers. I haven't told her why I need to see Nancy again. She doesn't ask. She knows my silence too well.
When the guard at the door bows and lets us in, the scent of lavender hits me first. Nancy's room is comfortable, more than comfortable. A soft bed with fresh linens, meals delivered on time, a view of the inner garden. She should thank me for not throwing her in the dungeon.
She rises the moment she sees me, instinctively falling to her knees. "Your Highness," she whispers. "Have you… come to release me?"
I fold my arms and laugh coldly. "Not on your life."
I move past her and sit, not on the ornate chair meant for guests, but the edge of her bed, my presence as casual as a queen can afford, but the steel in my gaze betrays my calm.
"I need more answers," I say simply.
Nancy tries to rise from her knees, but I lift a hand. "Stay down. I'm not done with you yet."
She stays still, eyes wide.
"Where's my diary?"
Her brows pinch. "Diary?"
"My diary," I repeat, voice sharper now. "The one you and your little cohort took from my private chambers."
"I don't know anything about that," she says, panicked.
"Liar."
"I swear I'm not lying!" she pleads. "My father never gave any order about a diary. We only acted on what he planned ... framing Cassian, the fake pregnancy, the threat notes. But a diary? That was never part of it."
I lean in slowly, watching every twitch in her face. "Nancy… listen to me carefully. That diary contains details about people, events, names, things even your father would kill to keep hidden. If it fell into the wrong hands…"
"I swear, Your Highness, I didn't take it. And if the guard had, he wouldn't have done it without my father's instructions. He doesn't take initiative. He only moves on orders."
Her voice doesn't shake. Her eyes hold steady. She's either become a perfect liar or… she's telling the truth.
I exhale, long and slow. "Fine."
I rise, turning without another word.
Esther follows me back through the stone corridors, her steps light behind mine. We're halfway down the hallway when I speak, more to myself than to her.
"If Nancy and her father didn't take my diary…"
I stop.
Esther looks at me, brows raised.
"Then it only means one person did."
My heart begins to thud again, not from fear, but the slow realization of betrayal threading through the palace walls. Someone I haven't confronted yet. Someone closer than Nancy ever was.
I whisper the name in my mind, but I don't dare speak it out loud.
Not yet.
Not until I'm sure.
Not until I have proof.
Not until the final mask falls.