I move quietly, as if reclaiming my space requires silence.
It's just Esther and me; no fanfare, no announcement. The palace is a living, breathing entity with eyes and ears in every marble corner. So, I say nothing. I don't need gossip rippling through the halls before Cassian sees it for himself.
I'm going back to the main chamber, the one we used to share. The one I hadn't stepped into since the night of the accident.
It's time.
I watch as Esther carefully unpacks my robes and personal effects, arranging them as if each piece of silk carries meaning and truthfully, they do. These aren't just clothes; they're fragments of the woman I was, stitched now with the woman I've become. A little more steel, a little less softness. But still his wife.
I take my time choosing new décor, gilded and warm. Velvet cushions in Cassian's favorite wine red. A new curtain to frame the tall windows, sheer enough to let the moonlight spill through. I replace the old oil paintings with bolder, modern pieces. Art that says, We're not where we were. We're starting again.
By the time we light the last of the scented candles, the room has transformed, not into a royal suite, but into a home. Our home.
I stand in the middle of the room, taking it all in, and finally, I breathe.
Then I glance out the window, the same one I used to dread facing. But something catches my eye.
The guards outside Cassian's private wing… they've changed.
I step closer, pulling the curtain slightly. Four new faces, all in standard royal uniform but positioned differently. Sharper formation. More alert. A new head of security?
I don't need to ask. Cassian did this. Quietly. On his own. A gesture I didn't expect, but one that speaks volumes. He's cleaning the house. Protecting me in ways I didn't know I needed protecting.
It makes my chest ache, in a good way.
"You're ready?" Esther asks behind me, her eyes soft with something like pride.
"Yes," I say, turning from the window. "Let's light the fireplace. He'll be back soon."
And when he returns, he won't find the cold shell of the woman who doubted him. He'll find the woman who chose to love him again.
Not because it's easy.
But because it's worth it.
***
It's well past midnight when I hear the sound of boots against marble and the muted hush of the outer door closing.
He's home.
The hearth crackles softly, casting golden shadows across the room. The sheer curtains sway slightly from the breeze I allowed in earlier, and the scent of damask rose oil lingers thick in the air. Every candle flickers in unison like they know something sacred is about to unfold.
I shift on the bed, our bed, draped in the sheerest ivory lace I could find. It's sensual without begging. Regal without trying. Delicate in all the places his hands once knew best.
The sheets are soft beneath me, warm from the fire, strewn with freshly plucked rose petals that glow like scattered rubies under the candlelight. I can hear my own heart, traitorous and eager.
The knock on the chamber door is brief, followed by the voice of a guard, uncertain but intrigued.
"My lord… the Crown Princess… she's returned."
A pause.
Then: "She's what?"
The handle turns. My breath stills.
Cassian steps in, shadowed in his travel cloak, royal insignias catching the firelight in flashes. There's dust on his boots, weariness in his eyes but when he looks up and takes in the room, all of that falls away.
He stops.
His gaze sweeps the room; the velvet drapes, the firelight, the art, the rose petals and then lands on me.
His lips part slightly, as if he can't trust his own voice.
"Celeste…"
I offer him a small smile, not coy, no games tonight. Just truth wrapped in satin and fire.
"Welcome home, my prince."
He doesn't move. Doesn't blink. His eyes devour me, slowly, reverently. As if he's unsure I'm real.
"You came back," he murmurs. "Here. This room."
"I never really left," I say softly. "Just lost my way for a while."
Cassian shuts the door behind him without taking his eyes off me. He drops the cloak to the floor, jaw clenched with restraint.
"You look like a sin I'll never recover from," he mutters, stepping closer.
I sit upright, letting the fabric of my nightwear slide subtly over my thighs. "Then you better prepare for damnation."
His laugh is dry, breathless. "You don't play fair, Celeste."
"Neither did you. Not when you touched me the way you did. And then left me to remember it alone."
In two long strides, he's at the edge of the bed. The fire dances across his face, painting him in gold and hunger. His hand brushes the sheet, fingertips grazing mine.
"It's been two months," he says.
"Two months of torture," I whisper.
"For both of us."
He leans in slowly, as if giving me the chance to stop him but I don't. I won't.
"Tell me this isn't a dream," he whispers against my lips.
I kiss him instead, deep and slow, like sealing a vow with breath and heat. He responds with a groan that vibrates through my skin. The weight of everything we've survived, everything still waiting to be unraveled, falls away. In this moment, there is only skin, fire, and the unbearable relief of homecoming.
He lays me back into the bed of petals, his body pressed against mine like he's afraid I'll vanish again.
"I missed you," I breathe, my hands tangling in his hair.
"You have no idea," he growls against my throat.
And as our bodies remember the language they once spoke fluently, the room blooms with heat and forgiveness, spoken not in words, but in every kiss, every touch, every desperate sigh of reunion.
Tonight, the crown and the kingdom can wait.
We have a marriage to reclaim.