POV: Lyra.

Three days.

Three nights since the kiss that split him open. Since he vanished from my reach like mist on cold glass.

No word. No knock.

Just his absence echoing louder with each breath I took.

Not at breakfast.

Not in the gardens.

Not even in the halls where shadows whispered his name.

And today, like the days before, I walked into the great hall to find only one thing waiting for me.

The seat that stayed empty.

This morning, the air was colder than usual. Or maybe that was just me. The chill that came with being watched, but not welcomed.

Alina adjusted the fold of my sleeve gently as we walked. “Don’t hold your breath today,” she whispered.

“I’m not.”

“You are. Like you’re bracing for a sword.”

I didn’t answer. She was right.

I always held my breath before stepping through that door.

The court was already gathered. Velvet and silver, bone-white skin and polished malice. I had begun to memorise the placement of the nobles by now. The ones who greeted me with masked civility. The ones who didn’t bother.

And the one who always stared like he was trying to measure my weight in blood.

Daron Drayveil.

He sat with perfect posture, a single ring glinting on his finger, eyes dark with calculation. He didn’t smile. He never did.

Marcus, at least, offered a nod and a raise of his goblet when I entered. A silent toast. Or pity.

And beside them all was Caspian’s chair. Unused. The silver rim of his goblet, still unlifted.

I lowered my gaze and sat where I always did: beside the absence he left.

“Princess Velinor,” came King Malric’s voice, smooth as stone. “How gracious of you to join us again.”

I met his gaze. “Drayveil feeds its guests. I’d be foolish not to accept.”

A few nobles chuckled at that. It wasn’t meant to be witty, but I was learning the game. Say little. Bleed less.

The king's stare lingered for a bit longer before he turned away, uninterested.

Then she spoke.

“I find it fascinating,” Selene Vael said lightly, “how well she carries herself in silence.”

She was seated two chairs down, gleaming in black silk again, her gown threaded with something that sparkled like frostbite. Her visible neckline revealed bite marks, as if she wanted everyone to see them. She hadn’t spoken to me directly since the wedding. But now, her voice rang clear through the chamber.

“A woman with no standing, no ties, no lineage strong enough to command... and yet, here she is. Cloaked in Drayveil silk and seated beside a throne she hasn’t earned.”

The air in the room didn’t shift. That was what frightened me.

No one looked surprised. Just... curious to see what I’d say.

I turned to her slowly. “Sometimes silence is strength.”

“Mm,” Selene replied, eyes narrowing. “Or sometimes, it’s the sound just before collapse.”

Marcus let out a soft whistle. “Don’t poke her too hard, Selene. She might surprise you.”

“She already has,” Selene murmured.

She wasn’t looking at me anymore.

She was looking at the seat beside me.

Still untouched.

Still cold.

Still his.

After breakfast, I didn’t linger.

I walked the long halls quickly, not caring who watched. I needed air. Walls pressed too tightly in this castle. Whispers clung to the arches. Every time I passed a servant, I wondered if they were loyal to the king or someone worse.

The truth was, I didn’t know who I could trust. Not Alina, not Tayla, not even myself. My body was still warm from a kiss three days old. My chest still ached from the sound his voice didn’t make.

And worse than silence...

I missed him.

A man I barely knew. A prince who didn’t want me. A monster, cursed and cruel and haunted.

But I missed him anyway.

I didn’t know what to make of that.

Maybe it was the magic. Maybe it was the mark the kiss left behind. Or maybe... maybe I’d begun to see something behind his cold eyes. A flicker of pain that mirrored my own.

When I turned the corner, I nearly collided with someone waiting just beyond the arch.

“Apologies,” the voice said smoothly.

Daron Drayveil.

He didn’t move out of the way.

“You walk like you’re trying to outrun something.”

“Maybe I am.”

He tilted his head, considering. “Do you think he’s avoiding you because he hates you? Or because he’s afraid of what he might do if he doesn’t?”

I said nothing.

He stepped closer. “You’re not like the others. That much is obvious.”

“And yet I’m treated exactly like them.”

His eyes darkened. “No. You’re still breathing. That’s the difference.”

I swallowed.

He leaned in, voice low. “If I were you, I wouldn’t take that chair beside him tomorrow. It’s cursed, you know. Everything it touches breaks.”

He left without waiting for a reply.

And I was left in a hallway of whispers, wondering if I’d already started to crack.

Because the longer I sat beside that cursed seat, the more it felt like it was swallowing me whole.