13. The Version of Him I Heard

I sat in the garden. Just sat. Nothing in my hands. No book to pretend I was immersed, no tea to sip like I was enjoying the breeze. No fake peaceful face to convince anyone I was okay.

Just air. Just that patch of sunlight between two trees. I kept staring at it like it owed me answers.

The birds chirped like the world wasn’t collapsing. Like gods weren’t rotting from the inside out and men weren’t still kneeling for crumbs.

Then he came.

Boots on stone. That familiar gait, always calm. Except today, it wasn’t.

Davian looked… scraped out. Not tired. Not the kind of thing sleep fixes. This was hollower. Like someone had taken the real parts and left the outline.

He stopped by the bench. Didn’t sit. Didn’t even greet me.

"They wouldn’t let me in," he said, voice clipped at the edges.

I blinked. "The High Lunarch?"

He nodded, jaw like stone. "I tried. Sent a letter through the steward. Waited three hours. They sent one of his aides. A kid. Barely grown. Said the Lunarch was meditating and ‘not receiving suggestions from common advisors.’"

The way he said that...he didn’t raise his voice, but it still cracked something too bitter.

I raised a brow. "So that’s it?"

He looked at me. "What would you have me do? Break in? Drag him out by the robe and force him to listen?"

But I didn't say anything.

It wasn’t loud. But it hit harder than if he’d shouted. The kind of tone that shuts doors in your face before you even reach them.

I didn’t flinch. Just leaned back and let the silence do its thing. My fingers brushed the edge of my sleeve, like they were looking for something to hold on to.

"You said he believed in the witches," I said softly. "Maybe there’s—"

"Cessalie."

He cut me off. Not cruel. Just… done. Like a full stop. Like he’d already decided I was wrong, and it didn’t need to be said out loud.

My mouth closed.

That was it, then.

All the times he said I was right. That I should’ve ruled. That he trusted me. It all meant nothing when things actually started to burn. I was still just the girl beside the Duke. The audience to his war. The soft voice meant to keep him from breaking.

I nodded once. Tight. "Alright."

He sighed. Looked away. Maybe he regretted the tone, maybe not. He didn’t say anything. I didn’t expect him to.

His hand found mine. Squeezed it gently. And for a second, I wanted to rip it away. Not because it hurt. But because it didn’t.

Because that’s how it always starts, doesn’t it? Gentle hands. Tired voices. Soft apologies. Then one day, they stop being soft.

Just because I didn’t flinch doesn’t mean I wasn’t scared.

He kept talking after that. Said something about the border negotiations. Something about the council dragging their feet again. Names. Numbers. Strategic shifts.

I didn’t hear any of it.

I nodded when I had to. Blinked when he looked at me, so he’d think I was still there. But my head was far, far away. Somewhere under that patch of sunlight, where things still felt soft and stupid and safe.

And then eventually, he left.

He said my name again, soft this time. Like a truce. I didn’t answer.

He hesitated, like he was waiting for something, maybe a goodbye, maybe forgiveness. I didn’t offer either.

The crunch of his boots faded down the path. A bird chirped right after. Like it had been holding its breath.

I stayed on the bench. Still staring at the light between the trees.

Still waiting for it to tell me something.

It didn’t.

I sat there a little longer after he left, I didn't know how long. Time didn’t exist in that garden, only that patch of sunlight that had stopped glowing the second he walked away.

Eventually, I stood. My legs ached, but I didn’t realize they’d gone numb until I moved.

I didn’t go to my chambers. Didn’t want to hear Rena asking if I needed tea or if I’d like the window open. I left the estate grounds, past the guards, past the path, into the deeper woods where they waited for me.

Roxy was the first to notice as always. She hopped forward, her big cheetah like body brushing my side. Vonyr stood behind her like a stone tower, tall and thick and protective as always, ears twitching. Athen dropped down from the trees, wings folding, head tilted like he already knew something was off.

I sat down on the grass in front of them. Crossed my legs. Exhaled.

"I think he showed me the future today," I said, not even sure which one of them I was talking to. Maybe all. Maybe none.

Roxy pressed her head against my arm, warm and familiar.

"He didn’t shout. He didn’t hit. He just… said my name. That’s it." My voice cracked. "And still, I was scared."

Athen lowered himself beside me, his massive form curling a little so he could rest his chin near my feet. Vonyr stood guard behind me, like a wall that could walk.

"I know he’s not like my father. I know that. But the way he said it…" I paused, fingers curling into the grass. "It was like I heard the version of him that’s going to exist a few years from now. The one who stops softening. The one who doesn’t listen when I speak. The one who gets angry when I challenge him, and not in a way that starts a discussion, but in a way that ends me."

I swallowed. My chest hurt.

"I thought he was different."

My voice got smaller.

"I needed him to be different."

Roxy made a little whimper sound, one of her paws sliding into my lap. I didn’t cry. Not really. Just sat there with my jaw clenched and my eyes burning and that same patch of sunlight from the garden still stuck behind my eyelids.

It’s weird how much it can hurt....someone just saying your name wrong. Not the pronunciation. The meaning behind it.

Like I was back in that palace again. Back in the dining room with my father. Back in those moments where you can’t tell if someone loves you or was just tolerating the version of you that doesn’t make noise.

I rested my head against Roxy’s fur.

"I’m so stupid," I whispered. "So fucking stupid."

Roxy made a soft, frustrated grunt, like she disagreed. Like she’d bite the throat of anyone who dared call me stupid, including me.

Vonyr let out a low, almost inaudible rumble from his chest. That sound he makes when he senses I’m spiraling. Not danger exactly, but something worse. Something inside.

"I didn’t even say anything wrong," I muttered. "I was just trying to help. Just said there might be another way, that maybe the High Lunarch wasn’t a dead end and—"

I stopped. My throat burned again.

"—and he shut me down. Just like that. One word. My name. Like I was talking too much. Like I needed to be silenced."

Athen shifted beside me, his long tail curling around my ankle.

"It’s not fair," I said, staring at the dirt. "Why do men always do this? They let you speak just enough to feel safe. Just enough to trick you into thinking your voice matters. But then the moment you cross some invisible line, it flips. You're not the girl they love anymore. You’re the problem."

The trees were quiet, listening like old friends. I hated how much comfort I found in their silence. How much safer this forest felt than stone walls and warm beds and men with kind eyes and sharp voices.

"I knew it was coming," I whispered. "Somewhere in me, I always knew. That the first time he raises his voice, or loses patience, or looks at me like I’m wrong, it’ll change everything. And now…"

I hugged my knees.

"Now it’s started."

No screaming. No hitting. Just a shift. A new layer of fear planted in the cracks of something I almost trusted.

Roxy nuzzled into me hard enough to knock me off balance. I didn’t complain. Just buried my face in her fur and closed my eyes.

"He’s not my father," I mumbled, as if saying it would make it truer.

"But that doesn’t mean he’s safe."

I couldn’t cry. My tears had dried so long ago, somewhere back in childhood, when they stopped meaning anything. I just told my children everything like I always did, like they were the only ones who’d ever understand, and then I headed back to my chambers.

As soon as I shut the door, I threw myself on the bed, face buried in the pillows like they could smother the memory of that moment.

"I don’t want to see him again," I muttered into the fabric. My voice came out muffled and shaky. "How dare he—"

Wait.

Something was off.

There was something. I saw it when I walked in, just out of the corner of my eye, but I was too wrapped up in myself to register it. Now, a pulse of dread flared in my chest.

I lifted my head and turned slowly toward the window.

And there it was.

A desk.

A whole damn desk. Neatly tucked under the window frame, with a plain wooden chair pushed in like it had been there forever. Like it belonged.

But it didn’t.

I never had a desk. Never. My room had always been intentionally barren. Father said it was to "remind me of discipline." No desk, no workspace, no comfort items. Just a bed, a dresser, a modest shelf for books, and a single sofa. That was it. That was all I was allowed.

But this… this was new.

I pushed myself off the bed and walked toward it, slow, cautious, like it might disappear if I blinked too fast.

The desk was a deep brown, made from polished oak, the grain clean and smooth. The corners were gently curved, as if someone had filed them down with care. Not something fancy. But not rough either.

There were a few things on top. A stack of parchment. A small ink bottle, a feathered quill, a candle in a glass jar. There was even a little wooden tray with pressed flowers laid out inside it, like a keepsake. Like someone had tried to make it mine.

And the chair was pulled in perfectly, as if waiting for me to sit.

I reached out slowly, fingertips brushing over the top sheet of parchment. It was smooth, untouched, probably new. But underneath it, something rustled.

A single slip of paper.

Folded once, tucked just enough to hide, like it didn’t want to be seen unless I really looked.

I pulled it out with careful hands, suddenly nervous. Like it might vanish if I blinked.

And then I read it.

My apologies for my behaviour today. This is a small apology for the girl who loves to read.

Just that.

My breath caught. Eyes widened.

Davian sent it.

He… noticed.

He saw it. The shift in my face, the silence, the way I didn’t follow him out. He noticed that his tone, that one word, my name had bruised something I kept hidden deep.

A warmth unfurled in my chest. Slow and shy. Like a candle flickering in a cold room.

He saw me.

And maybe… maybe he wasn’t like my father after all.

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