4

As Thalia moved down the corridor, her footsteps reverberated off the castle's stone walls, and the night air was heavy with an uncanny silence. Her restless thoughts would not let her sleep, even though it was late—much later than she should have been strolling the hallways. The eerie quiet of the night, which mirrored her own loneliness, had become familiar to her.

A faint sound—a low murmur of laughter—that was so intimate that it halted her in her tracks as she passed the door of Killian's quarters. A peculiar mixture of dread and hope twisted in her breast, making her heart flutter. Her husband frequently hosted parties in his room, but there was something unique about this laughter. She couldn't ignore how soft and warm it was.

Thalia strained her ears and stood motionless for a minute, her palm still on the stone wall. It seemed as if her body moved on its own initiative, even though she shouldn't have been listening or seeking such a fleeting moment of love. Her feet propelled her ahead, drawing her in the direction of the sound she could not ignore.

The weight in her chest got intolerable as she approached, and the murmur of voices became more distinct. Killian's voice was unmistakably familiar, rich and low, almost loving. The silence was soon broken by a woman's lighthearted, playful laugh, which Thalia was all too familiar with. Astrid.

Without thinking, Thalia's hand grabbed the door's edge and slightly opened it. Something in her heart, something cruel and relentless, kept her there when she should have turned around and walked away.

She caught sight of them. With his head tilted back in laughing, Killian sat on the side of the bed, staring at Astrid. Astrid stood before him, her body close enough to Thalia that the suffocating clutch of jealousy tightened her chest. Thalia gasped as she saw Astrid bend over and remove a lock of hair from Killian's forehead, her fingers lingering too long and too close.

Something gentle, something that made Thalia's stomach turn, was in the way they gazed at one another. That was not how Killian was observing her. He didn't.

Astrid murmured, her voice a lovely, poisoned whisper, "Killian, you should have known." "Someone like me was always meant for you."

With each phrase, Thalia's heart broke. She was enraged by the treachery and the harsh reminder that she was merely a political decision. He didn't consider her a lover. He didn't give a damn about her.

Killian whispered, "Don't say that," but his voice was too weak to be persuasive. If it weren't so cold and practiced, the way his hand glided over her side would have been intimate. "You are aware that I have made my choice."

Thalia was unable to breathe. Her body shook with a range of emotions as she stood motionless at the doorway. She ought not to be present. She wasn't supposed to be there. However, the scene in front of her was now ingrained in her memory, and she was unable to turn away.

Astrid's keen eyes spotted Thalia standing in the threshold as she turned to face the door. Her eyes were devoid of shame and surprise. There was only the faintest smirk, a smirk that made Thalia feel smaller than ever before, a smirk that curled her lips.

Thalia's blood ran cold as Astrid said, "Oh, look who's here," with a nice, syrupy tone. "The Luna." How unexpected.

As Thalia struggled to speak, her throat constricted. She looked at Killian, hoping for anything, anything at all. However, his gaze stayed icy and aloof, with not even a glimmer of astonishment showing on his face. There was more resignation in his eyes than anything else.

Thalia muttered, "Killian," her voice breaking under the stress of the situation. "I apologize for interrupting."

"Did you not?" Astrid cut her off, approaching her with the slick elegance of a predator. Her grin was tinged with derision. "You've always been so willing to be involved. But you're not welcome here, Thalia, as we both know. Not at all.

Astrid's comments struck Thalia with such intensity that her knees went wobbly. This had never been her place. Not in this castle. In this marriage, no. In Killian's life, no.

Thalia stumbled, her voice scarcely audible above a whisper, "I—I'm sorry." The apology seemed strained and hollow, like it was the only thing that could be said. She ought to have told the truth or sought answers, but all she could do was offer this vacuous apology.

Astrid grinned more broadly, her eyes glimmering with victory. "You are, of course," she responded. But, sweetheart, it's too late. He never intended for you to be his.

As though the room itself had pushed her away, Thalia stumbled backwards as the words struck her like a physical blow. She felt like screaming. As the lady who had always been her husband's true love grinned down at her like a predator over its prey, she wanted nothing more than to stand here, humiliated, in the doorway of his chambers.

Killian eventually said, "Go," in a chilly, clipped voice. The voice wasn't that of a husband attempting to shield his wife. The voice wasn't that of a man caught between two loves. It was an order. A dismissal.

Thalia's breathing became labored. Now she was unable to even look at him. All she could do was nod, her body acting automatically as she turned and ran from the room, despite her need to scream and rip things apart.

As she staggered down the hall, her chest constricted with terror and stifling humiliation, the castle walls appeared to close in about her. In order to avoid being reminded of her insignificance, she desired to flee—far, far away—where no one could track her down.

Thalia continued until she arrived at her own rooms, where she slammed the door shut and collapsed to the ground. The weight of the treachery pressed between her ribs as her heart pounded in her chest. He had never had her. She had always existed only as a label, a political pawn.

What about Killian? He would never be different. Astrid would always have him.