Tied to the Throne

chapter thirty

I find myself reclining in my bed, gazing up at the expanse of the ceiling above. The room is steeped in darkness, with only a faint glimmer of moonlight filtering through the half-drawn curtains. Time seems to slip away as I lose myself in the stillness, my eyes fixated on the blank expanse of white paint that adorns the ceiling. It stretches out like an untouched canvas, an empty void devoid of life.

In the hushed solitude of the night, I yearn for solace, for a connection to something greater than myself. And so, my gaze wanders, searching for consolations amidst the vast emptiness, as if the very act of staring at the ceiling could transport me to a realm where stars would twinkle and galaxies would unfurl in all their ethereal splendor. But the white paint holds no such magic. It remains unyielding, devoid of the comforting embrace of celestial bodies.

An idea flickers in the recesses of my mind, a spark of inspiration in the midst of desolation. Perhaps, I ponder, I could immerse myself in the art of painting and recreate the night sky above me. With a palette of blues and purples, specks of silver and gold, I could bring the stars to life on this blank canvas. The thought brings a glimmer of hope, a whisper of possibility, as I imagine a masterpiece unfolding on the ceiling above. The stars, meticulously painted, would become my source of solace and refuge, offering a comforting illusion of the vast cosmos within the confines of my room.

Lost in the enchantment of my daydreams, the celestial brushstrokes of my imagination poised to transform the mundane white ceiling into a tapestry of stars, a soft knock at the door breaks through the reverie. Startled, I jolt upright, the remnants of my creative vision dissipating like smoke in the wind. The echo of the knock lingers in the room, disrupting the tranquility that had enveloped me moments before.

With a mixture of curiosity and reluctance, I call out, "Who is it?" My voice, tinged with a trace of longing, betrays the slight disappointment at having my artistic aspirations interrupted. Silence fills the air for a moment, as if even the room itself holds its breath, anticipating the answer.

A familiar voice responds from the other side of the door, its timbre sending a shiver down my spine. "It's me," the voice says, soft yet unmistakable. My heart skips a beat, and my mind races to make sense of the impossible. Could it be...? Could it really be him?

Tentatively, I approach the door, my hand reaching out to grasp the doorknob. With trembling fingers, I turn it, allowing the door to swing open, revealing the figure standing before me. Nikolai. It is him, his familiar features etched with an aura of mystery and uncertainty.

Our eyes lock, a thousand unspoken words passing between us in that singular moment. The weight of our shared history, the joys and sorrows that we once knew, bears down upon the room. For a heartbeat, time stands still as I search his eyes, longing for answers, yearning to understand the depths of his absence.

"Nikolai..." I whisper, my voice barely audible, emotions swirling within me like a tempestuous sea. Questions hang heavy on my tongue, each word fighting to be spoken, but I find myself unable to form a coherent sentence. His mask is nowhere to be seen. There is a mix of trepidation and hope, uncertainty and desire, all intertwined in the depths of my being.

He steps forward, his presence filling the room with an intensity that cannot be ignored. The air crackles with unspoken tension as he opens his mouth to speak, his voice laden with the weight of regret and longing. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, his eyes conveying a depth of emotion that words fail to capture.

He comes in and shuts the door softly.

I need to talk to him.

We need to talk about what happened.

As he walks in, he goes and sits cautiously on my bed. I almost unconsciously follow in tow.

Before he can start talking I do, "Nikolai," I say, my voice trembling with a mix of anguish and desperation. The weight of my emotions hangs heavy in the air, casting a palpable tension between us. I reach out, my hand trembling slightly as I gently touch his arm, silently pleading for his attention. "I don't care what you did. Just... just tell me you don't feel anything for her," I pause, my eyes searching his face for a glimmer of reassurance. But he cannot meet my gaze, his eyes averted, avoiding the raw vulnerability that lingers between us.

My heart sinks as I continue, the words heavy with a mix of pain and longing. "Look me in my eyes and tell me it meant nothing," I implore, my voice trembling with a raw edge of desperation. Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating, punctuating the unspoken void that exists between our fractured connection. It is as if the weight of his unspoken truth looms over us, leaving my heart suspended in an agonizing limbo.

A surge of frustration courses through my veins, tears welling up in my eyes as I struggle to find the right words. "I know we both didn't want this marriage," I admit, my voice breaking. "But... fuck, Nikolai, I started to like you- no, I love you, and I hate myself for it," I confess, my voice choked with emotion. The vulnerability hangs in the air, a delicate plea for the reassurance I so desperately crave.

"I don't care about anything else right now. I need you to tell me that fucking her meant nothing," I whisper, my voice both pleading and defiant.

Silence stretches between us once again, a painful void that amplifies my anguish. Frustration boils within me, anger mingling with the sting of betrayal. "God dammit," I cry out, my voice filled with a mixture of pain and disbelief.

"I thought you liked me too! I thought you felt the same way that I did for you, but no!" The words escape my lips in a torrent of raw emotion, the tears streaming down my face as my heart shatters with each passing second of his continued silence.

And in that moment, as the silence persists, a bitter realization settles upon me. "You told me you loved me!" I exclaim, my voice a desperate plea tinged with disbelief.

"Did that mean nothing? Was it all a goddamn lie?" The question hangs heavy in the air, the heartbreaking truth leaving me feeling shattered and betrayed. The silence that follows echoes with a painful truth, leaving me to grapple with the wreckage of my shattered expectations.

I know he's avoiding eye contact, and it's driving me crazy. I reach for his chin and grip it tightly, turning his face towards me. His skin is warm under my fingers, and I can feel the roughness of his beard stubble against my palm. I press my thumb into the hollow under his jaw, holding him firmly in place.

"Look at me," I plead, my voice shaking with emotion. His eyes meet mine, and I can see the guilt written all over his face. I want him to feel the weight of my disappointment, the depth of my hurt. I lean in closer, my breath hot against his skin.

"How could you do this to us?" I say, my voice barely above a whisper. He doesn't answer, and the silence between us is heavy with unspoken accusations. I release his chin and step back, feeling the tears spill over.

"I-" a small whisper comes out of his mouth. The words are so quiet I cannot hear them at all.

I wait for him to continue, a chance of redemption, a second chance.

The offer is left untouched.

"Get out," I tell him with all the energy I have left. I do not have time for him to sit here and pity himself.

It was his mistake.

I will not be burdened with the task of forcing him to undo the damage he has caused.

Nikolai P.O.V

I had to act like I feel nothing.

I swore I would never get attached, never let anyone in, and I did. I betrayed my only rule, and look where that left me; guard down, vulnerable.

I can't, it won't happen again.

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1412 words