The Crowns Choice

❦ Chapter Eighteen - Atlas ❦

Four days. Four days of pacing my room like a caged animal, back and forth, back and forth, the rhythm as relentless as the thoughts running through my mind. I can't shake the memory of that night on the rooftop—the sight of Rylan's hands on Charlotte, the fear in her eyes, the helplessness that gripped me like a vice. And then the anger, the blinding, all-consuming anger that took over when I saw her struggling beneath him. I hadn't even thought; I just acted, throwing myself at him like a man possessed.

Now, I'm stuck in this room, my punishment for breaking the rules. A week without seeing her. I should be relieved, grateful that my punishment isn't worse, but all I feel is this gnawing emptiness, this need to see her, to know she's okay.

I run a hand through my hair, my fingers catching on the tangles. I haven't been sleeping, haven't been eating. The food the servants bring just sits outside my door, untouched. It's piling up now, a silent testament to the state of my mind. I can't even bring myself to care. The thought of food turns my stomach; the only thing I want, the only thing I need, is to know that Charlotte is safe.

I go to the window, leaning my forehead against the cool glass. The palace grounds are quiet, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. It's late—everyone else is probably asleep by now, except for the guards patrolling the perimeter. I should be asleep too, but every time I close my eyes, I see her face. The way she looked at me when we found her, the way she clung to Kaius, trembling and broken.

A sigh escapes me, and I close my eyes, trying to block out the images. I've never felt so powerless, so useless. I'm supposed to be strong, supposed to protect the people I care about, but when it mattered most, I wasn't there. I was too late.

There's a knock at the door, soft but insistent, pulling me out of my thoughts. I hesitate, my hand hovering over the doorknob. Who could it be at this hour?

I crack the door open, and my breath catches in my throat. There she is—Princess Charlotte, standing in the dim light of the hallway, her face a mix of determination and something else, something darker. Her green eyes are bright, almost too bright, like she's barely holding herself together.

"Charlotte?" I whisper, my voice rough from disuse. I step back, opening the door wider to let her in. She slips past me, moving into the room with a kind of nervous energy, like she's not sure if she should be here but can't bring herself to leave.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, closing the door behind her. The room suddenly feels smaller, the air heavier with her presence.

She doesn't answer right away, her eyes darting around the room, taking in the mess—the untouched food, the unmade bed, the scattered papers on the desk. Finally, she turns to face me, and there's a look in her eyes that I can't quite decipher. It's like she's a different person tonight, someone I don't recognize.

"Pretend," she says quietly, the word hanging in the air between us.

"Pretend?" I echo, not understanding. What is she talking about?

She takes a step closer, her hand reaching up to the tie still hanging loosely around my neck. Her fingers brush against the fabric, sending a shiver down my spine. Then she grabs it, pulling me down toward her, her eyes locked on mine.

"Pretend," she repeats, her voice firmer this time, and then she kisses me.

For a moment, I'm too stunned to react, my mind struggling to catch up with what's happening. Her lips are soft and warm against mine, moving with a desperate kind of urgency. It's like she's trying to lose herself in the kiss, to forget everything that's happened, everything that's tearing her apart.

And then something snaps inside me, and I'm kissing her back, my hands coming up to hold her, to keep her close. The world falls away, and all I can think about is her—her taste, her touch, the way she fits against me like she's always belonged there.