The Crowns Choice

❦ Chapter Twenty - Atlas ❦

It's been two days since she came to my room, and I haven't stopped thinking about it. The punishment—being confined here, away from her—was supposed to be a reprieve, a chance to cool down. But instead, it's only made everything worse. I can't get her out of my head, the way she looked, the way she felt. It's like she's imprinted on my mind, and every minute that passes is like sandpaper against my nerves.

I've been pacing for hours, wearing a path into the floor, trying to burn off this restless energy. But nothing helps. My mind keeps circling back to that night, to the feel of her hands on me, to the sound of her voice. I run a hand through my hair, trying to calm the storm inside me, but it's no use. I'm a mess, and I know it.

Only one more day, I remind myself. One more day, and then this punishment is over. Then I can see her again, talk to her, figure out what the hell is going on between us. But the thought doesn't bring me the relief it should. Instead, it feels like I'm counting down to something inevitable, something I can't escape.

I'm halfway through another lap when there's a knock at the door. My heart skips a beat, but I know it's not her. It's too early, too calculated. When I open the door, I find myself face-to-face with the king.

His presence fills the doorway, commanding and cold. My stomach drops, and I straighten instinctively. "Your Majesty," I greet him, my voice betraying none of the anxiety churning inside me.

"Atlas," he replies, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. His gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the untouched food, the general disarray. I stand by the door, waiting for the inevitable lecture.

"I'll get straight to the point," he says, his tone clipped. "If it were up to me, you wouldn't be here. In fact, you wouldn't be anywhere near my daughter."

The words hit like a punch to the gut, but I keep my expression neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it affects me.

"I understand, Your Majesty," I say evenly, though it's an effort to keep my voice steady.

"No, I don't think you do." He steps closer, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. "You're from Stratum Five, Atlas. A nobody. And no one from your Stratum will ever marry my daughter."

I swallow hard, the truth of his words hitting me like a ton of bricks. I've always known this, deep down, but hearing it from him, in such stark terms, feels like a death sentence. Still, I can't let him see how much it gets to me.

"I have no illusions about my place, Your Majesty," I reply, meeting his gaze with as much calm as I can muster.

"Good," he says, though there's no trace of approval in his voice. "Because I won't tolerate any more slip-ups. The next time you step out of line, you won't just be punished—you'll be gone. Out of the castle, out of The Crown's Choice, and out of her life for good."

The finality in his tone sends a shiver down my spine, but I refuse to back down. "Understood, Your Majesty."

He holds my gaze for a moment longer, searching for something—weakness, fear, anything he can use against me. When he finds nothing, he turns and walks toward the door, but not before delivering one final blow.

"Remember, Atlas," he says, his voice low and full of disdain. "You're here on borrowed time. Make sure you don't waste it."

And then he's gone, leaving me alone in the suffocating silence of my room. I exhale shakily, running a hand through my hair as the tension slowly drains from my body. His words replay in my mind, over and over, each one landing like a knife to the heart.

I knew this wouldn't be easy—I knew what I was getting into when I entered The Crowns Choice—but hearing the king's contempt laid out so plainly, the harsh reality of what I'm up against, it's more than I was prepared for.

For a moment, I stand there, trying to process everything, but it's no use. The room feels too small, too stifling, and I need air, space to think. I step outside, the cool night air hitting my skin like a balm, but it does little to ease the knot of tension in my chest.

I find myself wandering the gardens, the moonlight casting long shadows across the path. I try to focus on the sounds of the night, the rustle of leaves, the distant chirp of crickets, but all I can think about is her. Charlotte.

The way she looked that night—so strong, so vulnerable—like a different person. And the way she kissed me, with a desperation that matched my own, like she was clinging to me to keep from drowning. It's a memory that haunts me, even now.

I don't know what to do. The king's words have left me reeling, unsure of everything, and the weight of it all is crushing me. But even as I stand there, lost in the darkness, there's one thing I know for certain.

I can't walk away from her. No matter what the king says, no matter what the consequences might be, I can't let go.

Because deep down, I know that she needs me. And the truth is, I need her too.