The World Cannot Know

Chapter 70

Prince Sebastian

The dawn was soft when it came—gold filtering through the velvet curtains, casting long slants of light across the stone floor and the tangled sheets beside me.

Empty.

I reached across the bed, fingers brushing only warmth fading into cold. The space where Matthew had slept was already abandoned. My brows drew together, and I sat up slowly, stretching the ache from my back, the weight of ceremony already pressing on my shoulders before I'd even stood.

I found him at the balcony.

He was leaning over the rail, arms braced, his silhouette bathed in early light. The morning wind stirred his hair, curled the edges of his loose shirt. The city stretched before him—banners fluttering on rooftops, bells beginning to chime in the distance, Kinsley waking in anticipation of the crown I was meant to wear.

He didn't turn when I approached. Just kept staring out, unmoving.

"You always sneak out of bed like a thief?" I asked, voice low, teasing.

A small smile touched the corner of his mouth, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Didn't want to wake you."

"You didn't," I said, wrapping my arms around him from behind, pressing a kiss into the crook of his neck. He leaned into me—softly, automatically—but I could feel the tension still coiled beneath his skin. Like something in him was bracing. "You've been quiet since yesterday."

Matthew didn't answer right away. His hands rested on mine, his thumb tracing slow circles, as if considering something he couldn't quite say.

"You're not having second thoughts, are you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light, though I could feel my heartbeat start to shift. "About standing beside me today?"

"No," he said quickly. Too quickly. Then he turned in my arms, his eyes darker than they should've been for a morning like this. "No second thoughts."

But still, he didn't look at me.

"Then what is it?" I pressed, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "Talk to me, Matthew. Whatever it is, we'll face it together."

His gaze flickered to mine—and then, suddenly, he kissed me.

Firm, insistent. Not rushed, not needy—but like he was trying to quiet something inside himself. My hands tightened around his waist, pulling him closer, returning it with just as much certainty, though something in my chest twisted at the way he clung to me. Like it was a goodbye he didn't want to say aloud.

I broke the kiss first, drawing back just slightly to study his face. "You know that doesn't work on me, right?"

Before he could respond, a knock echoed sharply against the chamber door.

Marcus's voice followed, muffled but urgent: "Your Majesty—apologies, but it's time. The procession's assembling."

Matthew stepped back, the mask already slipping back into place.

"I'll help you dress," he said.

I watched him for a moment longer before I nodded. But the knot in my stomach remained, tight and coiled. Whatever was pulling him away from me—it hadn't gone. Not yet.

And I wasn't sure it ever would.

...

The throne room had never felt so vast.

Gold banners draped the high walls, catching the morning light and painting the stone in rich warmth. Flowers lined the steps of the dais, their petals sharp with fragrance. Every noble, knight, merchant, and diplomat had gathered—shoulder to shoulder, murmuring like a hive of restless bees beneath the hush of expectation.