The World Cannot Know

Chapter 71

Matthew Wild

The celebration was in full bloom—music echoing off the high-arched ceilings, wine flowing like spring rivers, and laughter rising from every corner of the grand hall. The scent of roasted meats and spiced pastries mingled with perfume and candle wax, and silks rustled as nobles danced and drank beneath golden banners.

But I couldn't enjoy any of it.

I stood near the far edge of the ballroom, flanked by Arney and Alice, a cup of wine in my hand that I hadn't touched. My eyes kept drifting toward him—Sebastian. My king. My—

He was surrounded. Nobles, dignitaries, foreign emissaries. All leaning in, smiling, offering their toasts and their alliances, their empty praise. He wore his crown well, better than I'd expected. Like it belonged to him. Like he was born with its weight already stitched into his bones.

He hadn't looked my way once.

Not because he was ignoring me—I knew that. He was doing what he had to do. What a king does. But that didn't stop the tightness in my chest. Not after what his mother had said. Not after the way she'd cut my name from his lips like it was a shameful stain.

"You're going to snap that cup in half if you keep holding it like that," Alice murmured beside me.

I blinked and loosened my grip, realizing my fingers had gone white around the stem. "Sorry."

"You're not drinking," Arney pointed out, already on his third glass, red flush rising in his cheeks.

"I'm not celebrating," I said before I could stop myself.

They fell quiet, exchanging a look. Elizabeth approached then, saving me from having to say more. She handed me a small plate of something sweet, though I barely acknowledged it.

"You should talk to him," she said gently, not unkindly. "Before the night ends."

"I will," I said, forcing a smile. "When he's not the center of a thousand people's ambitions."

But I wasn't sure I believed it myself. Because no matter how brightly the chandeliers glowed, how beautiful he looked in royal gold and crimson, I couldn't stop hearing her voice in my head.

You should leave after the coronation.

And for the first time in weeks, I wondered if I actually would.

The noise of the hall dulled the second I stepped outside.

The cold kissed my skin, sharp and bracing, a contrast to the cloying warmth of wine and bodies inside. I leaned against the stone balustrade, drawing in a long breath. The moon hung full and pale over the gardens, the trees cloaked in spring green and silver light.

My thoughts were a mess of tangled threads—Sebastian's speech, the way he looked at me just before the Queen rose, her words echoing even louder now that the crown sat on his head. You should leave after the coronation.

"You're brooding," came a voice behind me.

I turned, startled. Katharina stood there in a deep blue gown, her hair swept into some intricate braid that reminded me just how royal she could look when she wanted to. But her expression was softer than it used to be—less cold, less cruel.

"You're the last person I expected out here," I said.

"I needed air," she replied, stepping beside me. "And wine doesn't do much for nerves anymore."

I let out a quiet chuckle, hollow at the edges. "Then you and I are out here for the same reason."

We stood in silence for a moment, both looking out at the empty garden. The tension between us was always there, but it had changed. No longer a battlefield—more like the ruins of one.