Queen Isolde stood with her hands clasped in front of her, graceful and composed as ever, but there was a determined edge to her tone. "The temple and the royal family must find common ground again. It has been too long since our paths aligned. Perhaps," she said, glancing between Seraphina and her son, "a little walk would help."
Seraphina and Prince Kaeven both opened their mouths to politely decline, but the Queen's smile was already too fixed, her gaze too pointed. This wasn't a suggestion.
So they walked.
Through the marble corridors, past watchful guards and curious temple aides. The courtyards were blooming, and the early sun threw golden stripes across their path. Every priest, scribe, and acolyte they passed bowed low. The sight of Seraphina beside a royal stirred whispers and quiet awe.
She walked slowly, hands folded. Veiled as always. A vision carved from prayer.
He walked casually, hands tucked behind his back, chin slightly raised, his royal cape catching the breeze with every confident step.
To those who watched, it looked like harmony.
But their smiles were thin. Taut like bowstrings.
"You hate being here," she said softly, not looking at him.
Kaeven smirked. "I find hypocrisy unappetizing."
"And yet, your family is blessed by the Divine, no?" she murmured, still smiling for the observers.
"Ah, the Divine and the Temple are not the same thing, my lady." His voice was smooth. Too smooth. "The gods may be sacred. But those who claim to speak for them? That's another matter."
"You walk these halls with disdain," she said, "yet you sit on a throne only because of a Divine rite. Coronation with holy oil, blessed seal, sacred chants. All performed by the Temple."
His smile widened. "I didn't choose that tradition. I simply inherited it."
"So you're a puppet too," she said gently. "Dancing in gold robes because someone handed them to you."
He chuckled, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Touché. But at least I get to leave the palace. You—" he looked around, eyes lingering on the silent acolytes and guards, "—you seem more statue than saint."
She stopped walking for a moment, forcing him to pause beside her.
"I chose to stay," she said quietly.
"And yet, the way you walk—" he leaned a little closer, voice like a secret, "—it's always as if you're afraid to break something."
She turned her head slightly, just enough that he could see the edge of her smile behind the veil. "Maybe I'm just afraid of breaking people who can't handle the truth."
They resumed walking, the distance between them no longer wide.
"I must admit," he said, glancing sidelong at her, "I didn't expect you to have bite. They speak of you like you're made of light and whispers."
"Light burns," she replied.
He laughed genuinely this time, the sound echoing faintly in the stone corridor.
They passed through the garden arch where sunlight filtered through stained glass, casting rainbows over the stone.
"Tell me," she said, tilting her head, "are you always this charming, or is it just for holy women?"
He grinned. "Only for the ones who talk back."
It looked like flirting.
But it wasn't.
It was two blades testing edges.
And everyone watching saw only smiles.
They circled back toward the main hall, silence falling briefly between them.
"Why did you come here, really?" she asked.
He glanced at her. "Because my mother asked me to. Because politics are easier to navigate when faces are pretty and polite."
"Is that how you see me?"
He looked at her for a long moment. "I see a girl they put on a pedestal so high, they forgot to ask if she liked the view."
She blinked.
"Is it true," he added, voice lower, amused, "that a priest once fainted just looking at your face? That others wept?"
She narrowed her eyes behind the veil. "That's not for you to ask."
He shrugged. "Or is it just because you're ugly as sin?"
Her breath hitched. For a moment, she was so stunned by the crudeness of the statement that her steps actually faltered. She turned to him, sharp. "Do all royals have rotten attitudes, or is this your personal flair?"
Kaeven grinned. "You haven't denied it."
"I haven't honored it with a reply."
He leaned in slightly. "Show me, then."
She stiffened. "You're infuriating."
"Most call me charming."
"I find that hard to believe."
"Your irritation is adorable," he said, smirking.
She clenched her hands tighter in her sleeves. This—this was new. She was never ruffled. She was grace, she was stillness, she was the Divine's vessel. But this man—this prince with sharp words and laughing eyes—was getting under her skin.
She hated it.
And yet…
He was beautiful. Taller than anyone she'd met. More magnetic than the twins, more arresting than the temple guards or the painted noble sons who came to seek her blessing. His presence was like sunlight and stormclouds all at once. Eyes of piercing blue, framed by dark lashes that should not belong to a man so cruel of tongue. He moved like a predator—elegant, careless, and dangerously sure.
And for the first time in her life… she liked what she saw.
She looked forward again and greeted a passing priest with a nod, voice calm once more.
"May the Divine grant you a better mirror, Your Highness."
Kaeven only laughed.
"The temple is boring," he said after a beat, his voice half-playful, half-serious. "I wanted to see your quarters."
Seraphina turned her head toward him, appalled. "You must be mad."
He chuckled. "What? You're more human than I expected. I thought you'd float off into the light if I sneezed too hard."
She glared at him beneath the veil. "You asked to see a saintess's quarters. Do you have no sense of propriety?"
"None," he said cheerfully. "Besides, I figured it'd be filled with incense and boring scriptures. Maybe I'd find something scandalous, like a book of poetry or—god forbids—a cushion out of place."
She exhaled through her nose, barely suppressing a laugh. "You are impossible."
"And you're more fun than I thought," he replied, walking ahead a step before glancing back. "Don't worry, I'll let you keep your secrets—for now."
Behind the veil, her lips twitched.
He tilted his head slightly, studying her again. "So, tell me then—what does the saintess do all day? Besides glowing and making priests faint."
"I pray," she replied without missing a beat.
"Ah yes," he drawled, "eternally exciting."
She didn't rise to his bait, merely walking with her usual grace. "And you? What does the least favored prince do when he isn't harassing temple women?"
He grinned. "Mostly? I'm bored. So now, I think I'll come here every day."
She glanced at him, the barest flicker of surprise behind her veil. "You're joking."
"Am I?" he said lightly, then winked. "Maybe. Maybe not."
She looked forward again, chiding herself for even entertaining the idea. A saintess and a prince could never be friends. But a whisper tugged at the edges of her mind—What if?
"Maybe the Divine sent me to alleviate your boredom," she said dryly.
"Then I owe Him a prayer," he answered, voice almost soft.
She ignored the flutter in her chest and kept walking. But she knew she needed to end this.
This man made her feel too much, think too much, more than what was necessary. Her role was not to banter, not to smile behind veils or walk alongside princes with eyes that made her forget how to breathe. She could feel the weight of onlookers, the echo of every footstep they took together. They had been seen enough.
"I need to return to the prayer room," she said at last, her voice quieter now. Controlled.
Kaeven arched a brow. "Are you afraid of something?"
She turned her face toward him, still veiled, her words barely above a breath. "No. But you need to go."
She didn't wait for a response. Her steps were slow but certain, retreating toward the sanctity of the prayer chamber, away from his smirk, his gaze, and the dangerous thoughts he stirred.