Chapter 298: Two days

Soren’s smile was a masterpiece of diplomatic construction… lips curved in precisely the right degree of warmth, eyes reflecting just enough friendliness to pass inspection. But there was nothing genuine in it. Nothing soft.

“She’s busy at the moment.”

Five words. Casual. Dismissive. Carrying the weight of entire unspoken conversations beneath their surface.

She’s not for you. She’s occupied. She has responsibilities here. Back off.

Caelen heard every syllable of what wasn’t said. His jaw worked, teeth grinding behind closed lips as he fought the urge to ask more.

Where is she exactly? Is she well? Is she happy? Can I see her? Please, I just need to see her face…

But he couldn’t ask. Not without revealing himself completely. Not standing here with Ophelia just steps away, her pregnancy visible, his son clutching her hand.

What kind of man arrived at his friend’s palace with his pregnant wife and immediately demanded to see another woman?

A desperate one, his mind supplied unhelpfully.

“Of course, of course.” The words came out too quickly, too bright. “I’m sure she’s managing the thousand details an imperial wedding requires. I remember how exhausting such preparations can be.”

“Indeed.” Soren straightened, all business again. He gestured to the waiting attendants. “Please escort Lady Ophelia and young Rael to the guest wing. The Rose Suite… it’s warm, comfortable, and has an adjoining room for the child.”

“Your Majesty is most generous.” Ophelia curtsied slightly, one hand on her belly. She looked at Caelen. “You’re coming?”

“In a moment. I’d like to speak with Soren briefly. Official matters.”

Something flickered across Ophelia’s face… understanding, resignation, hurt… but she nodded. “Of course. Come along, Rael.”

They left in a rustle of traveling clothes and childish questions, and suddenly the vast entrance hall felt much smaller.

Intimate.

Dangerous.

Caelen turned to follow Soren deeper into the palace, expecting his friend to maintain the diplomatic façade, to continue the performance of warmth and welcome.

Instead, the moment they rounded a corner out of sight of guards and servants, Soren stopped. Turned. And looked at Caelen with eyes that had gone absolutely arctic.

“Well.” His voice was mild, almost amused. “I expected you to last much longer than that.”

Caelen froze mid-step.

The words could mean anything. Could mean nothing. But they both knew exactly what Soren was saying.

I expected you to resist longer before coming here. Before asking about her. Before giving in to whatever desperate need drove you across kingdoms.

“What do you mean?” Caelen tried for confusion, for innocence. The performance was unconvincing and they both knew it.

Soren’s smile was sharp as broken glass. Genuine but dangerous. The smile of a man who understood exactly how to cut where it would hurt most… not out of cruelty, but out of something like disappointed affection.

He’d always been like this. Even as boys, Soren had possessed an almost supernatural ability to see through lies, to poke at uncomfortable truths until they bled. Some called it cunning. Others called it cruelty.

Caelen had always known it as friendship of the most uncompromising kind.

“It’s nothing.” Soren waved a hand dismissively, already walking again. “How was your journey? Seven days from Solmire… that’s remarkably fast.”

Deflection wrapped in courtesy. The subject changed but the point already made crystal clear.

I know why you’re here. I see you. And I’m watching.

Caelen exhaled slowly and followed, trying to find his footing again. “The journey was… illuminating.”

They walked through corridors of ice and stone, their footsteps echoing in the vast spaces. Despite the tension, despite the unspoken territorial lines being drawn, they were genuinely close. Years of friendship didn’t evaporate simply because complications arose.

Brothers, almost. Or as close as rulers could come to such bonds.

“I saw the outer districts,” Caelen continued, settling into safer territory. “The damage. The memorials. The atmosphere in your capital is… tense.”

“Understandably so.” Soren’s voice remained neutral. “Hundreds dead. Demons unleashed in the heart of the empire. The people are grieving and searching for someone to blame.”

“What happened, Soren?” Caelen’s tone shifted, becoming serious, concerned. Not as a rival but as a friend. As a fellow ruler who understood the weight of such catastrophes. “Truly. Demons don’t simply appear. Someone opened a portal deliberately.”

“Yes.” Soren’s jaw tightened. “Someone did.”

“Who?”

“That’s a Nevareth matter.” The words came carefully, diplomatically. Not hostile but absolutely final. “Internal affairs that I’m handling personally.”

The door closing. Polite but unmistakable.

Mind your own kingdom. This is mine to manage.

Caelen heard the dismissal but pushed anyway, unable to help himself. “I heard Eris closed the portal. That she used fire magic to send the demons back to hell.”

“She did.” Pride colored Soren’s voice despite his efforts to remain neutral. “Saved countless lives doing so. She’s proven herself more than capable of… ”

He stopped. Recognizing the trap he’d almost walked into.

Caelen had asked about the political situation, but what he really wanted was information about her. Her safety. Her power. Her vulnerability.

And Soren had nearly given it to him.

“She handled the situation admirably,” Soren finished flatly. “As my future Empress should.”

My future Empress. Mine.

The possessiveness wasn’t crude or obvious. Just there, woven into the fabric of every word.

Caelen’s hands clenched at his sides. He forced them to relax, forced his expression into something resembling casual interest.

“I thought you two would be married by now,” he said, aiming for light mockery and landing somewhere closer to desperation poorly disguised.

“Happily wed, settled into domestic bliss.” He paused, then added with false brightness, “Despite you sending that invitation so late. On purpose.”

Calling out the deliberate timing. The way Soren had ensured Caelen would receive word too late to possibly interfere.

Soren stopped walking. Turned to face him fully.

And smiled.

“You’re just in time, actually.” His voice was pleasant, conversational, devastating. “We’re getting married in two days.”

Silence crashed between them.

Two days.

Not a week. Not months. Two days.

Caelen felt something crack in his chest. He’d known, logically, that the wedding would happen. That was why he’d come… to see her one last time as she became someone else’s forever.

But hearing it stated so plainly, so soon, made it real in a way nothing else had.

Two days until Eris married Soren Nivarre.

Two days until she became Empress of Nevareth.

Two days until any possibility of… of what? Of her changing her mind? Of her choosing differently? Of Caelen somehow fixing what he’d broken?

You fool. There was never any possibility. You destroyed it all yourself.

“Two days,” he repeated quietly. “That’s… wonderful. Congratulations.”

The lie tasted like ash but he forced it out anyway.

Soren’s expression didn’t change. Didn’t gloat. But satisfaction radiated from him anyway, controlled and absolute.

Two days, and she’s mine. You rushed here for nothing. The ending was already written.

They stood in the corridor, two rulers pretending this was still about friendship and diplomacy rather than a woman neither could mention directly but both thought of constantly.

“I’m sure you’re tired from the journey,” Soren said finally, breaking the silence with practiced courtesy. “Rest. Refresh yourself. We’ll speak more at dinner tonight. The whole court will gather to welcome you properly.”

Polite dismissal. Elegant escape route for them both.

“Of course.” Caelen managed something like a smile. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Always.” Soren’s voice carried warmth that might have been genuine or might have been perfectly crafted mockery. “You’re my oldest friend, Caelen. You’re always welcome in Nevareth.”

As long as you remember she’s mine now.

They parted with formal nods, and Caelen let himself be led away by attendants toward the guest wing.

Two days.

He’d crossed kingdoms in seven days of brutal travel, driven by desperation and longing and the gnawing need to see her face one more time.

And he had two days before she married someone else.

Two days to… what?

Nothing. He had two days to do absolutely nothing except witness the final destruction of any possibility that had ever existed between them.

Perfect.

Behind him, Soren stood alone in the corridor, ice spreading unconsciously across the nearest wall.

Two days until the wedding.

Two days until Eris became his empress, his wife, his in every way that mattered.

Two days until Caelen watched it happen and had to smile through it all.

Soren should have felt triumphant. Should have felt secure.

Instead, he felt that same unsettled sensation from earlier. That sense that something fundamental had shifted, that Caelen’s presence had introduced a variable he couldn’t quite control.

He pushed it down. Buried it beneath ice and certainty.

Two days.

Everything would be fine.

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