"I want to see you. The real you, under all this mask you’ve created for yourself"
Her smirk twitched—bitter, defensive—her fingers curling into the cot’s edge as if anchoring herself. But her eyes never left his, locked in a silent duel, a battle neither of them nad but both understood.
"Real ?" she echoed, her voice low and jagged, a scoff scraping past her lips. A harsh laugh followed, brittle at its core. "You think you can peel back the ice and find so sad little girl to save? That’s not ."
Her words snapped—barbed, biting—but her breath hitched. Just for a second. A crack in the queen-like facade she had built so flawlessly. And Kael caught it.
His resonance humd deeper, attuned to the grief she had buried, the sha she had sharpened into steel. "Not a sad girl," he said, his voice calm, cutting through the storm swirling in her eyes. "A kid who got crushed—then made herself a queen she always dread of becoming, a complete opposite version of herself. That’s what I see."
Her jaw clenched. A flicker of sothing wild flashed in her gaze, a warning, a desperate refusal to let him reach deeper. But she didn’t pull away. She sat still, rigid, as if bracing against a blow that never ca. His words struck like a needle slipping between armor plates, unnoticed until it was too late.
"Crushed?" she spat, her voice trembling with an old, buried rage. She leaned forward, her platinum-cyan hair spilling wild over her shoulders, her carefully curated poise unraveling. "They didn’t crush —I crushed them. Froze their smug faces, laughs, their hands, their stupid little lives. I won."
The smirk returned, sharp and victorious, but her eyes glistened. A sheen of emotion she blinked away fast, before it could betray her.
Kael’s expression didn’t change, but his resonance caught the undercurrent beneath her words. Victory—yes—but laced with sothing else. Sothing hollow. A cost she refused to na.
He nodded, slow and deliberate, leaning in just enough that his presence weighed against her, steady and unshaken.
"You won," he said, no judgnt, just fact. "Took their power—made it yours. But what’s it cost you since? Hiding, fighting, locking everyone out—ruling nothing but this room. Do you even have a single person you can trust?"
Her breath caught—sharp, audible. She stiffened, eyes widening before narrowing fast. A storm churned behind them, his words sinking in deeper than she wanted to admit.
"I rule myself," she hissed, her voice fierce, raw. "I don’t need anyone else."
But Kael didn’t miss the tremor in her hands. Small, faint—but there.
His resonance pulsed—gentle, steady—not pushing, just holding space. And in the quiet between them, the fracture in her armor widened. Pride clashing with doubt. Strength warring with weariness.
For the first ti in a long ti, she had no imdiate retort. No cutting remark to shut him down.
And Kael knew—this was the mont.
Not to fix her. Not to save her.
Just to remind her that she wasn’t alone.
"Hmm, fine," he said, his voice quiet but firm, his hand brushing her knee again, light and grounding. "But ruling alone—it’s heavy. You don’t have to carry it all."
Her lips parted, poised to snap back, but no words ca. Her gaze flicked to the file, then back to him, sothing unreadable flickering—anger, yes, but curiosity too, a question she wouldn’t voice. Kael pressed on, gentle and deliberate.
"I’m not here to chain you—I’m here to share it. Start small—tell what you want, right now. Food, air, anything. Your call."
Silence stretched, her breath slowing as her eyes searched his.
She leaned back, slow and deliberate, her smirk fading, her voice steadier but low. "I’m getting hungry. Make lunch."
Kael didn’t mind the shift in topic. He’d pried enough for one day, peeling back layers of her icy exterior without forcing the process. Freya was still a work in progress, and he had patience.
"So, how was breakfast, by the way? I made it myself," he said with a grin, fishing for a bit of praise.
Freya barely spared him a glance as she brushed a stray strand of platinum-cyan hair behind her ear.
"It wasn’t bad," she admitted, her tone neutral but honest. Then, with a smirk, she added, "But I could make a better dish blindfolded."
Kael’s grin widened, a spark of challenge lighting his hazel eyes. "Then prove it. Co cook lunch with ."
Freya blinked, caught off guard. For a mont, she just stared, weighing his words. An invitation. A chance to step out of the room that had beco her cage. She scoffed, as if dismissing the idea—but Kael caught the flicker of intrigue beneath her usual disinterest.
"What?" he taunted, standing and gesturing toward the door. "Was that just talk, or can you actually cook?"
She rose from the bed with effortless grace, adjusting her T-shirt. Even in sothing as mundane as agreeing to cook, she moved with an air of command, like royalty humoring a peasant’s request. "Fine," she said, her voice carrying a competitive edge. "I’ll show you how real cooking is done."
The small, worn kitchen barely seed fit for a challenge, but Freya took control the mont they entered. Kael leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching as she rolled up her sleeves.
"You cook. I’ll pass the dishes," he said, handing her the reins.
Freya didn’t hesitate. She moved through the space with a quiet, practiced ease—grabbing ingredients, testing the heat of the pan, dicing vegetables with quick, precise strokes.
Her knife flashed in the light, a blade just as sharp as her words, and Kael found himself watching, impressed. Her queen-like poise translated into an elegant command of the space, a grace that made even the act of cooking feel like a battle she refused to lose.
The kitchen filled with the rich aroma of sizzling spices and seared at, the air thick with sothing warm and almost unfamiliar—comfort.
"Didn’t expect you to be this good," Kael admitted, genuinely surprised.
Freya barely acknowledged the complint, focused on the pan as she flipped the contents with a flick of her wrist. "You think I survived on takeout?" she scoffed. "Had to learn sohow."
In a short ti, the al was ready—a fragrant stir-fry of crisp vegetables and tender at, plated with an elegance that belied the roughness of their surroundings. Freya picked up her plate and turned toward her room without a second thought.
Kael, expecting it, stepped in her way. "You can eat at the dining table with ." His tone was casual, but the invitation was clear.
Freya didn’t even break stride. "No. I’m fine by myself."
Kael arched a brow. "Your room slls stale. It should be left open for a while to air out."
She paused mid-step. It was a flimsy excuse, but sohow, it was just enough. With a faint huff, she relented, turning back and lowering herself onto a chair across from him.
Reviews
All reviews (0)