CHAPTER 45

V

 Beatrice's POV.

By that time, the ticking clock in the corner filled the void in between us.

I was in front of the mirror, fiddling with the neckline of my dress and attempting to pay no attention to the tension in the atmosphere. The memory of last night — the kiss, the heat, the tension — had yet to leave me and was clinging to me like a second skin. I can sense him heavy across the room. Xander’s specter loomed large in my thoughts, a reminder that nothing about this matter was simple.

I attempted to concentrate on the task at hand, adjusting my gown, yet my mind remained wandering back to him. The way his lips had seared against mine, the way his hands had gripped me like I was something valuable, something breakable. I shivered at the memory.

My reverie was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Beatrice?" Xander’s voice dropped low, the usual authority dulled. “Are you prepared to have breakfast?”

It gave me pause, wondering whether or not I should ask him in, or make him wait. But when the door creaked open, there he was — tall, imposing, yet somehow … gentler than usual. He stood there, and the room exploded like a thunderstorm, and a riot of my thoughts bewitched all around me, but I just saw the man and my heart began to race.

“Morning,” he said, looking me over before settling on my face. "I brought breakfast."

I couldn’t tell if it was the way he said it, or the plain fact that he was offering to take care of me, but I felt my stomach flip unexpectedly.

"You brought breakfast?" I blinked, uncertain I had heard him correctly. "Since when do you cook?"

He smiled crookedly, his intense gaze illuminating with mischief. “Because I think you deserve more than room service cold deliveries that I decided. He stepped aside, carrying a tray with an array of food — eggs, fresh fruit, croissants and coffee. The aroma was mouthwatering.

My stomach rumbled, reminding me just how hungry I was. "Well, that’s a nice surprise."

He set the tray on a small dining table by the window and motioned for me to sit. For a moment, I hesitated, still working to absorb his uncharacteristic gesture, and then I walked over and sat down.

“Please, help yourself,” he said, his voice warm but cautious, as if he wasn’t quite sure how much he could let his guard down around me.

I nodded, still sorting through what was unfolding between us. For all the time I had known him, he had been a rock — hard, stoic, remote. But now? Now he was doing things that led me to question everything I thought I knew about him.

The two of us were quiet for a moment, both unsure of how to cross the awkward chasm that lay between us. Finally, I broke the silence. “So, I suppose you aren’t the cold, heartless king everyone believes you to be?

Xander chuckled and looked up from his coffee, the corners of his face softening. “I’m still the cold, emotionless king. I just pretend better when I’m with you.”

I was surprised by that response, and I felt a strange warmth at the idea that he trusted me enough to drop his guard, at least a little.

"Is that so?" I quirked an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “Well, I guess I’ll have to watch my back around you, then. I wouldn’t want to inadvertently thaw that frosty veneer.”

She spoke the words lightly, but within them lay an unmistakable undercurrent of something deeper. And something I couldn’t quite identify, but it was there, ruffling the air between us.

Something unreadable flickered behind Xander’s eyes, and then he put down his cup and leaned back a little in his chair. “There’s not much you need to be concerned with around with me, Beatrice. I’ve lived in this skin for a long time, and it doesn’t suddenly change with a few meals together or a late-night talk.”

His words struck me harder than I expected, and I felt a flicker of discomfort in the pit of my stomach. Was that a warning? Or was he just being honest? I wanted to if, to probe deeper, but something stopped me.

I chose instead to do something less intense, something to keep the conversation cheery. "So, how’s your food? Was it any good? Or did you have someone bring it to you?”

Xander smirked; he could tell I was trying to change the subject. "I cooked it myself. And it’s good,” he said, taking a bite of the eggs. “But not as well as the meals you make.”

I raised an eyebrow. "You’ve tasted my cooking?"

“Once,” he confessed, a note of bashfulness in his voice for the first time since I’d known him. “And it was better than anything I’ve ever eaten. You’ve got a knack in the kitchen.”

I chuckled softly and felt warmth spread through me over the compliment. “Oh good, I’m happy to know my cooking is not the only thing I do well.”

The playful banter lasted a few more moments, but during the meal, the mood took another turn. At first, it was a quiet thing, the tension slowly seeping back into the air. Xander grew quiet, his gaze distant, his mind in places I couldn’t decipher. I sensed something was on his mind, also something much deeper than he was letting on.

After what seemed like an eternity of silence, Xander finally spoke, this time his voice softer. You see, I don’t sleep very much.

I froze mid-chew, my fork paused in air. "What do you mean?" I asked, genuinely curious.

Xander’s focus shifted to the window, and his gaze turned inward. “I haven’t had a single peaceful night’s sleep in years. The nightmares … they don’t stop. I can’t shut my mind off. Not when someone’s always trying to kill me. Or when I think of all I’ve lost.” He stopped, the words trailing off and leaving the air suspended around us. "But... the one time I finally slept well was last night. When you were beside me."

His confession stung me more than I thought it would, an avalanche of emotion flooding me. I stared at him, searching his eyes in vain for any indication he was kidding that he was only saying this to get a reaction out of me. But it was raw honesty — if vulnerable and laid bare.

“I… didn’t think you were the kind of person who opened up about stuff like that,” I said softly, my voice shaking slightly. I couldn’t tell if it was because I was shocked or because his admission touched some primitive part of me. Something that I was not prepared to face.

Xander smiled a little crooked, but it was humorless. "I’m not. But I think you’re beginning to change that. And I don’t know whether that’s good or bad.”

I swallowed hard, my mind racing. Now it was evident that there was more to Xander than the cold, authoritative facade he presented to society. There was pain, too. A depth of pain that until now had been hidden from my sight.

I sat back in my chair and attempted to calm my distressed heart. "Xander, I—"

He interrupted me before I could complete it. “I’m not asking you to save me, Beatrice. I’m not even demanding anything in addition to what we currently have. I just… wanted you to know. I wanted you to understand."

I nodded and swallowed the lump in my throat. "I understand."

But I knew I wasn’t being completely honest withmyself as I said it. Because I didn’t just have oneunderstanding. I felt it. And so, that obviously connection we had for sure. But there still was a voice — a voice that still reminds me — We’re not supposed to be like this.

Xander had stared at me with eyes full of word that wanted to be said but weren’t, and I found myself inexplicably drawn to him. But just as that pull appeared, doubt followed, heavy and overwhelming.

I felt my gaze break away, swallowing hard. I couldn’t let this happen. Not now. Not when so much was at stake.

But as I got to my feet to leave, Xander’s eyes followed my every move, his golden gaze dark and unreadable. It was something in the way he looked at me — the thing he never said out loud but that kept me throwing glances over my shoulders and feeling the heaviness of his unspoken weight, his expectations for the life I was supposed to lead the way I stepped my feet, the parts of me, the history of me at war inside.

I told myself it was nothing. That it was only a moment — a fleeting, fragile thing forged from exhaustion, fear and the comfort of another’s presence. But inside there was a voice that spoke otherwise.

What if I can never get away from him?