The Warrior and The Princess

Chapter 37

It was still dawn, but Caleth had already slipped out of bed and was walking along the palace corridors, the pale light filtering in through the high windows. His thoughts were a tangled mess of frustration, despair and distress. The peaceful quiet of the early morning offered no relief. Everything felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

He paused at the window, his gaze lost in the fog that blanketed the courtyard below. Tendrils of mist clung to the stone walls, obscuring the familiar landmarks of the palace grounds, much like the doubts clouding his thoughts. Nothing had gone as planned. Every choice he had made to protect Alina now felt like a step deeper into chaos, his intentions betrayed by the outcomes.

Yesterday haunted him—the day he brought her back. He could still see her face, the way she'd looked at him. It wasn't fury or bitterness; those he understood. It was the silence, the absence of trust. It was the way her eyes avoided his as if seeing him was too much.

He exhaled sharply, pushing himself away from the window. Regret wasn't something he allowed himself often, but it clung to him now, heavy and unshakable. He had done what he thought was necessary—what he thought was right. But that didn't seem to matter.

His fists clenched at his sides. She was safe now, but the question lingered—would he ever truly get his wife back? Did she still love him? Did she mean it when she hinted, she would sacrifice him without a second thought?

Caleth was prepared to lay down his life for her without hesitation. But the ache in his chest was undeniable. The thought that she could so willingly, so unflinchingly, take his life cut deeper than any blade ever could.

He continued walking, his steps steady toward the destination he had been trying to avoid lately.

Caleth arrived at his destination, greeted by the familiar nod of the guard stationed at the heavy oak door. Without a word, the guard swung it open, revealing a dimly lit cage in the middle of the space. Inside, a single figure sat in the gloom—a prisoner, bound and undignified in her stillness.

He stepped into the room, his chest tightening as guilt crept over him, just as it always did. He tried to shake it off, but it stubbornly present. He told himself it was necessary, that this sacrifice was for Alina's safety. But as the prisoner's eyes met his, that reasoning felt thinner than ever.

"My lord," Siella's voice a whisper. She didn't have the strength to speak louder. "You're here."

He forced a smile, a strained one that barely reached his eyes. He didn't say anything as he crouched down in front of her, the cage bars separating them. She reached through the bars, slipping her arm between them, trying to touch his cheek, but he was too far.

There would never be anyone else he wanted to touch him. Not ever. Alina's presence, her touch, her very essence consumed him in a way no one ever could. He belonged to her entirely, and the thought of any other woman with her desire to replace that connection filled him with a silent grief. He would never be theirs. All his senses, his heart, and his soul would forever be devoted to Alina, bound to her for the rest of his life.

But he had destroyed this innocent woman's life. All he could do now was play his part, even if it meant betraying the feelings he held inside. Her life had been ruined because of his schemes, when her only mistake was to fall in love with the wrong man and trusted him implicitly. He owed her at least a facade, an illusion of comfort, even if it was all a lie.

"I heard she's back," she whispered softly, a tremor in her voice. "I thought you wouldn't come to see me again."

"Of course, I would." he replied quietly.

"My lord," Siella mumbled, her voice weak, her gaze unfocused. The hand that had been trying to touch his face slid down, grasping the metal bars as if to steady herself. "I'm not feeling too good. I need to get out of here."