Chapter 11 Aug 18, 2025 Celeste "I should've hated you." That was the first thought in my head as the morning light broke through the shutters. My legs ached. My throat burned. A scent still clung to the linen-his scent. Him. The King. I didn't move. I lay still, my body heavy with the weight of last night-his hands, his mouth, the way he'd said my name like it wasn't shameful. Cold air drifted through the cracks, brushing over my bare skin, and I shivered. But not from the chill. He was beside me. Close enough that the warmth of his breath grazed my shoulder, even if his hands no longer did. My body knew him now. And that terrified me. I slipped out of the bed, quiet, my fingers fumbling over the torn underdress discarded on the floor. The silk clung damp to my skin as I pulled it on, legs trembling beneath me. I didn't dare look back. Not until I reached the door. "If you leave now, I'll think you regret it." I froze. My fingers curled around the doorknob, white-knuckled. "Don't do that," I said, barely above a breath. "Do what?" "Make this harder than it already is." "I need to know." His voice had softened-gravel and guilt and something rawer underneath. "Do you regret it, Céleste?" I couldn't turn. If I turned, I'd break. "Do you?" I whispered, my hand still on the door like it might save me. The bed creaked. I heard the shift of fabric, the slow exhale he always gave before speaking the truth. "Not one second of it." My eyes burned. My lungs ached. And I left before it could kill me. - After everything that passed between us last night, after the King's hands on my skin and his voice saying my name like it meant something, I felt a strange kind of calm. A quiet boldness. The kind that comes when shame no longer has anywhere to hide. I dressed without fuss, pinned my hair back, and walked straight toward the west corridor-toward Mireille. The woman who warmed my husband's bed and never let me forget it. But as I turned the final corner, I saw him-a palace guard already approaching her chambers. From where I stood, I could hear him speak to her servant. "Lady Mireille is summoned to His Majesty's private chambers. Immediately." The door closed quickly after that. I pressed myself against the tapestried wall, heart racing as I watched Mireille emerge minutes later. She walked past me without a glance, her gown rustling, a satisfied smile playing at her lips. Of course, I thought bitterly. First my husband, now this. "Private chamber?" she said, her voice floating ahead of her. "I wasn't aware we still used that title." My jaw locked. My nails dug into my palm. The doors opened with no ceremony. Just Alexandre behind a desk, still as ice. I couldn't see them. But I heard every word. "Your service to the Crown is no longer required," he said. Silence. Then her laugh. Low and sharp. "Because I took what your son wouldn't?" Another pause. "How touching. Did I damage your pride, or hers?" My nails bit deeper into skin. "You slept with my son." The silence that followed was deafening. My heart hammered as I pressed closer to the door. "How do you-" Mireille started, then stopped herself. But it was too late. The admission was already there in her voice. "How do I know?" Alexandre's laugh was bitter. "Did you think it would stay secret? In this palace?" "She told you," Mireille said, and I could hear the fury building. "That little princess ran to you the moment she found us." "She told me nothing," he said. "She didn't need to. Your indiscretion speaks for itself." "Years," Mireille hissed. "I gave you years of loyalty, of service. She gives you one night and you throw me aside?" My breath caught. One night? What was she talking about? Did she know? "You gave me nothing but trouble," Alexandre said flatly. "And now you've corrupted my son's marriage beyond repair." "His marriage was already broken!" Mireille's voice cracked with desperation. "She's cold, barren, useless. At least I know how to please a man." The silence stretched so long I thought I might scream. Then Alexandre spoke, low and dangerous: "Say one more word about her, and I'll have you exiled to the furthest corner of the kingdom." I gripped the wall to keep from sliding to the floor. "You're making a mistake," Mireille said, but her voice had lost its bite. "She'll never be what you need." "That's not your concern anymore." I heard the rustle of silk, the sharp click of heels. The door opened and Mireille swept out, her face composed but pale. Her chin was high, but her hands trembled as she smoothed her skirts. She walked past me without seeing me, too focused on maintaining what dignity she had left. But I saw it-the defeat in her shoulders, the way her perfect composure had cracked. She was no longer the dangerous woman who had stolen husbands from their wives. She was finished. The door to the King's study clicked shut behind her. The corridor fell silent.