Chapter 12 Aug 18, 2025 Celeste "She hasn't touched her soup." "I heard she hasn't eaten properly in days." The whispers slid under doors, curled behind pillars, bloomed in every corner of the palace. I didn't look up from my bowl, spoon stirring slowly, never lifting. Across the table, Renard slouched with his goblet hanging loosely in his grip, red wine threatening to spill on his jacket. He looked bored. Distracted. The same as always. Three seats down sat Alexandre, silent and still. He didn't look at me once, but I felt his presence like heat against my skin. The same mouth that had whispered my name in the darkness. "They say Lady Mireille was dismissed from court," someone murmured. "Rather suddenly, wasn't it?" "The King's been… different lately." I let them talk. Let them speculate. Because the truth would destroy us all. Then Renard stood abruptly, his chair scraping against marble. "Excuse me," he said, voice tight. "I seem to have lost my appetite." He left without another word, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. I continued stirring my soup, even as my heart began to race. An hour later, I was walking past Renard's study when I heard voices. Mireille's voice, sharp with desperation. "You have to listen to me," she was saying. "Your wife-" "My wife is none of your concern," Renard interrupted, but his voice lacked its usual dismissive tone. There was something else there. Interest. Suspicion. "She's been different," Mireille pressed. "Haven't you noticed? The way she moves, the way she looks at-" "At what?" Renard's voice was sharper now. "At him. At your father." The silence that followed made my blood freeze. "You're being ridiculous," Renard said, but he didn't sound convinced. "Am I? When was the last time she spent an evening in your chambers? When was the last time she even tried to fulfill her duties as your wife?" "That's because-" Renard started, then stopped. "Because what? Because you prefer my company? That doesn't mean she's been sitting alone, pining away." I pressed closer to the door, heart hammering. "She's cold," Renard said, but his voice wavered. "Distant. Always has been." "Cold women don't blush when certain men enter a room," Mireille said softly. "They don't look away when those men speak. They don't disappear from dinner parties only to return hours later with their hair mussed and their lips swollen." "You're lying." "Am I? Look at her, Renard. Really look at her. She's been glowing for weeks. Happy in a way she's never been with you. And your father-when was the last time you saw him angry with her?" The silence stretched so long I thought I might scream. "She wouldn't," Renard said finally, but there was uncertainty in his voice now. "She's too… proper. Too dutiful." Mireille laughed, bitter and knowing. "The proper ones are always the most surprising. Trust me-I know women. And I know men. Your father looks at her like he's drowning and she's air." "Stop." Renard's voice was strained. "Have you noticed how he never criticizes her anymore? How he watches her when he thinks no one is looking? How his whole demeanor changes when she's in the room?" "I said stop." "She's making a fool of you, Renard. They both are. Right under your nose." A chair scraped. Footsteps moved across the floor. "Get out," Renard said, voice low and dangerous. "Get out before I have you thrown out." "Think about it," Mireille said as she moved toward the door. "Just think about it. When did your cold, dutiful wife start coming alive?" The door opened and Mireille swept out, her face composed but her eyes glittering with satisfaction. She walked past me without seeing me, too focused on the chaos she'd just planted. I waited until her footsteps faded, then hurried away from the door. But not before I heard the sound of glass shattering against a wall, followed by a string of curses in my husband's voice. That night, Renard came to my chambers for the first time in months. "Where have you been?" he asked without preamble, standing in my doorway like an unwelcome ghost. I looked up from my embroidery, trying to keep my expression neutral. "I'm sorry?" "Tonight. After dinner. You disappeared." "I went for a walk in the gardens." The lie came easily. Too easily. "Alone?" Something in his tone made my pulse quicken. "Of course." He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "You've been… different lately." "Different how?" "Happier." The word came out like an accusation. "More alive. You smile now." I set down my needlework carefully. "Is that a crime?" "It is when it has nothing to do with your husband." The accusation hung between us like a blade. I met his gaze steadily, even as my heart raced. "What are you suggesting, Renard?" "I'm suggesting," he said, stepping closer, "that my wife has found something-or someone-that makes her glow. And I want to know what it is." For the first time in our marriage, I saw real emotion in his eyes. Not love-never love-but something dangerous. Possessiveness. Jealousy. The sudden realization that something he'd discarded might actually have value. "You've never cared about my happiness before," I said quietly. "I care about my honor," he snapped. "I care about not being made a fool of." "And have you been made a fool of?" His jaw tightened. "Have I?" I stood slowly, smoothing my nightgown. "If you have to ask, perhaps you should examine why you've been so blind to your wife's existence until now." "Careful, Céleste." "Or what?" I met his gaze without flinching. "You'll ignore me for another year? Find comfort in other women's beds while treating me like a decorative object?" His face flushed. "That's different." "Is it? You've made it clear I'm not wanted in your bed. Why should it matter if I find warmth elsewhere?" The words slipped out before I could stop them. Renard's eyes went wide, then narrow. "So you admit it." "I admit nothing," I said. "But I won't apologize for finally feeling alive." He stared at me for a long moment, and I saw the exact moment when suspicion turned into certainty. When jealousy transformed into something darker. "We'll see about that," he said quietly.