Chapter 3 Aug 19, 2025 Celeste "Céleste!" Renard's voice cracked with shock. He had stopped pacing and now stood frozen by the window, his face pale as winter moonlight. Alexandre leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the mahogany armrest. The sound was hypnotic, like a war drum. His storm-gray eyes never left my face, and I forced myself to meet his gaze. "You think yourself clever," he said, his voice deceptively soft. "Speaking of failure when you can't fulfill the most basic duty of a princess." "And what duty is that?" My voice was steadier than I felt. "To pretend a marriage exists where there is none? To lie about why your bloodline remains… uncertain?" The words tasted like rebellion, bitter and intoxicating. Renard made a strangled sound, but I didn't look away from the King. "Céleste," Renard cried out. "Stop this." But I couldn't stop. Months of swallowed words came pouring out. "You want the truth about why there's no heir? Because your son treats me like a stranger in my own bed. Because he can't even bear to look at me, let alone-" "Enough." Alexandre's voice cut through the air like a blade. I felt the word hit my chest with physical force. He stood slowly, deliberately. Each movement was controlled but somehow more terrifying than rage would have been. My heart hammered as he approached, each step echoing in the silence. "You dare speak of your marriage bed in my presence?" He stopped close enough that I could smell cedar and leather on his skin. "You dare blame my son for your own… inadequacies?" The word hit like a slap. Heat flooded my cheeks, but beneath the humiliation, anger blazed hotter. "My inadequacies?" I stood as well, my gown rustling. "I'm not the one who can't-" My words cut off as I gestured too wildly, knocking over the wine goblet on the side table. Crystal shattered against marble, sending shards across the floor and staining the stone with deep red wine. The silence was deafening. I stared at the spreading pool, my chest rising and falling. Even Renard had stopped breathing. "You're bleeding," Alexandre said, his voice suddenly different-softer, almost gentle. I looked down, confused, until I saw the thin red line across my palm where I'd tried to catch the falling glass. Blood welled bright against my pale skin. Before I could react, Alexandre was kneeling beside me, reaching for my hand. "It's nothing," I muttered, trying to pull away, but his fingers closed around my wrist with surprising gentleness. "Don't," he commanded quietly. His touch sent lightning through my entire body. This close, I could see the fine lines around his eyes, feel the warmth of his skin. His thumb brushed the edge of the cut, soft and careful, and I had to bite my lip to stay silent. *What's wrong with me?* The thought crashed through my mind as heat pooled low in my stomach. Here I was, arguing with the King, bleeding in his salon, and all I could think about was how his hands felt against my skin. How his presence made me feel more alive than I had in months. *My husband is right there. Right there, watching this.* But Renard might as well have been a ghost. All I could focus on was Alexandre's touch, the way his breath stirred the air between us, the dangerous intimacy of this moment. *Why do I feel like this? What kind of woman am I?* Shame burned through me, but it didn't stop the way my pulse raced, didn't stop the treacherous part of me that wanted him to keep touching me. "You should know better than to bleed in my presence," he murmured, his voice so quiet only I could hear. The words sounded like a threat. Or a promise. Or something else entirely-something that made my breath catch and my heart race for reasons that had nothing to do with fear. He stood again, releasing my hand as if he'd suddenly remembered where we were. The loss of his touch left me cold, aching in a way that made no sense. He's the King. He despises me. And my husband is standing ten feet away. But none of that logic could explain why I felt like I was drowning, why every nerve in my body was screaming for more of his attention. "Have it tended to," Alexandre said, his voice returning to its usual commanding tone. He looked at Renard, who still stood frozen by the window, and I wondered if my husband could see what had just passed between us. If he could read the confusion and want written across my face. "And control your wife," the King added coldly. "Before she forgets her place entirely."