[Sebastian's POV]
I'm halfway to the training room when I smell her—sweat and exhaustion and that floral scent she uses in her bath. She's been here all night, just like I suspected. Pushing herself past reasonable limits because she's terrified and thinks perfection is the only way to survive what's coming.
I need to get her out of here. Make her rest, even for an hour. The Challenge starts in less than three hours, and she'll be useless if she's too exhausted to think straight.
The training room door is ajar. I'm about to call out, to announce myself, when I see them.
Tessa. And Soren.
Kissing.
Her hands are fisted in his shirt. His hand cups her face with a gentleness I didn't know he was capable of. And she's letting him. Not just letting him—kissing him back.
Something twists in my chest. Sharp and vicious and completely unexpected.
I've been tortured before. Stabbed. Burned. Had bones broken and wounds that should have killed me. None of it felt like this. Like watching her in his arms, choosing him, turning back to the man who destroyed her.
I should leave. Should turn around and give them privacy, give her this moment before everything changes.
But I can't make my feet move. Can't look away from the sight of them together, from the way she fits against him like she's done it a thousand times before.
Because she has. For years, she was his.
And I'm just the enforcer who's been watching from the shadows. The one who gets her training and her trust but not—not this.
I clear my throat. Loud. Pointed.
They jump apart like I've burned them. Tessa's face goes white, then red. Soren's expression shifts through surprise to defiance to something that might be guilt.
"The Challenge begins in less than three hours," I say, and my voice comes out perfectly level. Professional. Like I didn't just watch my chest cavity get hollowed out. "The throne room is filling. Silas is requesting your presence to review protocols before it starts."
Tessa stares at me, and I watch her processing. Watch her realize what I saw. What I know.
"Sebastian, I—" she starts.
"You should prepare." I cut her off because I can't hear whatever explanation she's about to offer. Can't hear her try to rationalize why she was kissing him after everything he did. After everything we—
No. There is no we. There never was.
"Go," I say when she doesn't move. "You need to change. Compose yourself. The King is waiting."
She opens her mouth like she wants to say more, but I turn my attention to Soren. Let her see the dismissal in the gesture. Let her understand that whatever she wants to say, I don't want to hear it.
Not now. Maybe not ever.
Tessa makes a small sound—hurt or frustration, I can't tell—and then she's gone. Running from the room like her life depends on it. Maybe it does. Maybe if she stays, she'll see exactly how much this is costing me to maintain this facade of control.
The door slams behind her, and I'm alone with Soren.
He straightens, shoulders going back. Preparing for a fight. Expecting one, probably. His hands are loose at his sides, ready to move if I attack.
Part of me wants to. Wants to put my fist through his perfect aristocratic face. Wants to make him hurt the way I'm hurting right now, the way Tessa hurt when he cast her aside.
But that would be satisfying for exactly thirty seconds. And then I'd have to explain to Silas why one of Tessa's key witnesses has a broken jaw right before the Challenge.
So I just look at him. Let him see exactly what I think of him in my eyes. Let him see the contempt and the anger and the absolute certainty that he doesn't deserve her. Never did. Never will.
"She doesn't need this right now," I say quietly. "Whatever that was—whatever you think it meant—she doesn't need the distraction. Not today."
"I know that." His voice is defensive. "I wasn't trying to—"
"I don't care what you were trying to do." I take a step closer, and I watch him tense. Good. Let him be afraid. "You're here to testify. To help her pass this Challenge. That's all. So get yourself to the throne room, sit where you're told, and when they call on you, you speak clearly and convincingly about her legitimacy and her power."
"I know my role—"
"Do you?" I lean in, let him feel the threat in my proximity. "Because your role is not kissing her when she's vulnerable and exhausted and terrified. Your role is not confusing her or comforting her or whatever the fuck that was. Your role is to testify and then leave. Think you can manage that without fucking it up?"
His jaw clenches. "Yes."
"Good." I step back, putting professional distance between us again. "Because if you do anything—anything—that makes this harder for her, if you distract her or upset her or cause her to fail—I will make you regret it. Not today. Not tomorrow. But eventually. When you've forgotten to watch your back. When you feel safe again. That's when I'll remind you what happens to people who hurt her."
"Is that a threat, Enforcer?" His voice tries for authoritative and lands somewhere around uncertain.
"It's a promise." I turn toward the door. "Now get out of here. You're due in the throne room in twenty minutes. I suggest you don't be late."
I walk out before he can respond. Before I can do something stupid like actually hit him.
The corridor outside is empty. Quiet. And for just a moment, I let myself stop. Let myself press my hand against the cool stone wall and breathe through the ache in my chest.
She kissed him. After everything. After I thought—
But there is no "after I thought." There's no us. There's duty and protection and the job I'm here to do. That's all. That's all it can ever be.
Even if watching her with him felt like dying.
Even if the taste of his blood she shared with me is somehow worse than any wound I've ever taken.
I push off the wall and head toward the throne room. I have my own preparations to make. Have to check security, confirm the protocols, make sure nothing goes wrong during the Challenge.
Make sure she survives this, even if it means watching her with him afterward.
Even if it means accepting that whatever I thought was building between us was one-sided. A fantasy I created from duty and proximity and the way she looks at me sometimes like I matter.
I reach the throne room doors and school my expression into neutrality. The Silver Death. The Enforcer. Cold and controlled and completely unaffected by personal emotions.
That's who I need to be today. Not the vampire who just watched the woman he—
No. I don't finish that thought.
I open the doors and step inside, ready to do my job.
Ready to protect her, even from herself.
Even if it destroys me in the process.