Chapter 445. Some Meals Are Better Served Cold

Chapter 445: 445. Some Meals Are Better Served Cold

’He wants her small,’ William thought, the realization settling in his gut like cold lead. ’He doesn’t want a partner; he wants a trophy.’

’He wants her to surrender the last shred of her own identity, and then God help her thank him for taking it.’

A sharp metallic creak drew his attention downward.

His fingers had tightened around his silver fork with such unconscious force that the tines had begun to bow slightly. His pulse thrummed in his fingertips.

William forced himself to breathe. Slowly, deliberately, he pressed the fork against the edge of his porcelain plate, straightening the metal with a controlled pressure until it clicked back into place.

He set it down with exaggerated care. A violent, primal urge surged through him—a sudden, irrational need to seize the nearest pheasant and hurl it directly at Alden’s perfect, smiling face.

It would be undignified and it would be catastrophic for diplomacy. It would almost certainly end the banquet in a bloodbath of scandal.

’Control,’ he commanded himself. ’Not yet.’

His mind continued to dissect the Prince. He began calculating the other side of the ledger.

Alden’s casual cruelty toward the servants, the way he dismissed them as if they were furniture, and his flawless, hypnotic charm with the nobility were not two different traits. They were the same skill wielded in two different directions.

A man who could toggle between warmth and glacial indifference that cleanly did not actually feel warmth. He was a predator who understood market value; he simply knew how much performative affection each audience would pay for.

And the way he handled Kaela? That wasn’t the awkward clumsiness of a man who didn’t understand romance.

That was something far more sinister. It was calculated. It was methodical, and it was a siege disguised as affection.

William’s gaze drifted across the table, seeking an ally, and his eyes locked with Catherine’s. She had abandoned her meal, her knife resting untouched beside her plate.

She was watching him over the rim of her wine glass, her expression unreadable to anyone but another soldier. He saw the tightness in her jaw, the way her pupils had dilated.

She had seen it all. She had witnessed every microaggression, every honeyed insult, and every moment of psychological strangulation.

Without breaking eye contact, Catherine tilted her head a movement so infinitesimal it could have been mistaken for a shrug toward the towering oak doors at the far end of the hall.

Then, she lowered her gaze, returning to the role of the composed vice headmaster, sipping her wine as if she hadn’t just signaled a conspiracy.

’We talk about this later,’ the gesture said.

William gave her a nod so slight it was almost invisible, then reached for the correct fork, playing his part in the charade.

The banquet dragged on for two agonizing hours, a slow torture of sycophantic speeches that no one wanted to hear and toasts that tasted like copper and obligation. As soon as the crowd began to fracture into smaller, gossiping clusters, William made his escape.

He fed his mind the lie that he was heading back to his quarters to unwind, but his body had other plans. His feet turned toward the garden wing.

He had seen Kaela slip through a side door during a lull in the conversation, a tactical retreat while her mother was distracted by the endless prattle of a minister’s wife.

He found her in a secluded corridor that hugged the perimeter of the palace gardens. Shadows swallowed the space, with only two flickering wall lamps illuminating it, casting long, dancing grotesqueries across the stone.

On one side, tall windows looked out onto the black, impenetrable wall of the hedges and the silent, dormant fountain.

Kaela had abandoned her dignity along with her shoes. She was leaning against the cold stone wall, barefoot, her silver gown pooling around her like spilled mercury.

Her arms were wrapped tight across her chest as if she were holding herself together physically, and her head was tilted back against the masonry, staring up at the vaulted ceiling with an expression of raw, exhausted fury.

She looked less like a princess and more like someone who had just survived a shipwreck and found the shore to be equally hostile.

William came to a halt several paces away. He stayed in the shadows, mindful of her space. He knew better than to corner a wounded animal, especially one that had been taught since birth that showing pain was a weakness to be exploited.

"You don’t have to pretend you’re fine in front of me," William said quietly.

His voice was rougher than he intended, stripped of the polished courtier’s veneer he’d been wearing all night. "Not here... Not now."

For a long moment, the only sound was the distant drip of water from the fountain outside. Then, Kaela let out a long, shuddering breath that seemed to deflate her entire body.

Her back slid several inches down the cold stone wall until she was sitting on the floor, her silver skirts spreading around her like broken glass.

"I’m used to it," she said, her voice hollow, echoing off the vaulted ceiling. "My father... he does things like that, too."

"Not with Alden’s particular brand of poisoned honey, and not as often, but the shape is the same..."

"The same hollow feeling in your chest when you realize your words have no floor beneath them." She closed her eyes. "I suppose I just figured I had to keep smiling until it was over."

"Until the wedding, until the crown, and until I simply stopped feeling anything at all."

"You shouldn’t have to get used to that," William snapped.

The words came out sharper than he had intended, cutting through the heavy silence like a blade. He regretted the tone immediately.

He watched her closely. Without the painted-on smile she had worn all night, Kaela looked younger and infinitely more fragile.

The candlelight from the distant corridor caught the exhaustion etched into the fine lines around her eyes. She looked like someone who had been fighting a war alone for years.

"I know," she said after a long pause.

Her voice was steady now, but it lacked conviction. "I know I shouldn’t... But some days, Instructor Wade, it is simply easier to let it pass than to explain why it hurts."

"Because if I say it bothers me, he will smile with that perfect smile and tell me I’m being dramatic."

"And then the ministers will nod... And then the court will agree... And then again... I will be the one who ruined dinner."

A bitter smile touched her lips. "I’d be the villain of the evening."

"The hysterical princess who couldn’t handle a joke."

"Then you’ll have ruined a dinner that deserved to be ruined," William said grimly. "Some meals are better served cold."

A startled, genuine sound escaped her: a small snort that was half laugh, half sob. Kaela reached up with the back of her hand, wiping at the corner of one eye with more force than necessary, pretending she was merely rubbing away fatigue.

As she did, something shifted. The crushing weight of the evening seemed to lift slightly, replaced by something more human. Her eyes brightened with a sudden, mischievous spark.

"Wait," she said, leaning forward slightly, the silver fabric rustling against the stone. "Did you actually see Lord Pemberly?"

"Wha—?" William blinked, thrown off by the sudden change in atmospheric pressure. "Which one is Pemberly?"

"The Delmore one," she said, a genuine grin beginning to spread across her face. "The one with the mustache that looks like a dead squirrel clinging to his lip for dear life."

"He was mid-story, boasting to anyone who would listen about his prized hunting hound, and he got so animated, so terribly excited, that he threw both arms up at once." She mimicked the motion vaguely. "The entire bowl of cream of mushroom soup went airborne."

"It landed square in his lap."

A genuine laugh bubbled up in her throat. "And the best part? He didn’t stop."

"He kept right on talking about the hound’s stamina while the soup was visibly soaking through his expensive trousers."

"He acted as if nothing had happened, while his wife just sat there with this terrifyingly calm expression, nodding and passing him napkins like a well-trained nurse tending to a patient."

"It was like watching a landslide in slow motion."

William felt the tension in his own shoulders finally crack. "I completely missed that."

"How?" she asked, incredulous, her eyes dancing. "It was happening right across from you!"

"I wasn’t watching Pemberly," William admitted, a ghost of a smile tugging at his own mouth. "I was too busy concentrating on the forks."