The King’s Secret

Celeste

“Please, Renard. Don’t turn away from me again.”

The words slipped out before I could stop them, hanging in the air like a quiet plea.

Renard lay beside me with his back turned, barely moving. Even in the dim light, he was handsome in a way that hurt. His dark hair fell across his forehead, his broad shoulders a reminder of how alone I felt.

My fingers brushed his shoulder.

“Renard,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “It’s been nearly a year.”

He didn’t stir. Just said flatly, “Yes. I’m aware.”

The dismissal hit me like a blow. How had I become this desperate creature, begging for attention from my own husband?

“I thought maybe tonight…” I tried to sound hopeful, though my heart hammered against my ribs. “The servants are talking. Your father’s been asking questions, and I—”

“Céleste, I’m not going to pretend this is something it’s not.”

He sighed and turned onto his back, staring at the ceiling. The candlelight cast shadows across his sharp features, his winter-storm eyes that used to at least pretend to see me.

“I’m your wife,” I said, my voice shaking between fury and desperation.

“No,” he said coldly. “We’re a contract. An alliance. You knew that when you said yes.”

My chest tightened. “Your father—”

“My father wants a child. Not a marriage. He doesn’t care how we feel as long as there’s an heir.”

I stared at him. “And you? Is that all I am to you?”

He rubbed his face, slow and tired. “I don’t know what you are. You’re everything I was told to want. And that’s exactly the problem.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I look at you and see duty. You’re my wife. You’re untouchable.”

“Untouchable.”