Third Arc (Fallen Heart) - 363. Rule, Fight, Survive

"I know," she said quietly, though the knot in her chest didn't entirely ease. "It just… feels personal, you know?"

"I get it," Angel said, his tone gentler now. "But right now, what matters is making sure we're prepared for whatever comes next. And we are."

She nodded slowly, her fingers brushing against the crown once more. "So what now?"

"Now?" Angel's smirk returned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Now we change into something less ridiculous, eat something decent, and survive the evening party. After that, we can focus on digging into this mess."

Rose smiled faintly, appreciating the way he always seemed to balance the responsibility with a touch of levity. "Sounds like a plan."

They continued walking. Rose's mind still spun with thoughts of Zephyrus and the possible implications of the attack, but Angel's presence beside her was grounding. He always had a way of making things feel manageable, no matter how chaotic they seemed.

"Do you think they'll try something during the party?" she asked after a moment, her voice quiet but steady.

Angel didn't answer right away. His eyes stayed forward, his expression calm, but Rose could feel the tension in his silence. After a few steps, he finally spoke, his tone light but carrying a hint of something darker. "Yes. They will try again. Just like during our marriage party. Exciting, isn't it?"

Rose shot him a look, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Exciting? That's the word you're going with?"

"Well," Angel said with a faint smirk, "it keeps things interesting. What's a party without a little chaos lurking in the background?"

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips. Only Angel could talk about assassination attempts like they were minor inconveniences. Still, the mention of their marriage party brought back memories—memories of that day when masked mercenaries and Zephyrus' duke had tried to disrupt the ceremony. They hadn't succeeded, of course, thanks to Angel's quick thinking, but the danger had been real.

"We'll stop the conversation here," Angel said quietly, glancing around at the passing servants. "It's… sensitive."

Rose nodded in understanding.

For the rest of the walk, they kept the conversation light—small, meaningless things to distract from the earlier discussion. Angel made a joke about the nobles tripping over their own robes during the party, and Rose countered with a sarcastic comment about how many glasses of wine it would take before someone tried to dance on the tables.

By the time they reached their private chambers. The familiar scent of lavender greeted them as they stepped inside, and Rose let out a soft sigh of relief. The room felt like a safe haven, far removed from the prying eyes and hidden dangers of the palace.

"Your Majesty, Your Highness," one of the maids greeted them with a respectful bow. "The changing room is ready."

Rose gave a polite nod before turning to Angel. "See you in a bit?"

"Yeah," he said, his tone casual. "Try not to fall asleep while they fuss over your hair."

She laughed softly. "I'll do my best."

The maids quickly ushered Rose into the changing room, while a servant approached Angel, ready to help him out of his formal attire. Angel raised a hand, stopping him. "I'll handle it myself."

The servant hesitated but nodded, stepping back with a slight bow. Angel didn't wait for a response. He moved toward the other room, where a simpler set of clothes had been laid out for him. His fingers worked at the clasps of his robe and clothes, the fabric falling away to reveal the scars criss crossing his chest and back.

Even after all this time, he wasn't entirely comfortable showing them. Most of the palace staff knew better than to comment or offer assistance when it came to changing clothes—Angel had made it clear he preferred to handle it alone. Rose, however, was different. She was the only person who had ever seen all of his scars.

He reached for the simpler tunic and caught his reflection in the mirror. For a moment, he just stared, his expression unreadable. The scars didn't bother him in the way they used to, but they still carried something he couldn't entirely shed. A reminder of what it meant to rule, to fight, to survive.

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