When Masks Fall

"Sorry," Caelan said, his voice carefully neutral. "But did I just interrupt something?"

The way he said it made Seraphina's chest tighten. His tone was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes she couldn't place. Was that anger? Sarcasm? Or was he hoping for an explanation that would make sense of what he'd walked into?

The candlelit room. The rose petals. Her naked form wrapped in sheets.

What must he think of her?

She pulled the sheet tighter around herself, but she didn't look away from his gaze. Didn't shy away like the helpless wife everyone expected her to be.

"Did you do this?" she asked instead, her voice steady despite everything. "The fire. Was that you?"

His head tilted slightly. "What do you want, Caelan?"

Not what are you doing here. Not how did you get in. What do you want.

Because she was done playing games. Done pretending. If he was here to judge her, to lecture her about loyalty or morality, he could get the hell out.

Caelan studied her for a long moment, his expression still maddeningly unreadable behind that mask. "You didn't make contact for two weeks."

That's not an answer.

"So?"

"So I was worried." The admission came out flat, like he wasn't happy about it. "I decided to check. It's not like you to land a deal and partnership and then just disappear for two weeks."

Worried. The word hit her harder than it should have. When was the last time someone had worried about her? Really worried, not just about what she could do for them or how she could be useful?

"You were worried about me?" she asked, and she hated how breathless it sounded.

"Don't let it go to your head," he said, but there was something softer in his voice now. Something that made her chest do funny things.

"Why would you be worried? We're allies, not..." Not what? Not friends? Not more than that?

"Not what?" His voice was dangerously quiet.

She looked at him standing there in her bedroom, taking up space like he belonged. Still wearing that damn mask, still hiding half his face from her. Still keeping distance even when he'd just climbed through her window to check on her.

Why did that make her chest tighten?

"Nothing," she said. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

God. Why did he have to say things like that? Why did he have to make it sound like she mattered to him when she knew better than to believe it?

"You shouldn't worry about me," she said. "I can take care of myself."

"Really?" His gaze swept over the romantic setup, the candles, the wine, the rose petals scattered across her bed. "Because from where I'm standing, it looked like you were about to make a very bad decision."

There it was. The judgment she'd been waiting for. The assumption that she'd wanted this, that she'd chosen it.

"You don't know anything about what was happening here," she said, her voice going cold.

"Then tell me."

Tell him. Right. Tell him how she'd spent the day letting Alaric touch her, kiss her, treat her like property. Tell him how she'd smiled and played the eager wife while dying inside. Tell him how close she'd come to letting her husband rape her for the sake of her plans.

How could she explain that without sounding like a monster?

"I was..." She stopped, started again. "I've been trying to gain his trust. His permission to move freely. The charitable work, the social connections I need to build my network. It requires..." God, how do I say this? "It requires him to believe I'm devoted to him."

Caelan went very still. "How devoted?"

"As devoted as necessary." The words tasted like ash.

"And tonight?"

She closed her eyes. Here it comes. "Tonight he wanted to celebrate my success. He wanted to..." Fuck me. Claim me. Own me completely. "He wanted to be intimate."

The silence stretched between them. When she opened her eyes, Caelan's expression had changed. The careful neutrality was gone, replaced by something darker.

"And you were going to let him."

It wasn't a question.

"Yes." The word came out as a whisper. "I was going to let him because I need this to work. I need the freedom to move, to build what I'm building. And if the price is letting him think he owns me, then that's the price." She looked away. "I'm his wife. Wouldn't it be weird if I don't?"

But I'm so grateful you stopped it, she thought. So fucking grateful I could cry.

"You saved me," she said instead, her voice stronger now. "You saved me from hating myself in the morning."

Something flickered in his visible expression. Relief, maybe, though he tried to hide it. "That's not why I came."

"I know. But that's what you did."

He looked at her for a long moment, and she could see him processing what she'd told him. Understanding what he'd really interrupted.

"Your plan backfired," he said finally.

Understatement of the fucking century.

"Spectacularly." She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I wanted his trust. Instead, I got his obsession. He doesn't want to let me out of his sight now. Thinks I'm his perfect little wife finally coming into her own."

"And now?"

"Now I need your help." The admission hurt, but she forced it out. "I need you to keep him away from me. Physically. What almost happened tonight... I can't do it again. I won't."

Caelan moved closer, just a step, but it felt significant. "What do you need?"

"Distractions. Emergencies. Things that require his attention when he gets too... attentive." She pulled the sheet tighter. "I know it's asking a lot, but, "

"Consider it done."

The quick agreement surprised her. "Just like that?"

"Just like that." His voice was firm. "I'll make sure he doesn't come back tonight. I can keep him busy, create situations that demand his attention. But Seraphina..."

Here it comes. The catch.

"I can't guarantee it all the time. Alaric isn't stupid. If too many convenient emergencies start happening when he's trying to spend time with you, he'll put it together. And if he figures out I'm involved..."

"You know what he's capable of," she finished.

"I've been his rival long enough to know exactly what he's capable of." Caelan's voice was grim. "He won't hesitate to eliminate perceived threats. And politically, in public opinion, we'll be on the losing side since you're still his wife." He emphasized the word like it tasted bitter. "Still."

Threats. Is that what Caelan was to Alaric? Just another political rival to be managed? Or was there something more personal there?

"Then we'll have to be careful," she said.

"We will be."

We. Not you. We. Like they were a team now. Like he was really committed to this, to helping her, despite the risks.

Why did that make her chest feel so tight?

She was about to say something else, to ask him about the specifics of how they'd coordinate, when he moved closer. Much closer.

Close enough that she could see the way his eyes had darkened behind the mask. Close enough to smell soap and something else, something warm and distinctly him.

Close enough that her breath caught.

"How are you feeling now?" he asked, his voice lower than before. Softer.

How was she feeling? Grateful. Terrified. Relieved. Confused about why her heart was racing for entirely different reasons now.

Too much. She was feeling too much.

"I'm..." she started, then lost the words when he reached up and touched her face. Just his fingertips, barely a whisper of contact against her cheek.

But it was the gentlest touch she'd felt in weeks. Maybe months.

Why did that make her want to cry?