Betrayed By One. Bound To Three-Chapter 35: I Fear Nothing.

Third Person Narrative:

Night had settled deeply over the palace by the time the knock sounded against Selena’s chamber door. The corridors beyond her room were long since emptied of movement, the servants retired and the guards pacing in distant intervals along the outer halls.

Within her chamber, the air was warm and still, faintly scented with lavender oil that burned low in a glass dish near her bedside.

Selena had been sleeping, though not heavily. The events of the past days had made true rest difficult, and her dreams had been shallow and restless.

The knock came again, measured and deliberate.

Her eyes opened at once.

For a few seconds she lay motionless, listening to the silence that followed. Waiting for the person to call out her name. But she got nothing. Whoever stood outside knew she would recognize their voice.

She drew in a slow breath.

Through the thick wood of the door, beneath the faint traces of oil and stone and night air that slipped through the cracks of the chamber, she caught the scent she had known since girlhood.

Silas.

Her gaze shifted to the clock resting on the small carved table beside her bed. The hands pointed far past midnight. This was not a customary visit. Silas was many things, but impulsive had never been one of them.

The knock sounded once more, slightly firmer.

For a fleeting moment she considered remaining where she was. If she did not answer, he might eventually leave. Yet she knew that was wishful thinking. Silence would not send him away. It would instead provoke suspicion.

He would assume she was hiding something or someone. He would demand entry, and the matter would become a spectacle by morning.

With a quiet exhale, she pushed the covers aside and rose from the bed. The marble floor felt cool beneath her bare feet as she crossed the room. She paused briefly before the door, smoothing her hair and steadying her expression into calm neutrality.

When she opened it, Silas stepped inside without waiting to be invited.

He moved past her as though the room had always belonged to him. His presence filled the chamber at once. He did not speak immediately. Instead, his eyes traveled the length of the room in a slow, careful sweep.

He looked toward the balcony doors, the heavy curtains, the corners shadowed by lamplight. His inspection was subtle but unmistakable.

Selena closed the door behind him.

"What are you doing here at this hour?" she asked, keeping her tone composed. "It is very late."

Only then did he turn to her fully.

"I did not realize I required permission to visit my mate."

"You do not," she replied. "But I was asleep."

His gaze lingered on her face as if measuring the truth of her words. She held his stare without flinching, though inside her mind was already moving quickly, assembling the pieces of his unexpected appearance.

He took a step closer.

"I came to spend the night with you."

For the briefest instant her heart faltered.

So this was the purpose.

In another lifetime, in another version of herself, she might have been overjoyed by such a declaration.

Silas had once kept a careful distance from her even when they had been formally engaged. He had insisted on waiting until after the wedding ceremony to share a room with her. He had spoken of propriety and tradition and discipline.

Now, suddenly, he had changed his mind.

She allowed a flicker of surprise to show before tempering it with a faint, uncertain smile.

On noticing this, his brows raised.

"Why do you look surprised?" he asked.

"I am only surprised because you never wished to share a chamber before now," she said gently.

"That was before," he answered smoothly. "I believed patience was necessary. But I have come to realize that there is no virtue in distance when two people are already bound."

His voice carried warmth, carefully measured and applied. He stepped nearer still until only a breath separated them. She could feel the heat of his body, the familiar scent of him mingled with the cool night air he had carried in from the corridor.

"I have missed you," he added.

The words were practiced. She could hear it beneath their softness. He held her gaze a fraction too long afterward, as though waiting to see what would surface in her eyes.

He lifted his hand and placed it against her waist, drawing her toward him. The movement was firm yet controlled, as though he were testing her balance rather than embracing her.

Every instinct within her recoiled. Her fingers curled slightly against his shirt before she forced them to relax.

His touch felt foreign now, intrusive in a way it had never felt before. Yet she did not allow her discomfort to surface.

Instead, she relaxed slightly against him, enough to suggest acceptance but not eagerness.

"I did not know you felt that way," she murmured.

"I have always felt that way," he replied. "Perhaps I have not shown it as clearly as I should have."

He lowered his head, his lips brushing lightly against the curve of her neck. The contact was restrained, almost clinical, as if he were following a sequence of actions rather than surrendering to impulse. His hand tightened subtly at her waist.

Selena forced herself to remain still, to respond with a softness that would neither encourage nor reject too strongly. She let her fingers rise to rest lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath his shirt.

"You have always been distant," she said quietly. "I thought you preferred it that way."

"I prefer to claim what is mine, whenever I want."

His thumb pressed slightly into her jaw as he said it, not enough to hurt, but enough to anchor the statement in flesh.

There was something sharper beneath the tenderness now.

He shifted, guiding her backward until her shoulders brushed the carved edge of her bedpost. His other hand came up to cradle the side of her face, his thumb tracing lightly along her cheek as though memorizing its shape.

"You have changed," he said in a low voice.

The words were spoken softly, but they carried the quiet displeasure of a man who preferred predictability.

"Have I?" she asked.

"Yes. You carry yourself differently. You speak differently. You look at me differently."

His eyes searched hers, intent and probing.

Selena allowed her gaze to soften. "People change when they return from hardship," she said. "Perhaps I have simply grown."

"Grown away from me?"

She understood then that this was not desire. It was an inspection.

The silence that followed was deliberate. He let it stretch, watching whether she would rush to deny it.

She offered a small smile. "Is that what you fear?"

For a fraction of a second, something flickered in his expression. Then it was gone.

"I fear nothing. You know how quickly rumors grow in a palace," he said lightly. "It is best not to give them reason."

His thumb continued its slow, absent movement against her skin, as if marking territory.