Cessalie thought the man would either complain to Cyrion or simply never show up again and cancel the wedding. Or maybe... just like Meliora's fiancé had left her hanging by a thread even after three years since their engagement... Davian would also leave her just like that.
But nothing of the sort happened. He didn't complain to Cyrion, didn't break the marriage or left her unanswered.
In fact, he sat in front of her, under same roof and inn same room, a few days later.
"Why don't you have the tea, Cessalie?"
She didn't say anything. She stared at the cup he was sliding towards her.
Davian watched her quietly, the faintest smile curving his lips. He was dressed in deep green and gold today, the rich colors draped over him like they belonged there. His white gloves stayed on.
It was only their second meeting.
He didn't speak again for a few minutes, just focused on sipping his tea, gaze on her like she was some painting he couldn't quite figure out.
"You look calmer today," he said finally.
Cessalie shrugged. "I've accepted my fate."
She had no choice but to accept her fate. For a full day after meeting Davian, she was afraid that Cyrion might beat her up for her rude and cruel behavior, but nothing happened. She was slightly relieved because of that.
His smile deepened, maddeningly gentle. "You agreed to have tea time with me. I'll settle for that today."
She did not return his smile, yet she found herself unable to look away. When he smiled, it changed his face. Dimples formed along his cheeks, and faint lines appeared at the corners of his eyes, softening the sharpness of his features.
She did not expect that.
For a moment, she simply watched him. However guarded she tried to remain, she was still a young girl, and his smile was difficult to ignore.
Davian set his cup down. "I thought perhaps," he began, voice smooth like silk drawn tight, "you'd like to know more about the duchy. Your future home."
Cessalie's eyes drifted toward the tall velvet-draped windows. She counted the seconds in her head, the way she always did when she didn't want to engage.
But he kept speaking, unbothered.
"The palace is older than most estates in the east. Marble halls, a winter garden with crystal-glass roofing, the gallery holds nearly four hundred paintings, some older than Alderwyn itself." He chuckled softly, as if any of that mattered. "The people there are kind and educated. They'll answer to you."
Cessalie sipped her tea again. "And if I don't want them to?"
His brows lifted slightly, but there wasn't surprise in his expression. "Then they won't," he said simply. "I don't want a puppet. You'd be the lady of the house, not my shadow."
It was supposed to win her over. And cessalie didn't even know but it made her feel good.
He leaned in, just enough to close the space without invading it. "Whatever you want. A library. A study, tutors, horses, music. It's yours."
Yours.
The word settled heavy in her chest.
Her eyes dropped to her lap, fingers tightening around the delicate cup. "I'm not interested in palaces," she said finally. "Or silks or whatever you can make mine."
Davian didn't look disappointed, just patient. Like he expected this. "Then what are you interested in, Cessalie?"
Even Cessalie didn't know this. All her desires, hobbies, and wishes had died within her. She didn't understand what the point of her existence in this world was because just getting beaten is not the purpose of anyone's birth.
Still she replied, "I want...." She tilted her head slightly, "hmm...maybe...freedom."
A pause.
"I'll give you as much of it as I can," he promised softly.
She didn't react. And it didn't matter to her. He would give her as much freedom as he could. She didn't want this. Cyrion also gave her as much freedom as he wanted. Cessalie was deeply frustrated by the fact that these two men wanted to keep her freedom in their hands like a toy.
She didn't answer.
She just kept looking towards the window.
Davian didn't push. He just leaned back with that calm, like he could already map out every thought in her head but was decent enough not to say it out loud. It didn't win him points. If anything, it made her trust him even less.
Cessalie's fingers tapped lightly against the wood of table.
"You don't know anything about me," she pointed out.
"I don't," Davian agreed, lips pressing together. "But I'd like to...not as the Duke's daughter, not as a Draevin but as Duchess Cessalie Aurelthron, as you."
She scoffed quietly. As me, right.
The 'her' that only existed after the title they'd decided to staple to her life. The Duke's legitimate daughter. The duchess-to-be. Nobody ever cared about her beyond that.
"I don't want to trap you, Cessalie," Davian said, voice level, not rushing. "I'm not offering you perfection. I'm offering something better than what you've been handed so far. I'm not asking for love. Just… that you feel safe. The rest is yours to decide."
She stared at him for a long moment.
Men didn't say that.
And when they did, they never meant it.
She looked away first. "Fine," she muttered. "Show me your palace. Your horses. Your books. Whatever."
His smile was faint, almost amused, but there was warmth tucked behind it. "As you wish, Cessalie."
And for once, in a long, long time, sitting in a room with a man didn't feel like being suffocated.
But it didn't mean she trusted him.
Davian tilted his head slightly, still composed. "So… what do you like, Cessalie? What makes you feel alive?"
Her brows drew together, caught off guard. What did she like...no one ever asked her this question nor did anyone give her the freedom to decide what she likes.
People told her what to like. Embroidery, social grace, siilent obedience.
So she didn't answer at first. She only watched him, waiting for the mask to slip, for the condescending smirk, the patronizing laugh.
But he just… waited.
So finally, she answered. "Books."
His eyes sparked the smallest bit, like it wasn't the answer he expected, but it pleased him anyway.
"I like reading," she added, glancing away, rubbing her arm. "Not fairy tales or romance trash they shove at us, girls.I like history, strategy, philosophy, finance....real things. Things with blood in them."
A pause settled between them.
"Interesting," Davian said, like he meant it. "Any favorites?"
She narrowed her eyes. "You actually care, or are you just humoring me?"
"I actually care."
She studied him again, skeptical but curious. And she actually had her favorite books. She felt a fluttering excitement in talking about what she liked. It was the first time she was discussing it with someone.
"There's this book," she said, keeping her tone casual, not showing her excitement, "The Tides of Revarim. It's banned in most duchies. It talks about revolution..about how power rots kings from the inside out. I've read it six times."
His brow lifted, clearly impressed. She pursed her lips together, controlling herself from smiling. Fabian looked genuinely interested in what she was saying so she continued.
"It talked about corruption, greed and unchecked royal power destroying thw kingdom from within, leading to a revolution." Her eyes drifted away, as if lost in memory of that book. She could picture every protest, every fight from book.
"Thee monarchy was overthrown..." she took a deep breath, almost grieving, "but the rebels soon turned against one another. Internal conflict weakened the nation, and within years, Revarim was conquered by the neighboring kingdom, Damarith."
She paused, searchint for Davian's response. He just stared at her, nodding. She nodded back, "The book argues that removing a tyrant is not enough without unity and discipline, revolution leads to ruin."
Davian rubbed his chin, "Hmm."
"That's very impressive."
"Or stupid."
"Sometimes they're the same thing."
A breath escaped her, somewhere between a laugh and disbelief.
"And you?" Cessalie asked suddenly, sharp enough to catch him off guard. "What do you like, Duke Davian? Or do you just collect wives and charm girls into cages?"
A twitch of a smile ghosted across his face.
"I like order," he answered simply. "A well-run city, clean systems, laws that protect people instead of crushing them. Fencing, art...though I can't paint to save my life."
"Of course," she muttered. "You sound so noble."
He smiled wider, unbothered. "I said I like those things. Didn't say I was good."
For a second, she had no reply. He wasn't giving her anything easy to hate. That unsettled her. She liked it. She didn't know what to name it... She didn't even acknowledge it but she felt easy.
Her eyes fell back to her teacup, hesitating to pick it up.
The rest of the conversation faded into mentions of his duchy, trade routes, the winter gardens his late wife loved, the chapel with sapphire glass, a library that stretched across three floors.
He said she'd be its lady soon, free to do as she pleased within those walls.
As if freedom and walls ever belonged in the same breath.
They dressed it up nicely. Yours to command, they said, as if a throne inside a cage was anything but a prison. Cessalie never wanted keys. She wanted a world without locks. Yet they kept handing her rooms with no keys at all.
Everyone called it freedom when you got to choose which perch you sang from. But real freedom wasn't velvet curtains and polite choices.
It was sky.
Eventually, Davian stood, smoothing his coat, the green and gold catching in the afternoon light.
"I'll be away for a few days due to couurt business," he said. "But I'll return."
Cessalie only nodded, fingers gripping her skirt tightly.
He left without another word, like a ghost fading into quiet.
Cesaalie felt the silence...she stared at the empty seat in front of her. And for the first time, she felt a weird sadness. It was her first time talking to someone about her interests and she'd enjoyed it too.
And then came the summons for her, to Cyrion's office.
The halls felt colder as she walked, guards at her heels, maids trailing behind like she might hurl herself out a window if left unsupervised. The study smelled the same as always...spice, old smoke, and the lingering rot of control.
Cyrion didn't look up at first, scribbling something across the papers on his desk. Only when the silence dragged did he speak.
"You've met him twice now, haven't you?"
Cessalie stayed quiet, eyes fixed on books kept on his table which probably belonged to Rylan.
His gaze lifted, sharp and amused, that cold, familiar smirk curling at the edge of his mouth.
"He likes you," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Imagine that. Even after turning out such an unladylike daughter."
Her jaw tightened.
The smirk sharpened. "Behaving so well because you like him too? Is that it?" His head tilted slightly. "First love, Cessalie?"
She said nothing, because in this house, silence was the only shield left.
His eyes narrowed, just a flicker, enough to signal danger. "I asked you a question."
Her fists clenched at her sides. "No."
He arched a brow. "No, you don't like him? Or no, you won't answer?"
Cessalie's voice stayed flat. "I'm behaving. Because you told me to."
The amusement dropped from his face like a mask slipping.
"So it's obedience. Not affection."
"I don't even know him," she bit out.
"You've spent time with him."
"Twice."
"And love blooms in two meetings. Your mother and I fell in love in first meeting."
She wanted to scoff at him but he also gave her one more reason to not trust Davian easily.
That's why my mother couldn't see your real face, she thought. I will not make such a mistake.
He stood slowly. She tensed, a step back ready, but he didn't come closer this time.
"Just don't embarrass me," he warned, his voice turning to ice. "He's one of the youngest Dukes in the High Court. He is disciplined and loyal to the Crown. The kind of man you should've been, if only you weren't born a useless little girl with no magic and too much defiance."
He sat back down, like his words weren't knives.
"You'll keep seeing him," he ordered. "And you'll behave."
"And if I don't?"
His silence was answer enough. He just smirked and shook his head, continuing scratching on paper with quill. Cesaalie clenched her fist.
She turned before he could decide to remind her with bruises.
But the worst part wasn't the threat. It was how she felt excitement, as she moved closer to surrendering herself to that new feeling.
She knew she was walking into a trap she hated but was starting to be tempted by it.
And walking blind into a gilded trap? That scared her more than anything.