Aveline folded the robe with quiet care, smoothing every crease as though it were something fragile, something precious. When she finally placed it beside her, she lingered for a moment, her fingers resting lightly over the fabric.
If this was all she could have from him… Then it was enough. More than enough.
She would not become his weakness.
She might not understand politics or power the way others did, but she understood this much—someone like Theron, someone so decisive, so unwavering… would be forced to choose again and again. And if she stood too close, too openly by his side… she would become the easiest thing to use against him.
A vulnerability.
And she refused to be that.
Theron, meanwhile, held her close, his brows faintly drawn together. Something had shifted. He could feel it, even if he couldn't name it.
Aveline had gone quiet.
And silence, when it came to her, was never simple.
