That same evening, when the noise of the feast had thinned and the corridors of Ashford grew quieter, Drexo moved alone.
No guards followed him. No announcement preceded him. Only the faint echo of his footsteps carried through the stone halls as he walked, steady but not entirely at ease. The torches along the walls burned low, their flames bending slightly with the passing air, casting shadows that stretched and shrank with every step he took.
He stopped before a door. Friya's chambers. For a brief moment, he stood there without moving. His hand hovered just above the wood, then dropped slightly. His jaw shifted, as if he was weighing something he could no longer delay.
Then he knocked. Soft, and measured.
Inside, there was a pause.
Then her voice came, controlled, distant. "Who is there?" Drexo exhaled once before answering. "Drexo."
Silence followed.
Long enough to make the air feel heavier. Then the latch moved. The door opened. Friya stood there.
Her posture was straight, her face composed, but her eyes did not soften. They settled on him with something that had not faded. Not even after all these months.
She bowed, precise and restrained. "Your Grace." Drexo's gaze dropped for a moment, not fully meeting hers. "Can I come in?"
Friya did not answer immediately. She looked at him. Not just at his face, but through him, as if measuring what remained of the man she once believed she would marry.
The silence stretched.
Then she exhaled sharply and stepped aside. Drexo entered. The door closed behind him with a quiet click.
The room was warm, lit by a few steady candles. Nothing extravagant. Nothing careless. Everything in place, untouched, as if even the air had been trained to behave.
Friya remained by the door for a second longer before turning toward him.
"Why are you here?" she asked, her voice calm, but not welcoming. "You should be with your pregnant wife."
The words landed without effort. Drexo stepped closer, slow, deliberate. "I am here to apologise," he said.
His voice did not rise. It did not shake. But it carried weight. "For what I did to you."
He swallowed, the movement visible in his throat. "There is no lawful excuse for it," he continued. "And I am ashamed of it."
A pause.
"I am very sorry."
Friya's lips curved slightly. Not into a smile, but something else. "You weren't sorry then," she said quietly. "Why are you now?"
Drexo's jaw tightened. His hands shifted at his sides before settling again. "I have always been sorry," he replied. "I was sorry before I even engaged you."
His eyes finally met hers. "I never wanted it."
A beat.
"My father forced me into it."
Friya stared at him. Something in her face changed, just slightly.
Not softened, but shaken. Her lips parted, but no words came. Instead, her eyes filled, the tears rising faster than she could control. They slipped down her cheeks, one after the other, silent, steady.
She did not wipe them. She did not turn away. Drexo took another step forward. Slowly, he raised his hands and placed them gently on her cheeks. His touch was careful, almost hesitant, as if unsure whether he still had the right.
With his thumbs, he wiped the tears away. "You are a beautiful woman," he said quietly. There was a faint smile on his face. Not bright. Not proud. Just there.
"Maybe," he added, "if Maria didn't exist, I would have chosen you."
The words settled. And broke something. Friya's breath caught, sharp and uneven. More tears followed, faster now, heavier. But she did not step back.
Not because the words hurt. But because they came too late. Because they changed nothing. Because tomorrow was already waiting.
She knew what was coming. She had heard the plans. Seen the quiet movements, watched the pieces fall into place. And now he stood in front of her, speaking softly, touching her face, unaware.
A part of her shifted, a dangerous part. It rose quickly, without permission.
Tell him.
The thought came sharp, sudden. Tell him to run, tell him everything. Her fingers twitched slightly at her sides. Her lips parted again.
But then, Maria.
The image came just as fast. Maria's hand resting over her stomach. The slight curve beneath her gown. The life growing there.
Friya's breath steadied. Slowly, and forcefully.
The moment passed. She stepped forward instead into him. Her arms wrapped around his body, holding him tighter than she intended, tighter than she allowed herself to think about.
"I want you to know," she said, her voice low against his chest, "that I truly loved you."
Drexo's hand moved to her back, gently. "I know," he replied. "And I wish I had shown you more love." His words came easily. Too easily.
Friya closed her eyes. Then she pulled away, not slowly, not reluctantly. She stepped back and looked at him. Then she smiled.
It was soft, almost convincing. "I am sorry," she said.
Drexo's brows drew together slightly. "No," he said at once. "You shouldn't be." He shook his head. "I am the one who should be saying that."
Friya's smile remained unchanged. He didn't understand. Of course he didn't. He thought the apology was for the past. For what had been. Not for what was about to come.
She stepped closer again, just slightly. Close enough for her voice to drop. "Goodbye, my love," she whispered.
Drexo looked at her, confusion flickering for a brief second. Then it faded, replaced by something simpler.
He smiled faintly. "Good night, my dear.".The words felt normal to him.
Routine.
He turned, and walked toward the door. Then opened it, and left.
The door closed behind him with a quiet sound that seemed louder than it should have been.
Friya did not move. She stood where she was, eyes fixed on the door long after he had gone.
The room felt different now. Colder, and heavier. Her chest rose and fell slowly.
Once, then twice. Then she turned away. Her hand lifted to her face, brushing lightly over the place where his touch had been, as if confirming it had happened.
Her fingers curled slowly. Her gaze hardened. The softness drained from her expression, replaced by something sharper. Something colder.
Her lips parted. And this time, there was no hesitation. "If I cannot have you," she said quietly, the words steady, final, "then no woman will."
The candles flickered. The shadows shifted. And the night held its breath.