Adrian slept badly.
Which was unusual.
The Crown Prince had spent years training himself to sleep whenever an opportunity presented itself.
War briefings.
Council meetings.
Imperial schedules.
None of it allowed for luxuries.
Sleep was a necessity.
A skill.
One he normally possessed.
Tonight, however, sleep refused to cooperate.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Marian.
Standing in the ballroom.
Looking at him as though she no longer recognized him.
The memory unsettled him.
More than he wanted to admit.
By sunrise, Adrian had accumulated exactly three hours of sleep and a headache.
An impressive achievement.
Unfortunately.
The morning meeting was worse.
Because Elena was there.
Normally that would’ve been unremarkable.
The medical initiative occupied most of Adrian’s schedule these days.
Naturally Elena attended many of the same meetings.
There was nothing strange about that.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing worth mentioning.
Yet as Elena enthusiastically explained a proposal involving provincial clinics, Adrian found himself distracted.
Not by the proposal.
By a question.
Why does Marian keep mentioning Elena?
The thought had followed him all night.
Not because he was angry.
Because he genuinely didn’t understand.
Elena hadn’t done anything wrong.
She was intelligent.
Dedicated.
Compassionate.
Easy to work with.
The project would have failed without her.
So why?
Why did every argument somehow return to Elena Hart?
"Your Highness?"
Adrian blinked.
Elena was looking at him.
Concerned.
"You seem distracted."
For some reason, that made him feel worse.
"I’m fine."
The answer came automatically.
Years of royal training.
Elena didn’t look convinced.
"Did something happen?"
The question lingered.
Dangerously.
Adrian hesitated.
Only briefly.
Then:
"No."
The lie tasted strange.
Because something had happened.
He simply didn’t know how to explain it.
Not to Elena.
Not to himself.
The meeting continued.
Charts.
Budgets.
Plans.
Numbers.
Words.
Adrian heard almost none of it.
Because another realization had appeared.
Small.
Uncomfortable.
Impossible to ignore.
When was the last time I spent an entire afternoon with Marian?
The answer came immediately.
Months ago.
The realization startled him.
Months?
Surely not.
Then he thought about it.
Actually thought about it.
And discovered the answer remained exactly the same.
Months.
His stomach sank slightly.
Because suddenly another question appeared.
When was the last time I spent an entire afternoon with Elena?
Yesterday.
Adrian frowned.
That felt unfair.
The comparison meant nothing.
The circumstances were completely different.
One was work.
One was not.
Yet somehow the answer continued bothering him.
For reasons he preferred not to examine.
Across the city, Marian was equally miserable.
She hated being miserable.
It ruined perfectly good mornings.
Unfortunately, she was extremely miserable.
Which explained why she was currently glaring at her breakfast.
The breakfast remained unmoved.
A personal insult.
"Lady Marian."
Her maid looked concerned.
"Would you like me to bring something else?"
"No."
A pause.
"Actually, yes."
Another pause.
"I don’t know."
The maid wisely retreated.
Marian dropped her forehead against the table.
What a disaster.
Not Adrian.
Not the gala.
Not Elena.
Her.
Because every time she closed her eyes—
Gray eyes.
Marian immediately sat upright.
No.
Absolutely not.
She was not doing this.
Her engagement was collapsing.
Her heart was broken.
Her future was uncertain.
This was hardly the time to start noticing another man.
Especially that man.
The memory returned anyway.
"You have every right to be angry."
Marian groaned.
Wonderful.
Absolutely wonderful.
Of all the things her brain could remember—
it chose that.
Not the argument.
Not the humiliation.
Not the ballroom.
That.
The simple understanding in his voice.
The lack of judgment.
The fact that he hadn’t tried to defend Adrian.
Marian buried her face in her hands.
She was becoming an idiot.
A complete idiot.
And she hated it.
Because she still loved Adrian.
That was the problem.
People acted as though heartbreak happened instantly.
Like a switch.
Like a door.
It didn’t.
Marian still loved him.
Even angry.
Even hurt.
Even humiliated.
Which made everything infinitely more complicated.
Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the capital, Cassian Ashford was attempting to read.
Attempting.
The attempt was going poorly.
After ten minutes he realized he had been staring at the same page.
After twenty minutes he admitted defeat.
The book had done nothing wrong.
The failure was entirely his.
Annoying.
Very annoying.
Cassian set the book aside.
Then immediately regretted it.
Because now he had nothing distracting him.
His thoughts returned to the previous evening.
Not the gala.
Not the political nonsense.
Not Adrian.
The terrace.
A mistake.
Clearly.
Because now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Not the touch.
Surprisingly.
The look.
That was the problem.
Cassian leaned back in his chair.
Frowning.
Marian Valmont had always existed in a fixed place within his mind.
A familiar one.
A simple one.
Adrian’s fiancée.
That was all.
Not because he disliked her.
Not because he ignored her.
Simply because that was what she was.
A fact.
A certainty.
Something that required no further thought.
Yet somehow, standing beneath the moonlight last night, that certainty had cracked.
Not broken.
Just cracked.
And now Cassian found himself remembering details he had no business remembering.
A laugh.
A smile.
Blue eyes bright with anger.
The way she’d looked at him.
Actually looked.
Not through him.
Not past him.
At him.
The realization was unexpectedly irritating.
Because now that he’d seen Marian as Marian—
instead of Adrian’s fiancée—
he couldn’t seem to put her back where she’d been before.
An inconvenient development.
One he blamed entirely on Adrian.
Which seemed reasonable.
By evening, all three of them had reached exactly the same conclusion.
Something had changed.
None of them knew what.
None of them understood why.
But for the first time in a very long time—
the future no longer felt certain.
And uncertainty, as it turned out, was a dangerous thing.