novelapdf Chapter 301: Wait for me.
Chapter 301: Wait for me.
Sylvia raised her hands in mock surrender, a silver bracelet full of charms shimmering in the light. "I didn’t do anything." She took a deep breath. "You know what Arion said about me and Thomas. He was right. There is nothing good that can come out of a relationship with an expiration date."
Dean narrowed his purple eyes.
Eyes so different from Nero’s purple.
Dean’s were sharper in a familiar way, warmer even when suspicious, and bright with emotion he did not always know how to hide. Nero’s had been colder in the restaurant, too ancient for his age, as if something inside him had learned to wait with the patience of a creature that did not need mercy to survive.
"Does it have anything to do with you meeting Nero?"
Sylvia made an offended gasp. "Are you stalking me?"
"No," Dean said. "The palace security does that. But that time, it was Arion who saw the two of you. He was there for a meeting with someone from Draxil to talk about Andrea as an option for them."
Sylvia blinked.
Then her face twisted. "I hate that this sentence makes sense to me now."
Dean folded his arms. "You were in one of the most expensive restaurants in Palatine, eating wings with the crown prince of Saha."
"They were very good wings."
"Sylvia."
"I am not discussing the political implications of fried chicken."
"You were alone with Nero."
"Hale was there."
"Hale was at the entrance."
Sylvia paused.
Dean’s eyes sharpened.
Damn him.
She tried for a shrug, but it felt too light and landed badly. "Nero wanted to repay a favor."
Dean looked at her for one long, awful second.
"What favor?"
"Months ago," Sylvia said, too quickly. "When he was having a terrible evening, I gave him wings and fries. This was a symbolic repayment. Very emotional. Very culinary. Extremely overpriced."
"That sounds like Nero."
"It was also funny, because the servers looked like they wanted to call a priest."
Dean did not laugh.
That was how Sylvia knew the conversation was becoming dangerous.
"Sylvia," he said again, and this time her name sounded less like concern and more like the beginning of an investigation.
She pointed at him. "No."
"I have not asked anything."
"You don’t need to. Your face is already forming a royal inquiry."
"My face is doing no such thing."
"You are marrying Arion. You’ve absorbed court posture by proximity."
Dean’s mouth twitched, but his eyes did not soften. "Did he upset you?"
Sylvia’s heart clenched.
She looked down at the seating card again because Thomas Lancaster’s name in gold ink was, absurdly, easier to face than Dean’s concern.
"No," she said.
It was not entirely a lie.
Nero had not upset her in the way Dean meant.
Dean watched her too carefully.
"He didn’t hurt me," Sylvia added.
Dean’s expression changed.
"I didn’t ask if he hurt you."
Sylvia closed her eyes. "I know."
"What did he say?"
"Dean."
"What did Nero say?"
The room felt too bright all at once. Too full of flowers and fabric and wedding schedules. Too alive with people beyond the doors, finalizing a ceremony that would bind Dean to Arion in front of nations while Sylvia stood beside Thomas Lancaster and tried not to think about becoming something else.
She forced herself to smile.
It felt like putting on bad make up over a bruise.
"He was being Nero," she said. "Philosophical. Terrifying. Too honest for someone who looks that decorative."
Dean did not accept the answer.
"Did this have anything to do with Sebastian?"
Sylvia’s fingers went still.
"Sylvia."
"I am not involved in whatever royal disaster Nero and Sebastian have going on."
"That was not an answer."
"It is the only answer I’m giving."
Dean stared at her.
For the first time since Sylvia had known him, he looked almost like Arion in the wrong light.
Sylvia swallowed.
"Dean," she said softly, "please don’t."
His expression flickered.
She was his friend and she was asking him, for once, to trust her silence.
Dean looked away first.
His jaw tightened.
"I hate this," he said.
"I know."
"I hate that you’re lying to me."
"I’m not lying."
His eyes snapped back to hers.
Sylvia sighed. "I’m not telling you everything. There’s a difference."
"That is the sort of thing Lucas says before ruining someone."
"Then maybe I’m learning from the best."
Dean gave her a flat look.
She almost smiled, but the intention faded fast.
"I can handle Nero," she said.
"No," Dean replied. "You can survive Nero. That is not the same thing."
The words landed too close to truth.
Sylvia looked at him for a long moment.
Then she reached across the table and tapped the seating card with one finger. "Right now, I am trying to survive your wedding."
Dean’s eyes dropped to the card.
His expression softened again, reluctantly.
Cowardly or not, Sylvia took the escape.
"Thomas Lancaster is not my crisis," she said. "He is an infatuation with excellent shoulders and terrible timing."
Dean arched a brow. "Excellent shoulders?"
"I am human."
"You said infatuation."
"Yes."
"Not love?"
She leaned back and folded her arms. "I don’t know him enough for love. I know the idea of him. I know the way he looked at me like I was important when I had no reason to be. I know the fact that he is kind in a way that feels inconvenient. That is not love. That is... emotional misbehavior."
Dean’s mouth curved faintly despite himself. "Emotional misbehavior."
"Yes."
"That sounds like you."
"It is a developing field."
He huffed softly.
The room loosened by a fraction.
Sylvia breathed easier, though the knot in her chest did not disappear. It only shifted.
Dean picked up the seating card and studied it.
"I can change it," he said.
Sylvia’s heart tripped.
The worst part was that for one second, she wanted him to.
She wanted him to remove the problem with one word. To rearrange the wedding so Thomas would stand somewhere else, beside someone else, far enough that her body could pretend nothing had changed.
Then she thought of Nero.
Choice.
Damn him again.
Sylvia reached out and took the card back.
"No."
Dean looked at her.
"No?" he repeated.
"No," she said, more firmly this time. "Don’t change it."
His expression turned careful. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely not."
That got a surprised laugh out of him.
Sylvia pointed the card at him. "But you will not move me. I will walk with Commander Thomas Lancaster. I will be graceful. I will not embarrass you. I will not make tragic eye contact during the procession."
"You cannot promise that last one."
"I can promise effort."
"That is safer."
She nodded solemnly. "And if I suffer, I will blame you."