Page 85 of The King's Pawn
I know because I saw when he arrived. I heard the distant echo of doors opening and closing from the dining room when I’d been in the middle of lunch, the low murmur of voices that cut off too quickly for me to hear what had caused him to leave so suddenly in the first place. I waited for his footsteps to head toward the dining room to find me. Waited for him to appear once I lifted my head from my soup bowl.
But he never came.
After the last time we slept together, I thought something had finally changed. Not fixed—nothing between us could ever bethatsimple—but… shifted, at least. I thought the distance he’d put between us after the first time had finally righted itself, that the walls he rebuilt so quickly might have finally fractured for good.
I thought he would come to me, not necessarily with apologies or explanations—Sasha isn’t the type to offer those easily—but with something that proved that last time hadn’t been a mistake he intended to bury and forget.
Instead, he’s stayed away.
Again.
The hurt sneaks up on me, sharp and unwelcome. I stop pacing and press my hands to the window, staring out at the dark grounds below. Snow glows faintly beneath the estate lights, the world outside deceptively calm despite the turmoil. Somewhere in this house, he’s moving through his domain like nothing has changed, while I’m here twisting myself into knots, replaying every word, every touch, every breath we shared.
What stings the most isn’t just that he hasn’t come. It’s that he hasn’t said anything at all. There’s been no explanation, no boundary drawn. Nothing like last time. It’s just been heavy silence.
Did either of us plan to fall back into each other’s arms again? Of course not. But planning, or the lack of it, doesn’t erase what has happened. We crossed that line again knowing full well the damage it could do.
If, for him, it was just another moment of weakness needing to be stamped out, another mistake to lock away behind iron discipline and colder distance, he should just say so. If ignoring me is his way of pretending it never happened and that it nevermattered enough to disrupt his carefully controlled world, I have a right to know.
I drag a hand through my hair and exhale shakily.
Then again, asking anything like that of Sasha Sokolov is next to impossible.
The worst part is that I don’t even know what I want from him anymore. An apology wouldn’t change the truth between us. But this limbo, this aching uncertainty, is unbearable in a way I hadn’t prepared for.
We already fell into each other, whether we meant to or not.
And now there is no going back.
My eyes drift toward the door, toward the dark stretch of hallway beyond it, and the decision settles slowly in my chest.
Maybe it would be better to face him. Not after I’ve worked myself into another sleepless spiral or rehearsed a hundred imaginary conversations that end with my saying nothing at all. Now.Tonight.
Forcing him to give me an answer, even one I don’t want, would be better than living in this suspended state where nothing changes. Uncertainty has always been my greatest enemy. It gnaws and festers until it becomes something unmanageable. At least truth, no matter how brutal, has an end I can brace myself against.
Confronting the truth would force us to look at what exists between us objectively, strip away the heat of stolen moments and the desperation of grief and see what remains when all that’s left is fact.
I’m not naive enough to believe Sasha is capable of the kind of softness I once dreamed of in a life partner. The fairytale I carried with me as a girl, the gentle love and safety, was never meant for someone like him.
But… maybe it was never meant for me, either.
Maybe my one true fairytale was never going to look like the stories I grew up on. Maybe I was always destined for something darker and more complicated. Maybe it took being sold into it, ripped out of the life I thought I wanted, to finally see the one I was not only meant to survive but to fall for too.
I blow out a slow breath and move toward the door.
I press my ear to the wood and listen. There’s nothing. The hallway beyond is silent. Lately, the guards who used to linger outside my door have been conspicuously absent. I don’t know whether that’s Sasha growing lax with my security or an intentional change meant to lull me into a false sense of freedom, but I’m not about to question it before using it to my advantage.
I turn the handle slowly, easing the door open just enough to peek through the gap. The corridor is empty, lit only by the soft glow of wall sconces casting long, distorted shadows along the carpet. I step out and pull the door closed behind me, the latch clicking softly into place.
The sound seems impossibly loud in the stillness, but nothing stirs.
I move down the hallway quietly, my bare feet barely making a sound. When I reach the staircase, I don’t hesitate. I take the steps two at a time, my pulse thrumming louder with every descent until the main floor opens up before me.
The estate at night feels different. I move through it like a trespasser in my own captivity, guided by instinct rather than familiarity.
I haven’t been to Sasha’s office since the last time I stood inside it and discovered the paperwork that shattered my world. Since the night I learned the truth about my mother and realized just how deeply my father’s betrayal ran.
At this point, it’s in the past now.
