The children provided the only unscripted joy. A week after the library opening, Hadrian took Leo and Isla to The Crest, promising a secret tour of the maintenance corridors and the best view of the sunset from the service roof. They scrambled ahead, Isla's braids flying, Leo pointing out structural features with a keen eye that warmed his father's heart.
"Papa, the way the load transfers from the main arch to the secondary struts here… it's like the skeleton of a whale!" Leo exclaimed, tapping a painted steel beam.
"It is, indeed. Strength with grace."
Isla, ever the pragmatist, was more interested in the hidden doors and the pipes that carried seawater for the climate control. "Mama would love this part," she said absently, peering down a grate. "She says the best engineering copies nature's plumbing."
The mention of Seraphina was a small knife twist. "She's right," Hadrian managed.
From their high perch, the ocean stretched, infinite and indifferent. As the sun began its descent, painting the sky in violent oranges and purples, he saw two figures walking along the distant, rocky shore below the library cliffs. Even from this distance, he recognized the rhythm of them: Seraphina's determined stride, Rian's easy, loping gait beside her. They were not touching. They were simply walking, heads inclined toward one another, deep in conversation.
He watched, helpless, as they stopped at a tide pool. Seraphina crouched down, her gown pooling around her on the rock. Rian crouched beside her. She pointed at something in the water. He leaned closer. They stayed like that for a long time, two silhouettes against the shimmering path of the dying sun, sharing a tiny, watery world.
"Who's that with Mama?" Isla asked, shading her eyes.
"Uncle Rian," Leo answered before Hadrian could. "He's always with her at the institute now. He helps her talk to the grumpy old ministers about money."
The innocent observation landed with the force of a landslide. He's always with her now.
The children lost interest,chasing a gull along the roof parapet. Hadrian remained frozen, watching. He saw Seraphina throw her head back and laugh at something Rian said—a full, unguarded laugh he hadn't heard in months. He saw Rian pick up a smooth, flat stone and skip it across the incoming waves, a boyish, unprincely gesture. It was a scene of such effortless companionship it stole the air from his lungs.
He wasn't watching an affair. He was watching a marriage. The kind he and Seraphina had forgotten how to have.
By the time he returned the children to their nanny, a cold resolve had settled over him. He couldn't live in this void of inference and silent observation. He found her later, in their bedchamber, unpinning her hair at her vanity. The reflection of her tired eyes met his in the mirror.
"The children had a wonderful time," he said, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.
"I'm glad. Isla told me about the 'secret guts' of the library. She was very impressed." Seraphina smiled, but it was the public smile, the one from the newspaper.
"I saw you walking with Rian today. On the shore."
Her hands stilled for a heartbeat. Then she continued, pulling a pearl-tipped pin from her braid. "Yes. He's been an invaluable advocate with the Treasury board. They respect him. We were discussing the next round of funding proposals."
"It looked like you were discussing more than proposals."
The air in the room thickened. She set the hairpin down with a precise click.
"What do you mean, Hadrian?"
He took a step forward, crossing the vast expanse of polished marble floor between them. "You were laughing. You were looking at a tide pool. You looked… at ease."
She turned on the velvet stool to face him, her expression a complex map of defiance and profound weariness. "Is it a crime to be at ease with a friend? To share a moment of levity while fighting a losing battle against an ecological disaster?"
"No," he said, his heart hammering against his ribs. "But it seems to be a crime to be at ease with me."
The words hung there, raw and bleeding. Seraphina's composure cracked. Her shoulders slumped, and she looked away, out the window to the dark sea.
"I am tired, Hadrian. So terribly tired. With you… it feels like every moment is a state function. Are we presenting a united front? Are we furthering the brand? Are we meeting the children's royal obligations? With Rian, it's just… conversation. He doesn't want anything from me. Not a project, not an heir, not a perfect public image. He just listens."
It was the journal entry, spoken aloud. It was the void given voice. Hadrian felt a surge of anger, hot and desperate.
"And I do? I only want things from you? What about the conservatory? The library? Everything I build is for you!"
"That's just it!" she cried, standing suddenly, her eyes flashing. "You build for me! You don't sit with me! When my reef is dying, you want to design a new one! When I am drowning in the silence of this… this perfect life, you don't ask why! You check the acoustics!" She was shaking now, tears finally spilling over. "Rian asks. He asks how it feels. And sometimes, God help me, that is the only thing that keeps me from disappearing into the deep forever."
The confession was not of love for another man, but of reliance on a lifeline he had failed to throw. The romantic void wasn't empty. It was filled with the quiet, understanding presence of Prince Rian Valeroy. And in that moment, staring at his wife's shattered face, Hadrian Valentoire understood the true villainy of their situation. The villain wasn't a man stealing his wife's affection.
The villain was the perfect, soundproof cage of their marriage, and he was its chief architect. And his wife had found a crack in the glass, a place to breathe, with someone who was not him.