Chapter III : Known and Unknown

Rebecca’s POV 

The silence between us was louder than any crowd. 

I didn’t speak as Gideon led me through the palace halls, his long strides perfectly measured, mine half a stumble behind. 

Our hands were still joined, which made zero sense—unless it was all for show. But no one else was here. Just the soft brush of tapestries and the echo of our boots on polished marble. 

Gideon didn’t say a word. Not even a glance. Just… kept walking, jaw tight, posture straight as a blade. 

The warmth of his grip betrayed him, though. 

Not tight. Not punishing. Just enough pressure to remind me that I wasn’t falling. 

Even though I very much felt like I was. 

I kept my eyes down, trying not to look like I was internally screaming. My mind was full of Lady Kalali’s voice: He didn’t choose her. He sacrificed himself. 

Maybe she was right. Maybe this was some noble strategy. A cover-up. 

But if that was true, why hadn’t he let me hang? 

Why offer marriage? 

And more importantly… why was he still holding my hand? 

We turned a corner, and suddenly the air changed. Warmer. Quieter. Less… royal. These weren’t the Queen’s marble halls anymore. These were stone corridors lined with dark wood and steel sconces. Personal guards in black stood sentinel. A quieter world—his world. 

The Commander’s quarters. 

I swallowed. My knees were made of paper. 

Gideon opened a heavy carved door and stepped aside for me to enter first. 

I hovered in the doorway, blinking at the space beyond. It was… simple. Not cold like I’d expected, but clean. Sparse. No gold or velvet like the rest of the palace. A massive fireplace. Sturdy oak bookshelves. A writing desk covered in maps. Weapons on the walls, because of course. And a bed. 

A very large bed. 

I flinched, stepping inside like the floor might fall out beneath me. 

The door shut behind me with a soft click. 

Then Gideon finally let go of my hand. 

I nearly stumbled with the loss of it. 

“You can sit,” Gideon said, his voice quiet. Calm. That coldness still lingered in his tone, but something in it was… different now. Measured. 

I sat stiffly on the edge of a velvet-upholstered bench, fingers curled in my lap. I didn’t know where to look. Definitely not at the bed. Gods, don’t look at the bed. 

Gideon walked to the fireplace and added another log. Sparks jumped. Shadows flickered across the planes of his face. He took off his gloves slowly, one at a time. Precise. Controlled. Then placed them on the mantle like they were part of a ritual. 

I cleared my throat, hating how small my voice sounded. “Commander… I mean—uh—do you want me to sleep somewhere else? The floor’s fine, I’m used to—” 

“No.” 

Just that. Firm. Final. 

I froze. 

Gideon didn’t look at me as he poured water into a basin from a pitcher. He dipped a cloth in it, then walked over and knelt—knelt—in front of me. 

“I—” My breath caught. “What are you doing?” 

“You’re shaking,” Gideon said simply, voice low. “And your hands are freezing.” 

Then he gently took one of mine in his and began wiping away the faint shimmer of spilled potion from my fingertips. Like I hadn’t accidentally committed treason tonight. Like I was someone who deserved gentleness. 

His touch was warm. Focused. The cloth passed over my skin in careful circles, and I had to force myself not to flinch. 

“You… don’t have to do that,” I whispered. 

“I know.” 

Then why are you? 

But I didn’t ask. I just watched him, watched the way his brows furrowed slightly in concentration. This man had terrified half the kingdom into silence, and here he was—kneeling in front of me, cleaning my hands like I was something breakable. 

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” I said finally, the words breaking out like a confession. 

“I know,” Gideon said again. Still quiet. Still calm. 

I blinked. “Then… why didn’t you let them punish me?” 

Gideon glanced up at me for the first time. Those ice-gray eyes locked onto mine. 

“Because I don’t let the court decide the worth of someone I care about.” 

The breath went out of me like I’d been hit. 

Someone I care about. 

But… no. That had to be part of the act, right? 

“I—But you don’t even know me,” I whispered. 

Gideon was quiet for a moment. Then he reached up—very slowly—and brushed a loose strand of my dark red waves behind my ear, his fingers barely grazing my cheek.

“I’ve known you longer than you think.” 

I stared at him. “What does that mean?” 

Gideon stood without answering, returning the cloth to the basin like the moment hadn’t just spun my world off its axis. 

Of course. Of course he wouldn't explain. 

Because Gideon Malik didn’t offer truths with his mouth. 

Gideon offered them with firewood, and silence, and the way he’d moved between me and a courtroom full of wolves. 

“Do you want food?” Gideon asked. “You haven’t eaten.” 

I blinked. “I—I’m not really hungry.” 

Gideon didn’t push. Just nodded, as if he’d expected that. Then crossed the room, pulled a blanket from the foot of the bed, and brought it back to wrap gently around my shoulders. 

I swallowed hard. “Thank you… Commander.” 

Gideon tensed slightly at the title. “You don’t have to call me that.” 

“What should I call you?” 

Gideon hesitated. Then, softly—so softly I barely caught it: “Gideon.” 

My breath caught. 

“I—I don’t know if I can,” I admitted. “It feels… wrong. Like I’m overstepping.” 

His eyes met mine again. “You’re not.” 

My lips parted. I wanted to try it. Just once. But the name sat heavy on my tongue. Personal. Too real. 

“…Gideon,” I said finally, barely above a whisper. 

His expression didn’t change much. But I saw the shift. The slightest easing in his brow, the quiet drop of tension in his shoulders. 

“There,” Gideon murmured. “That wasn’t so hard.” 

It was. But maybe not in a bad way. 

Another silence. 

Gideon glanced at the window, the moonlight casting silver across the stone floor. 

“You’ll stay here now,” Gideon said. “There are guards outside the door. No one enters without my permission. You’ll be safe.” 

I looked up at him. “Why are you being so kind to me?” 

Gideon didn’t blink. “Because you’re my wife-to-be.” 

He said it like a fact. Not something he’d been forced into. Not something he was bitter about. Just… truth. 

My heart felt like it was stuck in my throat. 

“But you don’t even like me.” 

One of his brows lifted—just slightly. “That’s where you’re wrong.” 

A pause. Gideon turned away, voice quieter now. “I’ve liked you for years.” 

I stopped breathing. 

Gideon didn’t wait for a reaction. Didn’t smile, or gloat, or look back to see if I’d fainted—which I might. He just walked across the room again, pulling a curtain across the bed and arranging a makeshift sleeping space near the fire. 

I couldn’t stop staring at the curtain. 

“…Wait. You’re not sleeping in the bed?” 

“No,” came his voice from the other side. “I’ll take the floor.” 

My chest tightened. “You don’t have to do that.” 

“Yes, I do.” 

And somehow that answer made my throat close up worse than if he’d said nothing at all. 

Because if this was pity… it was the strangest, most thoughtful, most terrifying version of it I’d ever seen. 

I curled into the blanket, heart rattling like it had no idea what rhythm it was supposed to follow anymore. The fire crackled softly. Shadows danced across the room. Somewhere behind the curtain, the Knight Commander of Jelita—cold, terrifying, unreadable—was sleeping on stone for me. 

And I didn’t understand any of it. 

I closed my eyes. And for the first time that night, I slept. 

I woke to the sound of firewood shifting and the distant clang of armor outside the door. 

For a moment, I didn’t know where I was. 

Then I saw the heavy velvet curtain. The carved beams. The gleam of a sword resting on a chair. 

Right. 

The palace. The marriage announcement. The love potion. 

Commander Gideon Malik. 

I sat up slowly, the blanket slipping from my shoulders. My body felt stiff, my mind worse—like I’d been dragging fear behind me in my sleep. 

When I peeked around the curtain, I froze. 

Gideon was already dressed in his dark uniform, polished and pristine, sword belted at his hip. He stood near the fire, flipping through a worn leather notebook and sipping something from a tin cup. 

He didn’t look at me. 

But he spoke. Of course he did. 

“There’s tea on the table. I had them send breakfast. You slept through three knocks.” 

My face went hot. “Oh. Sorry…” 

“You needed rest.” 

There was no judgment in his tone. Just facts. He turned a page. 

I wrapped the blanket tighter around myself and crept out. The table was now set with warm bread, fruit, and a little silver pot of tea—still steaming. 

I looked at it like it might be a trap. 

“You really didn’t have to—” 

“I did,” Gideon interrupted. “You’re not a prisoner. You’re my betrothed.” 

Right. That word again. Still foreign on his tongue. 

I poured tea with slightly shaking hands. “So... do I stay in here forever now? Am I allowed outside or do I need, I don’t know, an armed escort every time I breathe?” 

Gideon’s lips twitched. Almost like a smile. Almost. 

“You can go where you like. With limits. Some places are guarded. The Queen still has her eyes on you.” 

“Of course she does.” I muttered into my teacup. “Wouldn’t want the potion rat to seduce anyone else.” 

Gideon’s jaw flexed. “Don’t say that.” 

I blinked up at him. “Say what?” 

“What you just called yourself."

My throat tightened. “…Lady Kalali said worse.” 

“She’ll keep her distance from now on.” 

Something in his tone made me glance at him. “Did you… talk to her?” 

“I made myself clear.” 

I had no idea what that meant. But I imagined it involved Gideon looming like a silent avalanche while Lady Kalali shrieked and broke a fingernail on her own wineglass. 

I bit back a laugh. 

Then quickly panicked because—what was I doing laughing? I was still sitting in the Commander’s place in yesterday’s wrinkled dress. We were engaged. To be married. To each other. 

Gods. 

I tugged at my tangled hair, trying to smooth it. “I, um. Should probably go back to my shop. At some point. If it’s still standing.” 

Gideon was suddenly in front of me, which—considering I hadn’t even heard him move—was deeply unsettling. 

“No one has touched it,” He said. “I’ve already stationed someone to keep it guarded. You’ll have time to retrieve anything you need.” 

“...Oh.” 

Gideon hesitated. “But I’d prefer you not leave the palace today.” 

“Because you think I’ll run?” I said, a little too sharply. 

Gideon looked me straight in the eye. “No. Because the nobles will be looking for blood. If not yours, Muppet’s.” 

I blinked. “…Muppet?” 

Gideon nodded, calm as ever. “Your friend. The loud one. Talks like she’s preparing for war.” 

It took everything in me not to choke on my tea. “Do you mean Maddie?” 

A beat. 

“That’s what I said.” 

I stared at him. 

Gideon stared back, utterly unmoved. 

Gods help me. 

If Maddie ever found out he’d been calling her Muppet this whole time, I wasn’t entirely sure whether she’d be horrified, flattered, or deeply, deeply insulted. Probably all three. 

I could already picture her storming into the palace, wagging a wooden spoon like a sword, demanding the Commander look her in the eye and say her name right, godsdammit. 

“She’s safe,” Gideon added. “Back at your shop. Under watch, but unharmed.” 

I exhaled shakily. “Thank you.” 

Gideon inclined his head like it wasn’t anything at all. 

And that’s when the knock came. 

Three short raps. Firm. 

Gideon moved like a shadow—swift, smooth. He opened the door just a crack. Spoke briefly with the guard. 

Then stepped back. “We have a visitor.” 

I barely had time to sit up before the door creaked open. 

And in walked Rhys. 

I stopped breathing.