Chapter IV : Between Swords and Silence

Rebecca's POV 

Rhys looked freshly scrubbed from the barracks, his blond hair damp, eyes bright and sharp in the morning light. His armor gleamed beneath a navy cloak, and his expression— 

His expression shattered something in my chest. 

“Becca,” Rhys said, voice soft. “Are you all right?” 

I nodded, but it came out like a wobble. “Yes. I’m—fine.” 

Rhys shot a look past me to Gideon, who remained by the hearth, calm as a glacier. 

“I came to see her,” Rhys said. Not a question. A challenge. 

“She’s here,” Gideon replied evenly. “You’ve seen her.” 

Rhys took a step forward, his jaw tight. “I’d like to speak to her. Alone.” 

Gideon’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not how things work anymore.” 

“Funny,” Rhys said, coldly. “She didn’t seem like your fiancée two nights ago.” 

The air crackled. I shot out of my seat. “Okay! Okay. No need for sword-measuring at breakfast.” 

Rhys blinked, then laughed—but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Right. Sorry.” He softened a little when he looked at me. “I just… I wanted to check on you. I heard what happened. The rumors are everywhere. I didn’t believe them.” 

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Then said, “Most of it’s true.” 

Rhys frowned. “So you really… made a love potion? For him?” 

“I didn’t mean to—” I paused. “I mean, I meant to, but not for—It was… it’s complicated.” 

“Then tell me,” Rhys said. “Tell me everything.” 

Before I could answer, Gideon stepped forward. “You’ve asked your question.” 

Rhys turned on him. “She’s not yours to command.” 

Gideon’s voice went ice-cold. “She is under my protection. And under palace law, that gives me full authority to decide who is allowed near her—including men who only notice her once it’s convenient.” 

Oh. 

Oh no. 

Rhys looked like he’d been slapped. “That’s not fair.” 

“Neither is returning now and pretending you were ever paying attention,” Gideon said. His tone was calm, almost clinical. 

Rhys’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t abandon her. I was at war.” 

“So was I.” Gideon’s gaze didn’t waver. “But not blind.” 

Rhys frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Gideon’s gaze didn’t waver. “Nothing you’d understand.” 

Rhys stepped forward. “Look, I don’t know what you think you know—” 

“You don’t,” Gideon said, calm as ever. “That’s the point.” 

Rhys blinked, thrown off. “What?” 

I blinked between them, half expecting swords to get drawn. Or gloves thrown. Or… whatever men like them did when their voices got too calm to be casual. 

Gideon didn’t elaborate. Just looked at him like he was already dismissed. 

Something in Rhys’s jaw shifted, like he wanted to push harder, to argue—but didn’t know where to start. 

Because he hadn’t known. I’d spent years folding my feelings into small, safe corners of my chest—and he never once looked close enough to see them. 

I stood frozen between them, heart racing. 

“I think,” I said, voice cracking slightly, “that’s enough visiting for one morning.” 

Rhys swallowed. “Becca—” 

“I’ll be okay,” I said quickly. “I promise.” 

Rhys lingered in the doorway. “If you need anything…” 

Gideon stepped forward again. “She won’t.” 

The door shut firmly behind him. 

Silence. 

I turned slowly. “You didn’t have to bite his head off, you know.” 

“I didn’t,” Gideon said, sitting back down. “I was being generous.” 

I raised an eyebrow. “That was generous?” 

Gideon didn’t answer. Instead, he handed me a folded note. 

“What’s this?” I asked. 

“A list of royal tailors,” Gideon said. “They’ll come to you. You’ll need gowns for the engagement ceremonies.” 

“I… I don’t need anything fancy,” I muttered. 

“You’re marrying the Knight Commander,” Gideon said. “You do.” 

I stared at him. At the man who just verbally gutted Rhys with no raised voice, no emotion, and now was planning my wardrobe like it was a military mission. 

“Gideon?” I asked cautiously. 

Gideon looked at me. 

“Did you… really mean what you said? Last night?” 

Gideon was quiet for a long moment. Then he stood again. Walked to the window. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.” 

I stared at his back. “I didn’t think you even noticed me back then,” I whispered. “When I was just some orphan girl and you were already… someone.” 

Gideon didn’t answer. And maybe that was what pulled the memory up, slow and aching. 

I’d been twelve. Clinging to my mother’s robes as we walked the marble halls of the palace, the air sharp with the scent of steel and stone and power. My heart had pounded with every step past those guards in polished armor. 

And then I saw him. 

Newly knighted, seventeen, his sword still too big for his frame. But he stood like he was carved from something ancient, eyes already too sharp, too quiet. 

Not yet the Commander. Not yet feared. Just a boy trying not to look like he was still grieving. 

He’d nodded at my mother. She nodded back, without breaking stride. Later that evening, I asked who he was. 

“Gideon Malik,” My mother said, grinding dried bellroot into a vial. “Of Blackthorn Hall.” She didn’t look up when she said it, but I remember the way her hands slowed for just a second. 

“Born into gold, but no mother to hold him. She died when he was born. And then his father—gone the day he was knighted. Poor boy. That kind of loss... it hollows you out if you’re not careful.” 

My mother said Gideon was respectful. Always addressed her as ‘Mistress Rosewyn.’ Never once tried to flatter. Never once overstepped.

“But he’s lonely,” She’d murmured once, almost to herself. “Lonely in a way you can’t fix with kindness.” 

I remembered thinking Gideon looked like a statue that had lost its sculptor. Beautiful, but unfinished. 

It was three months before my mother died. After that, everything blurred. I’d always assumed he’d forgotten me—if he ever saw me at all. 

And now… he was going to be my husband. 

The thought didn’t feel real, not in a way I could hold. It hovered just outside reach, too sharp, too strange. 

The same boy I once watched from behind my mother’s skirts— Now the man who spoke to me like I mattered. 

Gideon was silent for a long moment. 

“I noticed,” He said. “More than I should have.” 

That was it. 

But it was enough to make my hands shake all over again. 

I didn’t know what to say after that. 

His words echoed in my chest like they'd carved out a space too big to be filled. 

I looked down at the folded list in my hand. Tailors. Gowns. Engagement ceremonies. Everything sounded too grand, too sharp, too real. I wasn’t built for gold-stitched silk and courtyards full of eyes. I made tea that cured heartbreak. I burned scones. I had a squeaky shop door and a chipped teacup collection. 

I wasn’t supposed to be here. But I was. 

And somehow, so was Gideon. Watching me with that unreadable expression, as though he’d already figured out how this would all end—and was still doing it anyway. 

“Do you ever regret it?” I asked quietly. 

Gideon didn’t turn. “What?” 

“This,” I said. “Saving me. Tying yourself to… this mess.” 

His shoulders lifted in a slight breath. “No.” 

Gideon turned then. And for once, his gaze didn’t feel cold. Just tired. Determined. Like he’d made a decision long ago and had no plans to undo it. 

“Don’t mistake silence for regret, Rebecca,” Gideon said. “If I wanted out of this, I would be.” 

A small, sharp silence opened between us. 

Gideon really meant it. And not just the engagement. 

He meant me. 

I tucked the list into the folds of my dress and stood slowly. “Then I guess I’d better look like I belong.” 

Gideon’s gaze dropped to the list in my hands. “They’ll be here by afternoon.” 

I nodded. Tried to ignore the flurry of nerves that came with the idea of people poking and measuring and dressing me up like a doll. I wasn’t used to being seen. Not like this. 

I moved toward the table to pour another cup of tea—but my foot caught on the hem of my skirt. 

I pitched forward with an undignified yelp, and before I could hit the floor, two strong arms caught me by the waist and steadied me. 

I froze. 

Gideon had moved across the room like a ghost. One hand still at my waist. The other cupping my elbow. His grip was firm, careful. Like I might shatter. 

His voice was low. “Careful.” 

I stared at him. At the closeness. The heat of him, the scent of cedar and steel. His eyes held mine, and I swear—for a moment—they softened. 

Then his hands fell away. 

I stood there blinking, pulse still racing like I’d just danced with a thunderstorm. “Right. Sorry. I’m a walking hazard.” 

Gideon’s lips twitched. Just barely. “I noticed.” 

I scoffed, rolling my eyes and pouring the tea with great caution this time. “And you still want to marry me. Curious.” 

Gideon said nothing. 

But his silence didn’t feel empty. 

The tailors arrived mid-afternoon. There were three of them, all pale and pinched-looking, with dozens of swatches and bolts of fabric in their arms. They bowed to Gideon like he was a god and then turned their beady eyes on me. 

"She’s smaller than I expected," One whispered to the other in a tone that made me want to vanish. 

Gideon was gone by then—off to the training yard or a war council or wherever terrifying men went when they weren’t saving potion-makers from execution. I almost wished he’d stayed. 

By the time they finished measuring and tutting and pinning samples to my body, I felt like I’d been skinned and sewn back together. They left behind sketches and schedules and a warning not to eat too much bread before the next fitting. 

Charming. 

I collapsed on the bed when they finally left, staring up at the carved beams overhead. 

Everything was spinning too fast. I hadn’t even had a chance to process Maddie’s exile from my life, or the look on Rhys’s face when he left, or the fact that I now lived in Gideon Malik’s quarters. Like… lived here. 

My body ached. My heart felt raw. 

So when the door creaked open and Gideon stepped in again—dusty and windblown—I didn’t even sit up. I just groaned into the pillow. “If you brought another tailor, I swear I will jump out the window.” 

There was a pause. Then his dry voice. “Just me.” 

I rolled over and sat up. “Where’ve you been?” 

“Drills. Reports. Arguments.” 

“You know,” I said, squinting, “you really need a hobby.” 

His brow arched slightly. “I had one. But she accidentally gave me a love potion.” 

I stared. 

Then snorted. “That’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard.” 

Gideon smirked. It was the first real smile I’d seen from him. 

And gods, it was… unfair. Dangerous. 

I looked away before I got stuck in it. “So. What now? Do we just… wait until the Queen parades me through the next banquet in a shiny dress like her new trophy?” 

“Not a trophy,” Gideon said. His voice was steady. “A shield.” 

I turned to him, frowning. “A shield?” 

“The nobles think you’re a threat. The Queen sees you as leverage. If I can keep you close, I can keep you safe. That’s all this is.” 

But his tone shifted on that last line. Like it wasn’t only that. 

I crossed my arms. “You could’ve just said that instead of proposing marriage, you know.” 

“I didn’t want a temporary solution.” 

I blinked. “So instead you picked permanent prison?” 

Gideon stepped closer. His expression didn’t change—but his voice did. Quieter. Rougher. 

“You’re not a prison.” 

Oh. 

Okay. 

Now my heart was doing things again. 

“I’m just…” I hesitated. “I’m not what people expect.” 

“Good.” 

I stared at him. 

Gideon stared back. 

There was something electric in the silence now. Something unspoken and unbearable. 

Gideon stepped forward, slow and deliberate. 

I didn’t move. 

“I’m not asking you to love me,” Gideon said. “I know what this is. I know how it started. But I won’t lie to you.” 

He was so close now. 

“What do you mean?” I whispered. 

“I mean,” Gideon said, voice like thunder and velvet, “that this marriage might have started as a shield. But I’m not pretending I don’t want more.” 

I forgot how to breathe. 

“Gideon—” 

Gideon reached up, gently. His hand brushed my cheek—just once. The touch was barely there, but it left heat blooming under my skin. 

Then he stepped back. Like it had cost him something to even say that much. 

“I’ll let you rest,” Gideon said. “But if you need anything—” 

“I know,” I said. My voice sounded hoarse. “I’ll come to you.” 

Gideon nodded. And left. 

When the door shut, I sat down again. Hard. 

The room was too quiet. My thoughts were too loud. 

I still didn’t understand him. Didn’t understand what this was turning into. 

But I knew this much:

He didn’t save me for politics.

He didn’t kneel for pity.

He hadn’t looked at me once like I was a mistake. 

And maybe… Maybe I wasn’t. 

I looked down at the list of tailors again. Then at the door. 

No one else would protect me in this palace. 

But maybe—I could learn to stand beside the man who did. 

Even if he was ice. 

Even if I still burned.