A Throne for the Forgotten

Chapter 26

They didn’t speak during the meeting. They didn’t need to.

The tension between Celeste and Lucan was palpable. Every council member at the civic planning session felt it, even if no one acknowledged it.

They sat beside each other—shoulders square, backs straight, eyes forward. Not a glance. Not a nod. But the energy between them could’ve cracked the polished wood table in half.

The topic was zoning laws. Infrastructure investment. Words neither of them truly cared about today. When the session paused for a recess, the room exhaled. So did Lucan.

He stood and followed her as she walked toward the hall. “Celeste,” he said, just above a whisper. She turned slightly, not stopping. “Please,” he added. “Talk to me.”

She didn’t agree right away. Just paused. Then finally gave a small nod. They slipped behind a side door, into a break room used by aides. No one followed. No one dared. He closed the door gently behind them.

“Thank you,” he said.

She crossed her arms.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Her voice was ice, but it wasn’t rage.

“You said you wanted honesty,” Lucan began.

“Then start with it,” she said. “Because I don’t have time for another performance.”

“Neither do I.” He leaned against the wall. “But I’m tired of walking into rooms with you and pretending we’re just political ghosts.”

“We are ghosts,” she replied. “You killed whatever we were. Don’t act surprised.”

“I didn’t kill it alone.”

“You left first.”

“I stayed quiet.”

“Exactly.”

“Celeste…”

“No,” she interrupted. “You don’t get to rewrite it now.”

He sighed. “I didn’t come in here to argue.”

“Then why did you follow me?” she asked. “So you could feel better about sitting next to me like the past doesn’t burn between us?”

“I followed you because I needed you to look at me.”

She blinked. “Why?” “Because I’m still standing here,” he said. “Still choosing truth.”

“You didn’t choose me,” she replied. “Not when it counted.”

He nodded, the weight of her words hitting like always. “You’re right. I didn’t. I chose comfort over courage.”

“And you chose legacy over love,” she added, the words like glass. “You wanted to be remembered more than you wanted to fight for what was real.”

“I wanted both,” he said. “But I was raised to think you couldn’t have both.”

“Then you weren’t ready for someone like me,” she said. “Because I’ve never been halfway. You either stand beside me, or you stand in my way.”

“I didn’t know how,” he whispered. “Then you shouldn’t have touched me at all,” she said.

They stood in that brutal silence—neither retreating, neither attacking. Just hurting. “If love isn’t loyal,” she said finally, “what is it worth?”

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

“I thought you were my safe place,” she continued. “But you were just another room where I had to stay quiet.”

His throat tightened. “You were never quiet,” he said softly.

“You never heard me,” she replied.

Lucan stepped forward. “I hear you now.”

“Too late,” she said.

“I know.”

She turned to leave. “We’re not rebuilding anything, Lucan.” “I know that too.”

Her hand was on the doorknob. Her back to him. “I didn’t come here for another wound,” she said. “I came to remind myself why I walked away.”

“Did it work?” he asked. She hesitated.

“Yes.” But her voice didn’t sound sure. It sounded tired. Like a truth she wished she didn’t believe.

Lucan’s voice dropped. “I failed you.”

She paused again. “That’s not my wound to carry anymore.”

He nodded, though she couldn’t see it. “I hope someday you forgive me.”

“I don’t need to,” she said. “I just needed to say it out loud.”

“Then say the rest,” he said. “Whatever’s still inside you.”

She didn’t. She opened the door. But before she could step out, his voice caught the air one last time. Gentle. Vulnerable. True.

“I never stopped loving you,” he said.