FROST AND FLAME

Paris often felt like the palace walls were closing in on her. Its beauty, once mesmerizing, had turned into a prison of gold and marble, suffocating her with reminders of everything she lacked, most especially, her husband's love.

It was on a hot afternoon, restless and weary of the silence, Paris wandered into the gardens. Her feet carried her toward the training yard, where the guards sparred under the sun. She paused at the edge, her gaze drawn to Mateo. His movements were sharp, purposeful, his dark hair damp with sweat that glistened in the light.

She lingered, her eyes tracing his every step, every calculated motion. When he finally noticed her, their eyes met, and a jolt of something unfamiliar shot through her. His gaze was steady, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the way he looked at her a recognition, a fleeting acknowledgment that made her feel alive.

Mateo inclined his head slightly in respect, but the tension between them was undeniable. For the first time in years, Paris felt seen.

That night, unable to shake the feeling, she sent for him. The pretense was flimsy something about concerns over her wing's security but it didn't matter. When Mateo stood in her doorway, her resolve wavered.

"You asked for me, Your Grace?" he said, his voice calm, though his eyes betrayed curiosity.

"Yes," Paris replied, her voice softer than intended. She poured herself a glass of wine, hesitating before pouring one for him as well. It was a small rebellion against propriety, but tonight, she didn't care.

Their conversation was short, an exchange of polite words that barely masked the growing tension. When she reached out, her hand brushing his arm, he didn't flinch. His lips met hers hesitantly at first, then with hunger.

The room was softly lit by the warm glow of a single bedside lamp, casting golden reflections on the walls. The rain outside tapped gently against the windowpane, a soothing rhythm that seemed to sync with the quiet beating of their hearts.

Paris leaned into Mateo, her breath hitching as his fingers traced the curve of her jaw. He cupped her face as if she were something precious, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone with infinite tenderness. The way he looked at her, like she was the only person in the world, sent a wave of warmth coursing through her.

"You're beautiful, my queen". He murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion.

Her lips curved into a shy smile as her hands found their way to his chest, her fingertips grazing the planes of his body.

Mateo guided her onto the bed, the sheets cool against her skin. His kisses deepened, their intensity growing with each passing second. She felt his hands move over her, learning every line, every curve, as though he were memorizing her by touch.

Paris wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer, their breaths mingling as their bodies intertwined. Every movement, every whisper, felt like a symphony composed only for them, a melody of love and longing.

The rain outside grew heavier, but there was only warmth, tenderness, and a love that spoke louder than any words ever could.

It was the first of many nights.

***

Levi sat in his study that evening, the flicker of the fireplace dancing in the dimly lit room. His fingers traced the rim of his bourbon glass as he stared at the monitor before him. The palace's security system, with its strategically hidden cameras, fed live footage into his private study.

He rarely indulged in surveillance for personal matters, but tonight, an unshakable instinct had led him to check and there it was, Paris and Mateo. The way she touched him, the way he responded. Levi's expression didn't change as he watched them disappear into her chambers. He didn't flinch when the door closed behind them, nor when the silence that followed confirmed what he already knew.

There was no rage, no jealousy. Levi's feelings for Paris were as cold as the marble floors they walked on. Her betrayal wasn't unexpected; it was simply another calculated move in a marriage built on duty rather than love. He didn't care for her actions so much as he cared for their consequences.

***

Long after Mateo left her chambers, Paris lay awake, staring at the intricately carved ceiling. The warmth of his touch still lingered, but so did the weight of her guilt. She had promised herself she would stand by Levi, even as he kept her at a distance.

And yet, in Mateo's arms, she felt alive in a way she hadn't in years. His touch, his presence, had filled a void she thought would swallow her whole. But as the night stretched on, doubt crept in.

But then she shook her head, trying to dismiss the thought. If Levi knew, he would have said something or perhaps he wouldn't care. The bitterness of that thought stung more than she expected.

The next morning, Levi strode through the palace halls, his face a mask of indifference. In the dining hall, he passed Paris. For a fleeting moment, he paused, his piercing eyes meeting hers.

She froze, panic flickering in her gaze as if he could see through her, as if he knew. But Levi didn't linger. He looked away and continued walking, leaving her to wonder if her fears were justified.