7 Chapter 7 Scandalous Protection
She set the linens down, then reached for the salve.
But her hand brushed the back of Cyr’s chair.
The fire was low. He sat in his chair; she curled up by the hearth with a blanket. Not touching. Not speaking.
“Oh my,” the baroness said sweetly, eyes sweeping over her. “So this is the famed shadow. You’re smaller than I expected.”
Silence fell again, heavier this time.
Her hand trembled against his.
He hadn’t thrown it.
Outside, wolves howled on the snow-laced cliffs.
“Tea.”
But *full.*
Still silence.
He looked up at her. “Do you think I care?”
“Answer me.”
Cyr looked up. “Careful, Lord Asten. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
To him, it meant everything.
The fire crackled.
He gestured to Eileen. “Stay by my side.”
That was enough.
She shook her head.
Stillness.
Clan Fendral sent their twin daughters. Bluevera sent a widow with eyes like knives. And Snowmountain sent no one but a contract-expecting his signature.
He closed his eyes.
*Prince Cyr Ulmir throws away royal betrothal for voiceless servant!*
And for a single breath, her lips parted-shaping a name.
Then nodded.
His eyes found hers.
“You saved me, you know,” he said softly.
And though neither of them said a word… the silence thundered louder than any royal
decree.
She approached Cyr’s chamber under escort. Eileen opened the door before she could
knock.
He grabbed her wrist-not to hurt, but to keep her from walking away.
“You will sit straight, Prince Cyr.”
To anyone else, it would mean nothing.
“When they say I’ve gone mad for a mute maid, I want to say yes. Let me be mad. At
least this madness feels real.”
Then she pulled away.
Barely a graze.
“I said, *unhand her.*”
The councilor from Snowmountain cleared his throat. “Your Highness… this
attachment-”
Across the long council hall, diplomats from four clans shifted uncomfortably.
Cyr signed nothing.
Cyr rolled his eyes. “I’m in a wheelchair, General Norven. Straight is the best you’ll get.”
Cyr’s voice cut through the air like a blade. “Unhand her.”
“She should never have touched your wrist,” he muttered.
The court was divided-some scandalized, others intrigued.
His name.
She stepped forward, graceful as ever, tray balanced on one hand. Her presence- silent, steady, strange-set the entire hall murmuring.
That night, as she treated the strain in his arms, her fingertips lingered.
Baroness Lys reached out, fingers grazing Eileen’s wrist.
Lys raised both palms. “My prince, I meant no offense.”
Ceramic shards scattered across the rug.
The spring thaw had arrived, and with it, marriage offers wrapped in silk and gold.
The baroness looked up, surprised.
She froze.
But he had felt it.
Baroness Lys arrived unannounced with a gift of rare ink and a smile sharper than
steel.
Then he felt something soft and hesitant against his hand.
He heard her shift slightly.
Then Cyr said coldly, “The next man who insults her will find out just how broken I really am.”
“How do you command such devotion with no voice at all?”
The word not spoken, but almost born.
Eileen said nothing.
”
Eileen’s fingers curled slightly in his grasp.
And inside the prince’s chamber, silence curled between them-
The next day, the gossip spread like wildfire.
She stared at him a moment longer.
Eileen stood motionless behind him, eyes on the floor.
“Stay with me tonight.”
The envoy stopped, because Cyr’s cup hit the stone floor with a sharp crack.
–
She met his gaze briefly, then turned away.
*Who is the girl behind the throne?*
Back in his chambers, Cyr stared at the ceiling.
–
A beat of silence followed.
The envoy from Bluevera sneered. “Is this the servant you’re rumored to be keeping in your bedchamber?”
Her fingers.
Eileen caught his shoulder instinctively, steadying him.
“I don’t mean the bed,” he added. “I mean *here*. In this room. If you leave, I’ll feel like I’m unraveling”
“I would’ve broken her fingers if you hadn’t pulled away.”
“You touched her without permission. In my home. In *my presence*”
“I don’t want to scare you,” he said.
*Is the Citadel ruled by a maid with no voice but all his attention?*
She didn’t move.
“Not just from the hawk. Or the pain. From the silence I used to wrap around myself.”
“Is not your concern,” Cyr snapped. “If your leaders are offended, feel free to leave. I’m sure the Southern Wastes would enjoy another war.”
“Then let it be,” he said. “Let them be afraid.”
“I just want you to stay.”
Not empty.
And then-quietly, firmly-he said, “She is under my protection. No one touches her again.”
Almost.
He rolled forward suddenly, his chair bumping into her knees.
She hesitated only a second before stepping behind his chair again.
Eileen finished folding a new set of linens, refusing to acknowledge the tremor in his
voice.
Just breathing the same air.
“I don’t want to control you.”
No one spoke.
Baroness Lys paled.
Cyr’s hand shot up, grasping hers.
The wheels of his chair screeched as he jerked forward, nearly slamming into the wall.
Cyr had wheeled into the hall without warning, teeth bared.
“I’m only stating what we all suspect. That you’ve rejected marriage for a mute girl who probably can’t even—’
“You’re not just a servant,” he said. “They know it now. They smell it on you.”
Resting there.
He simply gestured at Eileen.
She shook her head slowly, signing: *It’s dangerous.*
He’d crushed it in his hand.
