Page 46 of The Girl Who Fell Through Time (To Fall Through Time #1)

Instead, she gives a soft, knowing laugh. “I imagine he did. But surely, Your Majesty, a love match is not such a terrible scandal?”

King Alden chuckles, his fingers tightening just slightly on hers as they turn. “A love match? Is that what we’re calling it?”

She smiles, as if they are merely sharing idle gossip. “Why? Do you doubt it? ”

“I doubt everything,” he replies easily. “It is the duty of a king.”

Then perhaps you should have doubted the Duke’s loyalty, she thinks.

But she keeps her face serene, lets her fingers brush against his in a fleeting touch meant to charm.

“A burden, no doubt,” she murmurs. “And one made heavier by so many watching eyes. So many whispers of war, of shifting alliances… one can never be too careful.”

Alden’s gaze sharpens, the amusement in his expression dimming just slightly. “You speak as though you know something.”

Selene tilts her head, lets herself laugh as though she is merely being coy. “Only what everyone knows—that tensions with Ashvold remain unresolved. That there are those in Haverland, I fear, who would welcome change.”

His grip on her waist firms, his next step sharper. “You shouldn’t worry yourself with such speculations, Lady Nightbloom,” he advises her. “Ashvold will never breach the mountains.”

“I do hope you’re right,” Selene returns. “My grandmother lives right near the border, did you know? An estate called Nocturne Hall.”

“I’ve never been.”

“The estate is to be mine upon her death,” Selene tells him. “Sometimes I wonder… well, it just being so close to Ashvold… I worry that…”

“That something could happen to her?”

“I fear that someone could use the estate for something.” She lets the words linger, just for a moment, before breezing it away. “I’m probably worried over nothing, aren’t I? Too much novel-reading.”

“Not always a good idea for a young woman.”

Selene bites her tongue. “Indeed, Your Majesty. ”

But she sees something change in his face. He’s curious. If nothing else, he’s thinking.

The dance ends. Selene bows to her King. “A pleasure, sire.”

“And one I hope to repeat,” he says. “After some wine!”

The halls of Ebonrose are eerily quiet as Selene steps through them, the last echoes of music and laughter now long faded. The grand chandelier has been dimmed, the candles along the corridors burning low. Outside, the wind shifts through the trees, rustling leaves against the glass.

The ball has gone off without a hitch—almost too well.

No dramatic outbursts, no suspicious missteps.

The Duke behaved himself, smiling his polished smile, drinking his wine, being almost suspiciously polite.

He even made an effort to apologise to her for their dance at the Fairmont’s ball.

But Selene knows better. The Duke does nothing without purpose.

Marta helps her get ready for bed, but Selene can’t sleep. Not while he is under their roof.

And she doesn’t know who—or what—made Dorian disappear in her past.

She tiptoes to Dorian’s door and knocks lightly. He doesn’t answer, but she remembers the addendum he made to their marriage contract. She’s allowed to enter whenever she likes.

She slips inside. Dorian is in bed, turned on his side, half asleep.

She comes around to his side. “Dorian?”

“Selene?” His voice is low, rough from exhaustion. “What’s wrong? ”

He moves to the side table to grab his glasses, but Selene puts her hand across his. She exhales, suddenly feeling foolish. She had no clear reason to be here. No excuse. Only the gnawing sense of unease lodged in her ribs.

“I—” She swallows. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Dorian studies her for a long moment. “The Duke?”

She nods. “I don’t trust him.”

“I would be deeply concerned if you did.”

A huff of laughter escapes her, unbidden. He watches her with soft eyes. Heavens, how she’s come to adore these eyes of his, the warmth of them, the chips of green and amber and brown.

“I don’t like him in our home,” she admits. “I don’t like knowing he’s sleeping just down the hall.”

Dorian exhales, raking a hand through his hair. “He won’t try anything under our roof, not when half of the nobility is here to witness it.”

“And after they leave?”

“You’re worried about something specific.”

Selene hesitates. She can’t tell him about the paper, the prediction of his disappearance.

“Just a feeling,” she murmurs.

“Do you plan to watch me all night?” he asks.

She swallows. The room suddenly feels smaller. Warmer. Her pulse quickens. “Would that be all right?”

Dorian blinks at her. Once more, he reaches for his glasses.

“You don’t need those right now!” Selene hisses.

“I like seeing you,” Dorian insists. “I like knowing you’re here.”

Selene wants to kiss him at that, but if she does, she knows she won’t want to stop, and she doesn’t want another awkward conversation about children and sex. She just wants to stay here, beside him, to know he’s safe .

“I’m here,” she tells him. “And, if you’re all right with it, I’d really like to come into bed with you.”

Dorian smiles. His hand comes up to her face. “My brave protectress,” he whispers. “You’re much prettier than Soren.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

In response, he opens up the covers and moves over. Selene climbs in, draping an arm around his waist, savouring his warmth, his scent. Nothing bad can happen here.

“Your heart is beating very fast,” she remarks.

“Yes, you’re very pretty and it makes me nervous sometimes.”

“Would you believe me if I told you that I think you’re pretty too?”

Dorian tenses, just for a moment. “No,” he says. “But thank you for saying that.”

She watches the fire flicker in the hearth. “Goodnight, husband.”

“Goodnight, wife.”