The Smile Beneath the Sand

chapter 4

Livia

I hated my father’s office.

Not because of him—never because of him—but because of what the room represented. Power sharpened into something cold. Decisions made without mercy. Lives measured in coin and spectacle. The walls were lined with ledgers instead of art, weapons instead of memories.

My mother’s presence had once softened this place. A vase of fresh flowers on the desk. Light curtains that moved when the windows were open. Small rebellions of beauty.

They were gone now.

I stood in the doorway longer than necessary, fingers curled around the edge of the frame. My father had summoned me—no explanation, no urgency—but when I arrived, the room was empty. His chair sat untouched behind the desk, the seal ring resting beside neatly stacked scrolls.

Delayed, then.

That was unlike him.

I stepped inside, the door closing softly behind me. The air smelled faintly of oil and parchment, undercut by something else—iron, maybe, or sweat. Out of place. I frowned, taking another step forward.

That was when I heard breathing.

Not the quiet, distant sound of servants moving through the house—but close. Steady. Male.

I froze.

Before I could turn, the door behind me opened.

And he was there.

Kael.

The space between us vanished instantly.

I gasped, my back brushing the desk as his body came to a halt inches from mine. Too close—far too close. I could feel the heat of him, smell sun-warmed skin and steel and something raw beneath it all. My pulse thundered so loudly I was certain he could hear it.

He stopped as abruptly as I had, eyes widening a fraction before hardening with instinct. A trapped animal suddenly aware it was cornered with something fragile.

We stared at each other.

This was not the balcony. There was no distance here. No safety in height or stone or guards.

Just us.

I had never realized how tall he truly was. How the scars on his skin were not just marks, but stories etched into flesh. One ran along his collarbone, pale and jagged, disappearing beneath the rough linen he wore. Another traced his forearm, close enough that I could almost—almost—reach out and touch it.

I did not.

I could not move.

“I—” My voice failed, breath catching painfully in my throat. “I thought… my father—”

“He called for me,” Kael said quietly.

His voice was lower than I expected. Controlled. Careful. As if every word were chosen with survival in mind.

“I didn’t know you would be here,” he added.

Neither did I.

The door remained open behind him. Anyone could pass by. A servant. A guard. My father himself.

The realization sent a sharp spike of fear through me.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I whispered.

The absurdity of it struck me even as I spoke. This was his house only in the cruelest sense. He was summoned where and when my father wished. He existed at my father’s pleasure.

“I know,” he said.

Our eyes locked again, and something unspoken passed between us—recognition, tension, a shared understanding of how dangerous this moment was.

He shifted, intending to step back.

The movement startled me.

I reached out without thinking.

My fingers brushed his wrist.

The contact was brief. Accidental. Electric.

Kael inhaled sharply, muscles going rigid beneath my touch. His gaze dropped to where my hand rested against him, as if he could not quite believe it was real.

Neither could I.

I pulled back at once, heart racing. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s all right,” he said, but his voice was different now. Tighter. Less controlled.

Silence pressed in around us, heavy and intimate. I became acutely aware of how small the room felt, how the walls seemed to lean inward, trapping us in a moment that should not exist.

I could see the struggle in him—to look away, to retreat, to remember his place.

I could feel the same war waging inside myself.

“You shouldn’t stand so close to the door,” I said, grasping for something safe, something mundane. “Someone might—”

“I know,” he repeated.

There it was again. That understanding. He knew. Of course he knew. His life depended on knowing where danger lurked.

Yet he had stepped into this room anyway.

“So did you,” he added gently.

The words struck deeper than they should have.

I swallowed. “My father called me.”

A pause.

“He called me too.”

The implication settled between us. We were both here because of him. Because of the same man. The same power that chained Kael to the sand and bound me to a role I had never chosen.

Footsteps echoed faintly in the corridor outside.

We both tensed.

Kael moved then—quick, silent—stepping back just enough to restore the illusion of distance. My body protested the loss of warmth immediately, an ache blooming low and sharp.

The footsteps passed.

Neither of us spoke until the sound faded.

“You should go,” I said, though the thought twisted something painful in my chest. “If my father sees—”

“He won’t,” Kael said.

There was no arrogance in it. Just certainty. He had learned how to exist unseen.

He hesitated, then met my eyes one last time.

“You shouldn’t watch the training,” he said quietly.

I blinked. “Why?”

“Because you feel too much.”

The words were not an accusation. They were an observation. And somehow, that made them worse.

“I can’t help it,” I whispered.

“I know,” he said again.

For a moment—just a moment—I thought he might reach for me. The space between us felt charged, trembling with things neither of us dared name.

Then the door opened fully.

Kael was already gone.

The room felt emptier than before, colder somehow, as if the air itself had changed. I pressed a hand to my chest, willing my heart to slow, to behave.

This should not have happened.

It could not happen again.

And yet, as my father entered moments later, speaking briskly of business and matches and profit, all I could think about was how close I had come to something forbidden—

—and how easily I might let it happen again.