Reject me twice (Kira and Theron) novel Chapter 45

[Damon’s POV]

The council cornered me on a Thursday, and I should have seen it coming.

Lord Ashworth led the charge. The realm needed stability. The Dark King’s unmarried status was becoming a liability—a talking point for dissidents, a vulnerability the Order was already exploiting.

An alliance with a strong house would quiet doubts and project the strength the crown desperately needed.

I resisted. Cited the Order as a more pressing concern. Deployed every deflection I’d accumulated over months, and watched each one shatter against the council’s unified front.

My chief advisor presented the compromise. “Meet the candidates, Your Majesty. A formal process—controlled, dignified, on your terms. If none suit, you reject them all with legitimate cause and the council accepts your decision. But the process must happen.”

I agreed. Not because I wanted to, but because the alternative was a confrontation that would fracture the political consensus holding Kira’s throne together.

That evening, King Maelric summoned me to his private study.

Everything familiar—the small, warm space lined with books, the fire burning low, two chairs with wine poured and waiting. Everything exactly as it had been a thousand times before.

Except him.

He lowered himself into his chair a beat too slowly, his hand gripping the armrest with whitened knuckles.

I’d watched him sit in that chair my entire life, and the movement had always been fluid, automatic. This was deliberate, and the deliberateness sent a cold thread through my ribs.

He reached for the decanter, and his hand trembled.

“I’m told you agreed to meet the candidates with the enthusiasm of a man walking to his own execution.”

“The council didn’t leave me much choice.”

“There’s always a choice. The question is whether yours comes from strategy or from fear.” He leaned forward, and the effort cost him something visible around the eyes.

“I’m not going to tell you to marry, Damon. But I want you to hear something from a man who’s made the mistake I’m watching you make. A king who rules alone eventually forgets what he’s ruling for. Power without connection becomes its own prison—comfortable, controlled, utterly empty.”

His gaze held mine with a weariness I’d never seen before. Not temporary exhaustion, but something structural.

“I’ve watched too many people I love choose isolation because vulnerability frightened them more than loneliness. Don’t reject this process because you’re afraid of what it might offer you. That’s all I ask.”

He didn’t push further. Just sat back with his trembling wine glass and let the silence carry the weight his words couldn’t.

I left unsettled less by the advice than by how tired my father looked delivering it.

The candidates arrived over the following days. Lady Rowena Ashworth flattered me with algorithmic precision. Lady Vivienne Hale complimented my military strategy using language lifted from official reports.

“You know I don’t trust you,” I said, testing where her honesty cracked.

It didn’t crack. “You shouldn’t. You don’t know me. Trust without knowledge isn’t wisdom—it’s naivety, and whatever else people say about the Dark King, no one’s accused you of that.”

She paused, and her voice went quieter. “I’m not asking you to trust me. I’m only asking to be judged on my own actions—on what I actually do and say in your presence—rather than on whatever crimes you’re imagining I might commit based on the sins of women I’ve never met.”

The words landed somewhere unexpected. Not in the armored part of me that analyzed every interaction for threats, but in the exhausted part beneath it—the part so tired of searching for knives in every extended hand that someone acknowledging the search felt like a door opening in a wall I’d forgotten had doors.

I didn’t trust her. Every instinct was cataloging Elara Thornwood for potential threats, mapping her words against known manipulation patterns, searching for the hidden architecture of a scheme.

It found nothing. Which either meant there was nothing to find, or she was better at hiding it than anyone I’d encountered.

But I was intrigued. Something about Elara’s blunt, unadorned honesty had snagged on a part of me I’d thought was dead. Not warmth—not yet. Just curiosity.

The faintest flicker of interest in a woman who’d walked into a room full of expectations and refused to meet a single one.

The council announced our engagement a week later, after I agreed to it. Because for the first time in a while, I was eager to know where it would lead not just me—but us.