Chapter 354: Live For Yourself

The King was annoyed. Why wasn't Theresa pregnant yet? Every time he looked at her, all he saw was failure and suspicion. That woman—she looked meek, obedient, pliable on the surface, but he was not so easily fooled. Especially now that he knew she was spending time with Riven. The thought of his Queen befriending Riven annoyed him to no extent.Riven was supposed to be his possession, a treasure hidden away for himself alone. Theresa's interference was intolerable. He distrusted her more with each passing day.

Theresa, however, was not troubled by the King's moods. If anything, his irritation amused her. Of course she needed a child—one with royal blood would make her eventual claim to the throne smoother.

But in her mind, it was already a done deal. The throne would be hers in time, and the King was merely a temporary obstacle.

That afternoon, she sat with Riven in the garden. The crisp autumn air carried the scent of citrus as she carefully peeled an orange, her slender fingers working patiently over the rind. Riven sat across from her, his posture relaxed, his gaze soft. For once, he did not look guarded, and that small vulnerability tugged at something inside her chest.

"Is he still mad?" she asked, offering him a neat slice.

Riven shook his head, taking it between his lips. "Not exactly. Though he finds our friendship… Weird. He asked me to stop talking to you."

Her hand paused, but only for a heartbeat. "And? Would you?"

Riven's cheek bulged with fruit, making him look like a squirrel. He shook his head vigorously. "Of course not. He took many things from me. He will not take away my friend."

The word friend should have been harmless. It should not have made her heart squeeze. But the earnestness in his voice, the loyalty he offered so freely—it stirred something Theresa hadn't expected.

She smiled, and unable to resist, reached over to scratch lightly at his ear, the way one might pet a favoured dog. His skin warmed under her touch, and that hint of colour across his cheekbones delighted her.

"Ours is an unlikely friendship," she murmured, her tone half-playful, half-possessive. "The wife and the mistress."

Riven laughed softly, his smile genuine, almost relieved. "But you don't like him at all. That's why we can be friends."

Theresa studied him, her hand still lingering near his face. That smile—unguarded, trusting—was hers. Hers alone. "That is right," she agreed, her voice quiet but firm, her eyes glinting with resolve. "I do not like him at all."

And as she watched Riven pop another slice of orange into his mouth, cheeks puffed adorably, she thought: He belongs to me already. The King may think Riven is his, but he doesn't understand. Riven chose me. He trusts me. One day, he will stand at my side—not as my rival, but as mine.

Theresa leaned back with a faint smile curving her lips, already envisioning the future. Riven, with his delicate beauty and loyalty, would never slip from her grasp.

"Let me do it this time." Riven took it upon himself to peel the oranges. Riven sat cross-legged on the bench, peeling an orange with delicate fingers, his ears twitching slightly with focus. Theresa leaned against the armrest beside him to get the best view, watching the light dance over his skin.

"You peel it so neatly," she teased, plucking a segment from his hand before he could protest. "No wonder he keeps you hidden away. Too pretty for anyone else to see." She could just imagine those fingers plucking at the strings of a lyre.

Riven's hands faltered. "Don't say that." He was a sucker for compliments, they always made him feel wanted, like he had value.

"What?" she asked, feigning innocence as she slipped the orange slice between her lips. "It's true. He guards you like some precious jewel. But jewels are meant to be worn proudly, not locked away in a chest."

Riven lowered his gaze, chewing slowly. The familiar sting of shame rose inside him. That word again—hidden. He hated it. He hated how true it was.

Theresa noticed the shift and smiled inwardly. She reached forward, pretending to brush off a crumb while holding his cheek. "You are a good man, don't ever hide yourself for anyone."

"He wants to protect me," Riven replied quietly, the answer rehearsed, though even he sounded unconvinced.

She pulled back with a shrug, "Whatever you say, I only said what I said because I care about you... As a friend." She added a little reluctantly.

Riven stared right at her, he was a little mad... But he could not get mad at her because there was nothing wrong with what she said... And was he mad that she was interfering? Maybe, but-

But if anyone else was in a similar position, Riven believed he would involve himself too, he would not just stand by and let someone stay in a relationship where they are not respected. And that was when it clicked. He was in a relationship where he was not respected.

Theresa reached into the basket she had brought and held up a little jar. "Here," she said brightly, trying to soften the tension. "Your favourite pickles." She opened it and held one to his lips. Riven blinked at her, startled, but she waited patiently until he leaned forward and took it.

She planted a seed, and she had to make sure it stayed with him while he did not know that she was behind it, that doubt, that hesitation.

Riven's face warmed, partly from embarrassment, "I stopped eating these because he doesn't like them, and when we kiss... I don't want him to taste it."

Theresa's hand froze for a second before she resumed her movement, "Live life on your own terms. If he really loves you, that is what he would want for you."

Riven nodded, that was solid advice right there! He did want to live life on his own terms. But he did not know where to begin. He had no money, no power, no family. He felt utterly alone.

If he just left... He did not know how he could survive... However, the life he had now was the alternate option, and he did not know what to choose.