Chapter 20: The Weight of Choice — Between Duty and Desire
The whisper echoed through the cold stone walls: "The heir walks. And the world must remember."
Elara froze, the weight of the words pressing on her chest. She traced the glowing sigils on the floor with trembling fingers, the golden light spilling upward like liquid fire.
The heir… she thought, her mind spinning. Who do they mean? Me? What must the world remember?
Ashen stood beside her, shadowed in the torchlight, watching her reaction carefully. "The citadel responds only to you," he said softly. "It guides, it tests, but never punishes."
She shook her head, frustration and determination mingling. "No. It's not punishment, but it's… confusing. I need answers. I need Lyssara."
His eyes flickered at the name, but his expression remained unreadable. "Lyssara? The famous scholar from Aetherion?"
Elara nodded. "She knows more about… everything than anyone else alive. If I can reach her, maybe I can understand why I see things the way I do, why you seem to know so much… who you really are."
Ashen's hand hovered near hers, close enough to anchor her without touching. "You intend to leave the citadel?"
"Yes,"she said firmly. "And I need to get to Aetherion. This path… it's leading me there, whether I like it or not."
A faint shadow crossed Ashen's eyes, something unspoken. He nodded once. "Then we prepare. But you must understand… once you step into Aetherion, everything changes. Not just for you, but for the empire you're tied to and the responsibilities you carry."
Elara just looked at Ashen, puzzled, but she did not care. Answers mattered more than questions right now.
Far to the south, the Aurelthar imperial court simmered in restless whispers.
The afternoon sun filtered lazily through tall stained-glass windows, scattering shards of color across polished marble floors. Crown Prince Adrienne sat across from Lady Miraleth once more, the delicate porcelain cups between them steaming lightly.
The conversation, carefully orchestrated by the emperor, flowed with politeness and subtle probing, yet Adrienne's mind was far away.
Lady Miraleth's words from their last tea-time replayed relentlessly, like a sharp-edged melody cutting through his thoughts:
Do you long for her because you truly love her? Or because you failed her? Or are you simply unable to accept the void her absence created in your daily life?
The questions gnawed at him, each one a jagged splinter lodged in the chambers of his heart.
He clenched his fists beneath the table, forcing his thoughts into order. Yet every polite nod and measured smile from Miraleth felt like a reminder of the empire's demand, and the truth he could not escape: Elara had not returned.
That night, sleep came as a cruel companion. Adrienne awoke in a dreamscape of cold, silver twilight.
Elara stood before him, her bright blue eyes wide with hope and longing. She reached for him, hands trembling as if trying to bridge the years of absence.
But Adrienne did not respond.
His gaze wandered instead toward Seraphine, poised and calculating, flanked by Mirielle, her friend, whispering secrets only he could hear. Their laughter echoed in the emptiness, light and sharp, mocking him.
He wanted to reach for Elara, to grasp her hand and tell her she was not forgotten, but his body refused, rooted to the ground by invisible chains of indecision and pride.
The dream shifted, dissolving into a grand ballroom. Elara danced in a swirl of light, her movements desperate yet graceful, yet every time she tried to catch his attention, his eyes slid away, drawn to the stepsister and her conspiratorial companion instead. A dagger of guilt pierced his chest.
Why do you look at them? Why not her? he heard, the voice accusing, relentless.
In the dream's haze, Elara's voice called his name, soft, trembling. "Adrienne… why won't you see me?"
He tried to respond, to take her hand, but each step carried him farther from her. She faded into the shadows of the ballroom, her outline shimmering like mist, unreachable and distant.
Adrienne jolted awake, the morning light bleeding through the curtains. Sweat clung to his brow, and his chest heaved with unspent emotion. He sat upright, gripping the edge of the bed, haunted by the vividness of the dream. The memory of her hands, the pleading in her gaze, the unfairness of his own inaction, it all burned with an intensity that refused to dissipate.
He ached to hear her speak his name, yet the way it unfolded in his dream left a bitter taste he could not shake.
Outside, the palace stirred with its usual bustle, unaware of the inner tempest that raged within the crown prince. He rose, pacing the cold stone floors of his private chambers, the weight of duty and longing pressing down on him.
Is it love… or guilt? He wondered again. He had sworn to honor her memory, to protect the empire, yet he had failed to truly see her, to act when it mattered most.
Each whispered rumor of a new crown princess, each calculated smile from Miraleth, cut sharper now, a reminder that the world moved on even if he could not.
And in that quiet, Adrienne realized the truth he had been avoiding: it was both.
He loved Elara with a depth he had never allowed himself to acknowledge, but the absence, the failure to act, the cold weight of guilt, had fused with it so tightly that he could no longer distinguish one from the other.
He ran a hand through his hair, staring at the empty corridors outside his chambers. "If she's alive… I will find her," he whispered. "I will not let the empire, or myself, forget her again."
The crown prince's mind was set, a storm of resolve mingled with unresolved longing. The court could whisper. Lady Miraleth could strategize. But Adrienne knew one truth that no one could touch: Elara's place in his heart remained unyielding, unclaimed by politics, unbroken by time.
Every three months, a council meeting demanded the presence of the crown prince, and today, Adrienne resolved to attend, not for protocol, but to defend Elara's claim. The council chamber buzzed with tension, quills scratching and papers rustling.
Adrienne stood at the head of the table, posture rigid, jaw clenched. The council's voices volleyed like arrows, each one sharp and irrefutable.
"Crown Princess Elara has been missing for six months, Your Highness," Chancellor Varren said, voice clipped. "Protocol is clear. No crown princess may remain betrothed while absent. The empire cannot bend to hope alone."
Councilor Malric leaned forward, fingers steepled. "Every day without her invites factions to maneuver. The Aurelthar Empire cannot wait indefinitely for the return of one princess. Opportunities will be seized by rivals."
Adrienne's fists clenched beneath the table. "I am aware of the law. I also know the capabilities of the woman we speak of Crown Princess Elara..."he paused, voice measured but firm "...is not just any noble. As Duke Veyldan's daughter, her legitimacy, her aptitude, and her judgment make her irreplaceable."
A ripple of murmurs ran through the chamber. Councilor Veyrin raised a hand. "Your Highness, facts are facts. Legitimacy alone does not outweigh absence. You cannot argue against the reality that she is missing."
Before Adrienne could respond, Emperor Alaric, who could not bear to see the situation dragged further, stepped forward. His eyes were sharp, his voice carried effortlessly over the room. "Enough."
The room fell silent. Even the air seemed still.
"The empire's law exists for a reason,"Alaric said, pacing slowly between the long table and the throne dais. "Yet every law also relies on judgment. Crown Princess Elara is more than a figurehead. Her talents, acumen, and potential are rare. To debate her absence endlessly, while noble, is futile. Follow policy, yes, but do not underestimate the value of what is lost."
Adrienne exhaled sharply, shoulders sagging slightly.
He had felt the weight of the council's scrutiny, the relentless hammering of logic against loyalty. With the emperor's intervention, there was no room for debate, only action guided by policy.
Alaric's gaze softened briefly, though still stern. "I am as frustrated as you are at her disappearance. Six months is long enough to challenge patience. But do not forget why she was chosen. Hidden talent is not to be replaced lightly. The empire's future is tied to her, and those who understand that must act accordingly."
The council shifted, silenced, acknowledging the finality of the emperor's words. Adrienne bowed slightly, tension leaving his body in part relief, in part lingering guilt.
As he exited the chamber, still lost in thought, Adrienne ran into Lady Miraleth in the corridor. She paused, hands clasped, sapphire eyes curious.
"Well?" she asked, voice soft but deliberate. "Did you manage to uphold her position?"
Adrienne pressed his lips together, exhaling through his nose. "As best I could. But the council… facts are difficult to argue against when they are irrefutable."
Miraleth tilted her head, stepping closer, voice precise: "And now? Do you still think it is worth clinging to the past? To a memory, a presence, an absence? Or would it be more practical to focus on the present, what can be done now, and the future that can still be shaped?"
Adrienne's chest tightened. Her words were sharp, unflinching, yet carried an undeniable clarity. "I… cannot abandon her," he said softly, voice steady despite the turmoil inside.
Miraleth's lips curved in a faint, knowing smile. "Then act with clarity. Remember: the past is weight, but decisions in the present define the empire. That is all that matters."
With that, she walked away, leaving Adrienne in the quiet corridor, surrounded by marble, sunlight spilling through the windows, and the echo of her words pressing firmly against his conscience.
In the Veyldan Dukedom, Duke Caelum stood alone on a balcony overlooking the lower city, the cold wind brushing back his dark hair. The torches below flickered like distant stars, but none eased the weight coiling in his chest.
He pressed both palms against the marble railing, knuckles whitening.
Elara. Where are you?
Every night, he asked the same question. Every night, he offered the same prayer.
Yet another thought followed him like a shadow, a contradictory, guilty truth he didn't dare say aloud.
If she returns before the month ends, she will be bound again to the imperial family. If she stays hidden… she is free.
His daughter had already suffered too much under the empire's "protection." If fate was giving her a way out of this cage, should he not let her take it?
But then the storms rolled in, and the fear that she was cold, injured, and alone. That something monstrous had happened. That he would never hear her voice again.
Caelum closed his eyes.
"Forgive me,"he whispered into the wind. "I wish for you to return… and at the same time, I pray you don't. Not yet. Not to this."