The morning light slipped through the silken drapes of Elara's chamber, painting soft gold over marble and velvet. Steam curled gently from the bath behind her as she stepped out, draped in a long robe of pale blue satin that shimmered like frost. Her damp golden-brown hair was wrapped neatly in a towel, a few strands clinging rebelliously to her neck. For a fleeting moment, she almost looked peaceful, almost.
A soft knock interrupted the silence before the door creaked open.
Maera entered with quiet grace, dressed in her simple maid's gown, a clean scarf wrapped over her dark hair. In her hands, she carried a polished silver tray, its scent hit first: buttered pastries, honeyed fruits, roasted pheasant, and warm bread scented with rosemary. Even the tea pot gleamed, steam swirling like a ghost above the cup.
Elara's brows furrowed. "Maera?" she asked softly, eyes fixed on the tray. "Since when do I get a feast fit for a queen?"
"Since this morning, apparently," Maera replied, setting the tray down carefully on the table by the balcony. "When I arrived in the kitchens, the maids were already preparing it. Even your hangover draught. They would've served it themselves, but I stopped them, thinking you might prefer someone familiar after last night."
Elara blinked, taken aback. "That's… unusual."
"Unusual?" Maera laughed softly. "Your Highness, it felt as if the entire kitchen had turned upside down. The head cook nearly bowed to your plate."
"Wow," Elara muttered, still staring at the food. "I barely remember the last time I saw more than stale bread and tea. I suppose Father's mistress must have finally remembered I exist."
The bitterness in her tone cut the air like glass. Maera said nothing; she didn't need to. They both knew what life had become within the marble walls of Dravenhold, the King's neglect, the whispers in the corridors, the cruelty of the woman who ruled the inner palace in her mother's place.
"Come, sit," Elara said with a faint smile, gesturing to the table. "Let's eat."
Maera hesitated. "Not yet, Your Highness. I must test the food for poison first."
Elara sighed and took her seat. "Is that really necessary?"
"It always is."
Before Maera could move, Elara reached for a slice of toast, bit into it, and chewed slowly. "See?" she said with a smirk. "Still breathing."
"Your Highness!" Maera gasped.
"What?" Elara shrugged. "I've eaten without it being tested before."
"That's because I've always done it beforehand," Maera said sharply. "Even if you've grown tired of this world, you can't just give up like that. You must live, for your mother, for yourself, and for me."
Elara's gaze softened, guilt flickering behind her eyes. "And what if the food had been poisoned, Maera? You'd die before me."
Maera only smiled faintly. "It would be an honour to die protecting you."
Elara looked down, her throat tightening. The court could call her cursed, her father could pretend she was invisible, but Maera, Maera remained. Her heart clenched at the thought of losing even that.
"Enough of this," Elara said, forcing a small smile. "If someone wanted me dead, they'd have done it long ago. Poison would be too merciful. Besides," she added quietly, "Father needs me alive, if only to torment me longer."
Maera sighed, setting a cup of tea before her. "Maybe. But still, please be careful, Your Highness. I think this was prepared because of the royal feast you missed last night."
Elara nodded absently, sipping her tea, when suddenly a memory flickered, midnight air, strong arms, the scent of steel and rain. Her eyes widened.
"Maera," she said suddenly, "did you see the knight outside my door?"
Maera's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Ah, yes. Your new personal knight. I came upon him in your chambers last eve, when I returned from the feast held below. By the heavens, I've never seen a man like that, such a striking figure."
Elara frowned instantly. "Striking? You must be blind. He's the most unpleasant sight I've ever endured."
"Funny," Maera teased, tilting her head. "That's not what you said last night."
Elara froze. "What did I say last night?"
Maera chuckled under her breath. "Ah, the disadvantages of wine. Let's just say your tongue was far freer than your mind. You looked quite comfortable in his arms, actually."
Elara's teacup clattered against the saucer. "What-what do you mean in his arms?"
"Well," Maera said, pouring herself a cup with deliberate calm, "you were rather drunk last night, Your Highness. According to him, you nearly fell from your balcony again." She gave a pointed look, the corner of her lips twitching. "He caught you just in time, appearing out of the shadows like some guardian spirit. You were in his arms before you even realized it."
Elara froze, her teacup midway to her lips. Maera leaned in, lowering her voice mischievously. "And I was there, your Highness," Maera continued with a mischievous glint, "when he carried you to your bed. You whispered to him…" — she paused deliberately, her grin widening like a secret she couldn't wait to spill.
"What did I say?" Elara demanded.
Maera's eyes danced with amusement. "You told him he smelled divine. Like smoke and storms, I think were your words. And then-ah, yes-'How can death be this breathtaking?'"
Elara's face turned scarlet. "By the gods!" she gasped, covering her face.
Maera giggled behind her cup. "You did find him attractive."
"I was drunk!" Elara exclaimed. "You know I say absurd things when I'm drunk."
"Of course, Your Highness." Maera tried to suppress her laughter, though her smirk betrayed her.
Elara groaned and sank back in her chair. "He probably thinks I'm insane."
"I doubt that," Maera said lightly. "He seemed more concerned about your safety. Said he's under orders from the King himself to protect you."
Elara's expression darkened. "Protect me? No, Maera. He's here to watch me. My father has never protected me, not once. His mistress wouldn't allow it. He must have another reason for assigning this knight."
"Maybe," Maera admitted softly, "but at least he doesn't seem cruel."
"That's what they all seem at first," Elara muttered, staring out toward the balcony. Her reflection in the glass looked fragile, like a caged bird who'd forgotten the feel of flight. "No one in this palace can be trusted."
Maera's voice softened. "Still… it doesn't change the fact that he's quite handsome."
Elara huffed, trying to hide her blush. "Handsome? He's… intolerable."
"Of course, Your Highness," Maera teased again, biting into a pastry. "Intolerably handsome."
Elara threw her napkin at her, laughing despite herself. For a fleeting moment, the room felt lighter, the ghosts of last night fading beneath the quiet hum of morning.
But deep inside, something restless stirred.
That knight, his touch, his voice, the way he looked at her in the moonlight, none of it would leave her mind.
And though she told herself it meant nothing…
part of her already knew that his arrival had changed everything.
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