Elara swept through the marble corridor, her silken gown whispering against the floor, fury burning in every graceful step. This was the first time any man had dared to look upon her and not find her beautiful. The nerve of that knight. It wasn't just insulting, it was a challenge.
"Are you all right, Your Highness?" Maera asked gently, keeping pace beside her.
Elara cast a quick glance over her shoulder, her gaze locking for a fleeting moment with the stoic knight who followed at a respectful distance. Her heartbeat faltered, and she turned away just as quickly.
"I'm absolutely fine, Maera. Why wouldn't I be?" she said with a bright, forced smile.
As they rounded the corner, a tall man in elegant navy attire appeared, Duke Alaric of Dravenhold. He bowed low, his golden hair gleaming in the light of the corridor's chandeliers.
"Your Highness," he greeted smoothly, taking her hand and brushing a kiss against her knuckles. Elara resisted the urge to recoil.
"Your Grace," she replied evenly. "What brings you here?"
"The council meeting ended earlier than expected," he explained. "A melody reached the court, one so haunting it distracted even the king. I was told its source came from the ballroom. His Majesty dismissed the gathering shortly after."
Elara smiled faintly. "Oh, I see."
Maera bit her lip, hiding her amusement.
"Would you care for a stroll through the garden?" Alaric offered, his tone polite but tinged with something possessive.
"A moment ago, I'd have declined," she said airily. "But I suppose I can spare a little while for you, Your Grace."
Maera nearly sighed. When Elara spoke like that, mischief always followed.
The they descended the spiral staircase and stepped into the palace gardens, lush with roses, white lilies, and the soft hum of the fountain. Though Elara had her own private garden adjoining her chambers, she rarely shared it. It was sacred, built by her late mother's hands.
"Isn't it lovely?" Alaric asked, his eyes never leaving her.
"It is," she admitted softly. "Nature has a way of making one forget their burdens."
For a fleeting moment, her gaze strayed, finding Kael once more, standing at a distance beside Maera. His expression, as always, was unreadable. But his presence alone felt… grounding.
Alaric noticed. "You should come here more often," he said quickly, reclaiming her attention.
"There's nothing really left here that brings me comfort," she replied. "My mother's garden is far more beautiful, and only those dearest to me are ever allowed within."
Alaric's smile faltered. His eyes flicked again toward Kael. "May I ask what business he has here, and with you?"
"He is my personal guard," Elara replied.
"Then why is he dressed so plainly?" the Duke pressed.
Elara's lips curved faintly. "Because I prefer him this way."
It was a lie, but one she told effortlessly. She could see the doubt darkening the Duke's eyes. Jealousy, perhaps. Or something far less noble.
"Are you comfortable with his presence?" Alaric asked, voice low.
"Of course not," she admitted. "But His Majesty's orders are law."
"If you wish him removed, I could arrange it," he said, stepping closer.
"How?" she asked, curiosity edging her tone.
"Leave that to me."
Before she could respond, Alaric strode toward Kael. "Ser Kael," he began sharply, "the princess and I require privacy. You are dismissed."
Kael stood unmoving, stone-faced, silent.
The Duke's jaw tightened. "Did you not hear me? Do you even know who stands before you?"
Elara interjected smoothly, her tone teasing. "It's all right, Your Grace. Don't take it personally. He's the same with me, barely speaks a word. The King's orders bind him, and even I cannot send him away."
The Duke's anger simmered beneath his polished mask. "You are correct, Your Highness," he said stiffly.
"Thank you for the stroll, Your Grace. I must take my leave now," Elara said sweetly. "Thanks to you, I did have a bit of… fun."
The Duke bowed slightly, though the glint in his eyes was far from pleased. "It's been my honor, Your Highness."
As she turned to go, his gaze lingered on Kael with thinly veiled disdain. Kael met it briefly, then looked away, falling in step behind the princess once more.
They re-entered the palace halls, where guards straightened and bowed deeply as Elara passed. Her presence, radiant yet cold, drew every eye.
"Take me to him," she said, and the guards immediately led the way toward the King's private study.
At the great wooden doors, Elara paused. She turned to Maera, who looked worried. "I'll be fine," she assured her softly. Her gaze flicked to Kael, briefly, sharply. Then she pushed open the doors.
The chamber smelled of parchment, wax, and fading incense. Shelves of books lined the walls, her parents' shared passion. They had once ruled side by side, her mother's wisdom guiding her father's strength. The memory of their laughter still haunted this room.
But that harmony had died with her mother.
"Father," she called quietly.
The King looked up from his desk. For a fleeting heartbeat, his eyes softened, the warmth of a man who once adored her flickering beneath the cold mask of a ruler.
And Elara felt the ache of love and loss twist painfully inside her chest.