The great doors of the royal study creaked open, their echo rolling across the vast marble floor. The air within was heavy, thick with the scent of burning incense and something colder, something like distance. King Aldnar Vegra sat behind a grand oak desk, his crown resting beside unfinished scrolls. His eyes, sharp yet tired, lifted when the soft rustle of silk reached him.
"You're here," he said at last, his tone unreadable. "How have you been, Elara?"
Elara stood tall before him, her sapphire blue catching the dim light of the torches. For a moment, she bit her lip, a familiar gesture she had as a child when she tried to hide her trembling. Then, raising her chin, she answered with quiet steel.
"I need not tell you, Father. I've been doing perfectly well, especially with your mistress and her child parading through the palace as if it were their new home."
The King leaned back, expression unchanging. "As you said yourself, she's my mistress. She has every right to stay here."
Elara laughed, not with mirth, but with bitterness that echoed through the chamber. "Spare me, Father. If she were merely one of your countless mistresses, I would hold my tongue. But your wife's sister? The aunt of your daughter? Tell me, does that not sicken you, or has shame long left you?"
The King's jaw tightened. "Is that why you chose to dance with a mere knight? You're the heir to the throne, Elara. What will the court think when they hear of such behavior?"
She met his gaze without flinching. "Do I look like I care what they think of me?" Her voice trembled with anger and pain. "Is this why you summoned me, Father? To lecture me after months of silence? We hardly see one another anymore, not that we did much in the past few years."
"Elara!" His voice cracked through the air like thunder.
"Yes, Your Majesty!" she shot back, matching his tone. "Without a word, without so much as a glance in my direction, you suddenly assign me a personal knight. Since when do you care? Don't act like a noble father concerned for his daughter's safety. You've long ceased to be that man. Sometimes I wonder if those memories we shared were ever real."
The King rose slowly from his seat. "I loved you and your mother dearly, I always have, and I always will."
Elara's laugh was laced with heartbreak. "Do you, Father? Because no man who truly loved my mother would bed her witch of a sister and parade her through the halls as though she were queen."
"Iris isn't a witch, Elara," he said firmly. "I love her - and I plan to-"
"Don't," she cut him off, her voice breaking. "Don't speak those words to me. If you marry her, you'll lose me, and I mean it, Father."
His eyes hardened, a shadow passing across his face. "I don't care what you think, Elara. My personal affairs are none of your concern. The reason I called you here is that you are of age. You will soon take the throne, and that requires marriage."
Elara's eyes widened. "Marriage?"
"Yes," the King said, voice low and deliberate. "The court has been discussing it for months. I've delayed your coronation long enough. You are nearly twenty, the time has come for you to choose a king consort."
"Father, I am not ready to marry." Her tone faltered, desperation breaking through.
King Aldnar stepped closer, his heavy robes brushing against the floor. When he spoke, his voice dropped to a whisper that cut deeper than any shout.
"Then give up the throne."
For a long heartbeat, Elara said nothing. Her eyes burned with fury, her pulse pounding in her ears.
"So that's it then," she whispered. "If I refuse to wed, you'll strip me of my birthright?"
He said nothing, only stared.
"I see," she continued, her lips curving into a bitter smirk. "Things must not be going well for you, Father. I suppose the court and the people are losing faith in your rule."
His eyes flashed with anger. "You could leave this behind, Elara. Go far away from the throne, live freely, fall in love, have children, and I'll see that you and your family never want for anything. You'd have a life free of duty, free of this palace."
She studied him, seeing through the mask he wore. "You disgust me," she whispered. "For a moment, that sounded tempting, love, family, freedom. But I see the truth in your eyes. You don't want my happiness. You want me gone. As long as I live, I threaten your reign."
"Elara-"
"No!" she snapped, tears finally breaking through. "You want power, fame, the adoration of your court. You've forgotten the people you swore to protect. Forgotten Mother. Forgotten everything that once made you human." Her voice trembled as she spoke. "I thought somewhere deep inside, the father I once knew still existed. But he's gone, replaced by a man consumed by ambition and deceit."
Her breath came uneven now. "Tell me, then. Why send me a knight? What game are you playing?"
The King looked away, but that was answer enough.
Elara's eyes widened in realization. "So that's it. You knew I'd act out, you wanted me to. You've already fed the court whispers of scandal to make my coronation unstable. You'll have me married off to some pawn, or forced away entirely. You truly are cunning, Father. I underestimated you."
"That's how the court works," he said coldly. "You must think carefully before every move, or you'll be devoured. I'll send you a list of potential husbands soon, daughter. Choose wisely."
Elara forced a smile, though it was brittle and cold. "Very well, Father. Duly noted. And do have a lovely evening, though the sight of you alone makes me sick."
She turned sharply and strode out of the chamber, the echo of her steps sharp against the marble. Outside, Maera stood waiting, pacing nervously. When she saw Elara, relief washed over her face, but it vanished as soon as she noticed her mistress's expression.
"Your Highness?" Maera asked softly. "Are you all right?"
Elara didn't answer, only gave a small nod before walking past her. Kael and Maera exchanged worried glances before following a few paces behind, giving her the distance she clearly needed. As Elara ascended the grand staircase, tears slipped silently down her cheeks, glistening in the torchlight.
By the time she reached her chamber, she was trembling.
"I would like to be alone," she said, voice barely above a whisper. Then, turning briefly toward her knight, she added quietly, "Do not worry, Ser Knight. I won't do anything foolish."
She entered her room and closed the door. The silence was suffocating. Elara crossed the room and collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in the pillows as sobs wracked her body. The weight of betrayal pressed down on her chest, the realization that her father, the man who once carried her on his shoulders through the royal gardens, had become a stranger.
Maybe, a small part of her still hoped he cared. But deep down, she knew better. The love in his eyes had long been replaced with greed, the warmth with ambition, the tenderness with deceit.
She thought of her mother, of their laughter, of simpler days when she believed the throne meant hope, not corruption.
Now, it was nothing but a curse.
Wiping her tears, she whispered to herself, "If I must find out the truth, then I will. No matter how much it hurts."
And as exhaustion consumed her, she drifted into the dark, where dreams and sorrow mingled, the last flicker of hope fading into silence.