Morning unfolded gently over the palace gardens.
Sunlight filtered through climbing ivy and flowering arches, spilling in warm ribbons across the stone terrace. Dew clung to petals like scattered jewels, and the breeze carried the faint sweetness of blossoms not yet fully awake.
Princess Elara sat beneath a flowering arbor, porcelain teacup resting lightly between her fingers. Her posture was composed but unguarded , a rare sight within palace walls.
For once, the weight of the crown felt distant.
Footsteps approached along the winding stone path.
Maera appeared, graceful as ever, bearing a polished silver tray adorned with neatly arranged honey biscuits , golden, warm, their edges crisp and dusted with fine sugar.
"I brought you something to eat, my lady," Maera said with quiet pride. "Fresh from this morning."
Elara leaned forward, curiosity brightening her expression. She selected one delicately and took a small bite.
Her eyes widened.
"Oh."
A soft laugh escaped her lips.
"This is exquisite. Sweet, tender… perfectly crisp."
Maera smiled, pleased. "The kitchen staff sampled them first. They survived."
Elara chuckled. "Then they have good taste."
She gestured toward the empty chair.
"Sit."
Maera obeyed, pouring tea.
In this garden, there was no rigid hierarchy. No suffocating formality. Only sunlight and shared silence.
After a moment, Elara spoke again.
"Maera."
"Yes, my lady?"
Elara hesitated.
"Does Ser Kael ever rest?"
Maera's brow lifted.
"Or eat properly?" Elara added quickly. "I see him standing guard endlessly."
Maera's lips curved knowingly.
"Perhaps you should inquire directly."
"I am merely being observant," Elara replied smoothly. "A knight cannot serve if neglected."
"Of course."
Elara exhaled softly and shifted the conversation.
"Did you review the list sent by King Regent Aldemae?"
Maera's expression shifted at once.
"Eight official candidates," she said. "And thorough reports on each."
Elara's posture straightened.
"Begin."
Maera retrieved a leather-bound folio. The moment it opened, the warmth of the morning seemed to recede.
Duke Alaric of Dravenhold"He stands foremost," Maera began. "Dravenhold commands the eastern strongholds. His lineage rivals the crown in antiquity."
Elara's gaze sharpened.
"He is patient. Strategic. He observes more than he speaks."
"A threat?"
"Not openly. But he is not a man who pursues without purpose."
Not comfort.
Not danger.
Something waiting.
Lord Renwick of the Southern Isles"A naval power," Maera continued. "His fleets dominate southern trade routes."
"Ambitious?"
"Profoundly. Charming in public. Ruthless in negotiation."
Elara tilted her head. "Would he seek partnership?"
"He would seek influence," Maera replied evenly.
Marquess Rowan Thorne"A war-forged noble," Maera said. "His title earned in battle."
"Honorable?"
"Yes," Maera admitted. "But married already to duty. You would be respected… not cherished."
Count Lucien HarrowmereMaera's tone cooled.
"Brilliant. Wealthy. Politically agile."
"And dangerous?"
"Extremely."
She met Elara's gaze.
"He treats court like a chessboard."
A quiet chill passed between them.
Viscount Elias Fairwyn"Kind. Studious. Gentle."
Elara exhaled faintly.
"And too gentle?"
"The court consumes softness."
Lord Cedric Valemont"Silver-tongued and adaptable," Maera said. "His loyalty bends toward power."
Elara nodded once. "Unreliable."
Maera turned another page.
"And now the two most consequential."
Elara's fingers tightened subtly around her teacup.
Duke Halbrecht of Ironmere"A northern lord," Maera explained. "His lands are harsh. His rule harsher."
Elara's gaze hardened.
"He commands absolute loyalty. His people fear him more than they love him."
"And what of him personally?"
"Disciplined. Controlled. Unyielding."
Silence lingered.
Maera turned the final page.
Her voice lowered.
Prince Theron of ValdarynThe name seemed to settle differently in the air.
"Elara," Maera said quietly, "Valdaryn has been our rival for generations."
Elara's expression stilled.
"Border conflicts," Maera continued. "Trade disputes. Quiet military expansion."
"And now?" Elara asked.
"Now they send envoys."
She held her gaze.
"Prince Theron is said to be brilliant. Calculating. Raised among generals rather than poets."
Elara absorbed the words.
"He is not soft."
"No," Maera agreed. "Nor careless. A union with Valdaryn would end decades of hostility."
"And bind us to them," Elara finished.
"Yes."
"Do we know his temperament?"
Maera hesitated.
"Reports describe him as composed. Strategic. Difficult to read."
A rival prince.
Not chosen for affection.
Chosen for peace.
Or power.
Maera closed the folio gently.
"These men were not selected because they would love you."
Elara's gaze did not waver.
"They were selected because they strengthen the throne."
The breeze shifted.
Eight names.
Eight futures.
And none bore the name that echoed quietly in her thoughts.
A knight stationed beyond her door.
A man not born of royal blood.
A presence not written in any ledger.
Somewhere within the palace walls, King Regent Aldemae was already calculating which alliance would secure Eryndor's future.
And Elara understood,
When the choice came, it would not be hers alone.