But I shoved it down before it could settle. “I don’t remember,” I said.
He nodded, but disappointment shadowed his face.
“I figured,” he said softly. “Still… it’s good to see you again. Even if you don’t remember me.”
“Why are you here?” I asked finally. “In this room?”
He shifted slightly, hands clasping behind his back again. “I got here early. I was hoping to see you. Before…”
“Before the show?” I said, sharper than I intended.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—tired, not amused. “I guess you could call it that.”
His gaze returned to the tapestry. “To them, it’s all celebration and symbolism. Hope reborn, the kingdom’s lost heir returned, the future restored…”
He trailed off, then glanced at me again.
“I don’t think they see how heavy that really is. What it must feel like—for you.”
I didn’t answer.
He hesitated, then added, “I’m not here to make things harder, Elira. I just… I wanted to see you before everyone else got their version of you.”
That made me pause. Everyone else’s version.
“I don’t even know my version yet,” I said quietly. “So good luck to them.”
A silence settled between us. Not heavy. Not warm either.
Just… there.
I heard the noise of the ball, even from this room, and I sighed.
“Elira, would you... would you allow me to accompany you in?” Caelen offered me his arm. I stared at it like it might bite me.
“Fine,” I said, the word clipped, neutral. Not an invitation. Not a rejection.
Relief flickered across his expression, and he offered his arm—not too close, not too fast. I didn’t take it.
I stepped forward, about to follow him out of the room—when I saw the mirror.
It was just off to the side, tucked between two stone pillars. Gilded frame. Perfectly polished glass. One of those little vanity traps, placed there so nobles could adjust their smiles before stepping into the light.
But it wasn’t my reflection that stopped me.
It was someone behind me.
Someone thatwasn’tthere.
A man. Dressed in black, shadows clinging to his shoulders like smoke. His eyes locked to mine in the glass. Unmoving. Haunted.
Thorne.
I froze.
I didn’t turn. Couldn’t.
He was just—there, in the mirror. Watching. Still. Like a memory trying to climb back into my skin. He looked … hollow. He looked sick.
