Page 19
In the spacious dressing chamber, the walls are lined with mirrors from floor to ceiling. A small cushioned bench sits in the center, flanked by neatly stacked racks of clothing and a low table holding velvet gloves. Olivia suspends the green dress from a polished wooden peg along the wall before stepping out the door. “If you need any assistance fastening the gown, please let me know.”
Left alone, Elara examines her reflection in the mirror, her heavy gown still draped over her frame. Slowly untying and unclasping the restrictions, she lets the fabric fall away. With excitement, she takes the green dress and slides it on.
“It fits,” Elara whispers to herself. She spins once, enjoying the gentle swish of the skirt around her legs and the incredible freedom of movement the slit permits, even if it exposes her knees to the open air. Goosebumps dot her bare arms in the chill of the dressing space, but the cold no longer bothers her. Not when she feels so light and unburdened within such a gown. Her shoes do not match the vibrant shade, but the discrepancy does not matter, as the hem of the long skirt conceals them from view anyway.
She steps out of the dressing chamber and finds Cael standing there alone. When his gaze meets hers, his eyes widen. Elara wraps her arms around herself, grateful the dress covers the scars along her thighs. He takes a slow step closer, and then another, until only a foot separates them.
“Cael,” Elara whispers, the name escaping her lips as a warning against his proximity. His unexpected nearness puts her entirely on guard, her breath catching as he steps closer. The tips of Cael’s nose and ears turn a subtle shade of red.
“It fits beautifully on you,” Olivia approaches, smoothing the fabric of Elara’s dress. Cael lowers his gaze first and steps back. He lifts a hand and gives a small nod, approval clear without a single word.
Olivia clasps her hands together, satisfied, and moves to fetch a ribbon and wrapping paper, humming softly as the bell above the door rings with a passing customer.
Elara looks at her reflection once more. She smooths the fabric at her waist and exhales slowly. Finally, for the first time since arriving in Riverath, she does not feel like a guest.
X
A FLEETING TOUCH
C
Cael cannot feel his body.
He wishes he had not been present when Elara saw that poster, and he wishes he had not witnessed the public shame and humiliation of that muteness. The reality of it aches deep within the chest, making it impossible to process anything around the square.
A tight grip fastens around the package containing Elara’s new dress, an attire entirely different from the restrictive garments she has been wearing. The white horse, named Snow, remains standing nearby while a royal guard ensures the safety and comfort of the steed. Reassured of her wellbeing, his mind drifts once again.
Cael watches Elara from the corner of his eye. For fifteen years, he has cherished the memory of the kind girl who once crossed his path, representing her image through his devotion to art. He spent every restless morning and night painting her features, writing poems to find solace when no comfort came his way on difficult days. Now, with this princess resembling her, he holds onto a desperate hope that Elara might possess that same spirit.
Nevertheless, his worst nightmare has come true today. On her very first day in his kingdom, before he could find a way to explain the truth of his silence with dignity, she discovered the cruel posters shaming his muteness. The exposure leaves him feeling stripped of his position as her husband.
He knows he should not care about the opinion of a stranger, but Elara is politically bound to him. Will she look at him with disgust, mirroring the judgment of his people and his stepmother? Having his own wife shame him will only break him further, leaving him with no escape.
Cael adverts his gaze as it lands on a passerby glaring at him in anger. His breathing slowly grows heavier, a desperate wish to escape suffocating him. Seeking an anchor, Cael reaches for the quill and leather notebook in the pocket of his black coat.
Any poem will do, whether it is about that childhood girl or his own suffocating feelings. Trying to pry his mind away from the lingering stares of the crowd and the fear that Elara is disturbed by him, he tries to write, but his thoughts swirl so much, it is impossible. His arms flatten against his sides, his weak grip holding the parchment as his eyes fixate on Elara in front of him, standing on the steps just outside the clothier’s shop.
He remains half a pace behind her, as if he is trying to hide in her shadow. Her head turns toward him, her expression holding nothing but softness and curiosity. The look reminds him intensely of that girl from his past, who wore the exact same expression when she first stumbled upon him by the fountain.
His fingers tighten around the silver quill, moving across the faded, uneven paper of his notebook in an unstable, uncharacteristic scrawl. The sudden terror of her discovery leaves his mind fractured, and the words come out as a desperate plea.
A wall of glass, a threat of stone,
Bound to a crown, though entirely alone.
Turn away from the shadow I bear,
Lest you down in the quiet we share.
A mantle of green, a spirit so light,
Lost to the freeze of a kingdom in night.
He freezes as the last word leaves his quill, his heart hammering against his ribs. He captures her green gown, her isolation, and the terrifying truth that she is now bound to the very silence that suffocates him. The urge to tear the page out and burn it consumes him, terrified that if she glances down, she will see his soul laid bare in an unstable scrawl and what he had written about her.
Tilting his head up, he finds eyes of a vibrant forest looking at him, studying him without judgment. Her eyes look down at his trembling hand holding onto the notebook and silver quill. Cael smacks the notebook shut, placing it inside his coat to lock his secrets away as he pries his eyes from hers. Elara wilts at the movement, the smile fading from her lips as the light goes out of her eyes. Noticing her withdrawal, a wince of regret touches his features, his fear of exposure translating into a rudeness.
The beat of a horse’s hooves breaks the tense silence. Kaera has returned, sitting upon her brown horse and her wavy mane tossing in the wind. She looks between them, her eyes narrowing at Elara’s curious expression and Cael’s pale one.
