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Annie returns the smile and bows. “I understand. Rest well, Your Highness.” Stepping away, she clicks the door behind her when she leaves.

As soon as Annie is gone, Elara rushes to the bathing chamber and grabs Cael's booklet and quill again. She forces her gaze away from it and the lingering temptation to read it, placing it in the drawer of her vanity. She makes her way toward her bed and slips inside the thick blankets, sinking her body against the mattress, forcing her eyes shut as she hopes for sleep to overcome her.

It does not.

Elara constantly turns, curling into her sleep and setting herself in the position she finds most comfortable, sleeping on her right side with her hands underneath her cheek, pressing. With a frustrated huff, she sits up, her gaze drifting to the window and the night sky outside. The longer she sits there, the more awake she becomes.

Elara slips off the bed and rushes toward the vanity, her hands hovering above the booklet. Opening the volume means invading his privacy, a risk that threatens her safety. Her fingers tremble with guilt, but her curiosity overrides her caution. She picks up the booklet and opens the first page, promising herself to look at only one. Her eyes widen.

A tender light that makes a ghost a slave,

Binding my silent mind to one desire

To seek her warmth anew.

Through all the secret lines I choose to trace,

Wishing to block the sorrow and the sting.

She brings a love I have no right to claim.

I long to stand before her one last night,

To know she looks beyond my voiceless name,

And lifts a silent prince above his shame.

Eyes softening at the poetic words of devotion, Elara’s thumb caresses the vintage paper, as if the words could reach out and caress her in return. She stands frozen, the raw vulnerability of his hidden voice striking her like a physical blow.

Her heart hammers against her ribs as a crushing sensation of intimacy rattles her defenses. This is his real voice. The prince who cannot speak out loud, the man she assumed was cold, has a soul that bleeds with agonizing poetry. The words feel dangerously alive on the page, stripping away every single piece of the protective armor she spent the day building against him.

The words are beautiful and there is no doubt that it is a love poem. Her curiosity grows, along with the urge to turn more and more of the pages in the booklet.

It all makes sense to Elara. The way Cael hid his notebook, like he is afraid of his genuine feelings being seen. The artistic beauty he possesses and his sudden disappearance last time when they were by Raeverband. The romantic book he read in the library.

Who is this mysterious woman Cael writes about? Elara finds herself trying to imagine her. Does she have golden hair or black? Perhaps she wears shorter dresses than Elara does. What color are her eyes. Given Cael’s ethereal appearance, she must be incredibly beautiful.

Her fingers clench around the edges of the booklet, the heavy leather scoring deep lines into her palms. A strange, cold weight drops into her stomach, making her breathing shallow as she sits back onto her bed, pulling her knees against her chest. She fixes her gaze on the ink, tracing the words about another woman’s warmth. Something inside her roils at the discovery. She knows it is wrong for him to harbor affection for another while being bound to her, even though she does not care for him and this marriage was forced upon them. Holding her breath, she stares at the looping script.

The rustle of the garden leaves outside is suddenly cut short by the click of thick boots making their way back up the stairs, toward the corridor outside.

Cael is back.

Elara freezes, her eyes widening in a sudden spike of panic as she looks down at the open pages still resting in her hands.

She quickly takes the booklet with her to bed, hiding it with her under the blankets. Keeping it against her chest, she listens as the silence returns, followed by the slow creak of the bedchamber door opening. Elara holds her breath, trying to shut her eyes to pretend she is asleep, though the rigidity of her posture might give her away.

Soft sniffles and a trembling breath echo through the bedchamber. With a jolt, Elara realizes that Cael is crying. Remaining still in place, she listens to the bathing chamber’s water running, a heavy exhale, and the sharp rustle of shedding clothing.

When his footsteps finally approach the bath chamber door, they pause. He shifts his direction, walking towards the bed with a measured stride that echoes softly against the stone floorboards.

Elara clutches the booklet, hiding it deeper inside the blankets without a single movement. She remains still beneath the covers, locking her muscles as she swallows the lump of nervousness rising in her throat to keep her breathing shallow.

After that second, the fabric of his coat swishes as he turns away. His boots create a steady rhythm as he walks toward the main exit, and the door shuts behind him with a soft click.

Letting out a relieved breath, Elara slides off the bed to hide the notebook in her vanity once more. Cael showing up like that was a clear warning not to be so nosy. With the booklet finally out of her grasp, she returns to her bed and falls asleep, her mind drifting back to the specific poem about another woman.

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