Page 91

Aline’s story remains with her. The frightened princess. The wounded knight. The girl who stepped beyond the safety of her chamber because someone she loved needed her.

Elara slowly looks down at the coat in her hands. That was why the story had always stayed with her.

Elara draws a deep breath and wipes her tears. She cannot remain in the bedchamber forever. She rises and leaves, the chattering of workers drifting upward from the floor below. The palace no longer feels quite as suffocating as it had moments ago.

Cael is waiting beside her door.

Elara stops, finding him occupied as his eyes look ahead of the corridor, before he turns to her.

“You have been here this whole time?” she asks.

His eyes move across Elara’s dress and coat. Then, onto her stained red cheeks that she forgot to wash. He raises his hands. I was waiting for you.

Elara stands still, her eyelashes flickering as relief washes over her. “I thought you already started.”

Cael tilts his head, then straightens with a faint smile. Never, my petal. I would never leave you. Whatever words you speak, I will carry them with me. He extends his hand.

Elara steps forward and takes his extended hand, allowing the lingering coldness in her fingers to melt against the warmth of his touch. He wraps his palm around hers, anchoring her as they turn away from the bedchamber. They walk down the stone corridor side by side. The upper wings dissolve as they descend the grand staircase, replaced by a turbulent hum rising from the lower levels of the palace.

Reaching the court chamber, the vanguards stationed at the perimeter grip the massive iron handles, pulling the double doors inward to grant them entry.

A blast of chaotic noise rushes out to meet them. The hall is packed to the tiers with shouting advisors, outer district lords, and noble families, their voices clashing in a frantic uproar over the security logs and the marketplace disaster. Arguments bounce off the high arched stone ceilings as men gesture aggressively across the floor.

The moment Cael steps past the threshold with Elara by his side, some of the noise quiets as the closer rows of councilors notice his broad frame and dark court garments, their voices dropping into hushed whispers. Further into the chamber, many of the distant lords do not quiet, their discussions continuing to roar over the assembly as they demand answers.

Elara’s eyes land on Kaera, who stands near the head of the table. A recollection of their silent distance over the past days flits through her mind. She had not been able to speak with her. Now, seeing the shadows beneath Kaera’s eyes and the tension in her shoulders, Elara understands how little rest the princess has had.

Kaera remains where she stands, holding her ground against the noise. Elara steps forward, unable to prevent the soft smile appearing on her lips. When their eyes meet, Kaera’s breath catches. “Elara? I thought you were unwell,” she says, shifting her stance while the long length of her black sleeves hangs low. Silver crystals shimmer across the fabric covering her shoulders.

The striking gown makes Kaera resemble Queen Maereth, but her eyes carry none of the Queen’s cold malice.

“I feel better now,” Elara says, hesitation lingering in her tone before she gathers enough courage to continue. “Thank you for everything, Kaera. I should have told you this before... but you were very brave for defending me against Maereth.” She pauses. “You defended me as if I were already your family. It is possible...” A small smile touches her lips. “It is possible you are even a best friend.”

Kaera’s expression brightens, a thin tint of pink spreading across her cheeks as the outer chamber tension drops from her posture. “Really? Am I truly brave?”

Elara chuckles, adoring how Kaera brightens, the contrast between her majestic garments and her relief striking a beautiful chord. “Yes, very much so. You are amazing, and I appreciate you. For also understanding me and being kind toward me.”

Kaera wraps her arms around Elara, ignoring the loud chaos surrounding them in the court chamber. Elara does not waste her time and wraps her arms around Kaera’s upper back, accepting the physical comfort without a single thought of restraint.

“Thank you, Elara,” Kaera murmurs against her shoulder. “You are the only princess that I wished to become friends with.”

Elara holds Kaera closer, her hand moving gently to the back of her head. Kaera’s shoulders slowly loosen beneath her touch. “Are you well, Kaera? You seem exhausted.”

“I am,” Kaera admits, her voice growing thick with emotion, but she does not answer further.

Cael steps in and stands by Elara’s side, watching the interaction with a soft expression. When Kaera looks up from the embrace, her eyebrows furrow, her body tensing under Elara’s arms as her gaze meets her brother’s. The warmth that was growing in her expression fades.

“Where were you?” Kaera asks, her tone now neutral. “You are late, and you were supposed to arrive many minutes before the crowd gathered here.” She steps back and fixes her dress, smoothing it with her hands to regain her courtly composure.

Cael remains still under his sister’s scrutiny, his expression unchanging as he gives her a short incline of his head. He does not offer a sign to explain his delay, keeping his reasons guarded.

Elara tracks the distance between Cael and his younger sister, a silence that stands in contrast to the gentle devotion defining their bond. In all her time observing their interactions, they have never known a single moment of discord. They remain protective of one another, sharing smiles and an unyielding warmth that shields their frames from the rest of the court. Witnessing this barrier between them reveals the magnitude of the kingdom’s crisis.

Kaera draws a breath, her gaze moving from his dark garments to Elara’s stained cheeks before she looks down at the open documents resting on the table. The softness from the embrace disappears.

“Anyhow, how shall we start?” she asks, her voice dropping into a professional register to match the status of the chamber.

Before either sibling can move, a crash echoes from the center of the hall. One of the outer district lords slams his open palm against a high council desk, the force of the blow cutting through the nearby chatter and drawing the attention of the front rows. “We have waited long enough for the crown to speak!” the lord shouts, gesturing aggressively toward the platform where they stand. “The marketplace blast has ruined our trade, and we demand to know the deployment strategy before another log is signed!”