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Elara’s forearms wrap over each other on the dining table, her head dazing from the impact of the growing voices and the sharp movements of the familiar hands that held her with warmth. She keeps her cheek pressed against her skin, watching the shadows of his fingers twist against the wall.

“Do not lecture me when you are the one leaving us to die in secret,” Kaera screams, stepping into his space until her chest nearly brushes his dark court vest. “You think you are protecting us by hiding behind your silence? You keep secrets from the council, you keep secrets from the vanguards, and you keep secrets from your own sister. I have to guess your strategies while Maereth marches our people into a grave.”

Cael’s chest heaves. His hands lift with a force that makes the silver chain at his high collar snap. You think I desire this isolation? he signs while his eyes lock onto his sister. You think I enjoy standing like a statue while Maereth targets your frame to wound my title? Every choice I make is to shield you from the malice she directs at my back. If I show a single fracture in my composure, she will use your safety to crush my resolve.

“I do not want your shield, Cael!” Kaera cries, tears breaking past her eyelashes. “I want my brother. I want the person who used to look at me with warmth instead of this calculating stone mask. You have become like Maereth, turning every interaction into a political transaction. You are consumed by your own pain and your own burdens, and you do not even see how much this family is crumbling around you!”

Cael freezes, his hands remaining mid-air. The veins in his neck pulse, but the energy drains from his posture, leaving him looking hollow. He turns and exits the chamber, the door slamming.

Elara stands, intending to follow, but she halts when Kaera sinks into the vacant seat of her father and covers her face, weeping. Elara hesitates, her boots glued to the stone floor.

Approaching the table, Elara slides into the neighboring seat. She wraps her arms around Kaera’s shaking shoulders, drawing the younger princess against her chest. Elara rests her chin against the dark hair, her fingers moving through the black strands in a slow rhythm.

Kaera’s frame trembles as her royal composure fractures. Her fingers clutch at the pink fabric of Elara’s gown, desperate for an anchor while her raw, exhausted weeping fills the vast space.

“I am scared,” Kaera murmurs between her sobs. “I am scared of what will happen to us. To Riverath. To Cael.” She shakes her head against Elara's shoulder. “The world is cruel.”

The admission pierces straight through Elara’s defenses. Memories return of the countless nights she spent locked inside her own chamber in Veyrenn, suffocated by an identical helplessness. She remembers the cold tiles against her knees and the way she used to bury her face in her palms to stifle her cries, believing her voice carried no value in a court driven by power. Watching Kaera break down in the king’s chair is like staring into a mirror of her own isolation.

Elara organizes her thoughts, pressing her cheek against the dark waves. “I know,” she whispers, her throat tightening with shared sorrow. “I know the world is cruel, Kaera. I have known that terror for a very long time.”

Kaera lowers her hands, her skin pale beneath the dim chandelier. She grips the edge of the table, her knuckles turning white. “It is unfair. He leaves us in the dark while the entire kingdom crumbles. He expects me to stand before the high council, to translate his silence and carry his burdens when the outer lords demand verbal declarations, but he treats me like an outsider.”

Elara pulls back, her gaze searching Kaera’s face. “I am certain that is not his intention.”

Kaera scoffs, a bitter sound that cuts through the quiet space. “I am his sister, and I have witnessed his behavior for my entire life. He ignores the people who support him and respect his standing. He turns a blind eye to our loyalty and locks himself away like a broken man.” She folds her arms over her chest, her chin rising in defiance. “Father praises Cael more than he ever mentions my name.”

She swallows to force her voice from trembling, her posture rigid as she fights her own sorrow. “It feels as if I am nothing to either of them. As if I am weak. Father relies on Cael, trains him, and spends his hours with him. I try my best to form a connection with mother, but she turned cold before I could even understand her rules.”

Elara senses the heavy isolation beneath Kaera’s words, the vulnerability concealed beneath her sharp accusations and rigid defense, but she maintains her silence. She recognizes the resentment beneath Kaera’s claims and they carry the same desperate longing for acknowledgment she endured inside her own castle.

She swallows, choosing her words carefully. “Cael endures a massive weight as well. In times like these, we cannot compare our pain and assume the path is easy for him. Cael deals with constant scrutiny from the very people he drains his strength to protect. He defends them and commits to his duties, returning to these halls with bleeding hands.” She slides her palm over Kaera’s fingers, squeezing them with quiet reassurance. “He is secretive, but everything he does is to preserve this kingdom for you and for Raelith.”

Kaera’s fingers grip Elara’s coat, trembling. “He offered no defense,” she snaps, her voice fracturing. “When I confronted Cael about how Father favors his title, he offered uncertainty. When we spoke with father, instructing us on what we must do to move forward,” Kaera’s eyelashes flutter as tears continue to spill. “He reached for Cael first. Mentioned him first.”

“Kaera,” Elara whispers, leaning forward to envelop her in her arms, resting her cheek on the top of her head.

Kaera buries her face into Elara’s shoulder. “It is unfair. Why am I any different? Is it because I am young? A woman? Weak? Pathetic?”

Elara tightens her embrace. “No, my dear. You are not any of those.” Her gaze drifts down to the glinting band on her finger. “When I saw your smile back at my castle during the first time we met, I immediately felt at ease despite the heaviness weighing me down. The way you speak, the way you are not afraid to snap, the way you stand against the workers whether they are older or younger or bigger or smaller. You treat everyone fairly.” A smile upturns her lips. “I adore it all.”

Kaera pulls away, searching for sincerity in Elara’s eyes. “You have noticed?”

“Of course. You even stood against Cael and spoke your mind and feelings. Not many people can do that.”

“You do that well,” Kaera murmurs, wiping her tears with the back of her hands. “You defended me, even when you are soft spoken. You even defended Cael publicly and with certainty. You see the warmth beneath the stone mask.”

Elara’s heart flutters, and she presses her hand over it, attempting to make the sensation fade. She hesitates while answering, her gaze drifting back to the silver band. “I only speak because I know the goodness in his heart.”

Kaera remains in Elara’s embrace, her head tilting with curiosity as the tears on her cheeks dry. “Tell me the truth, Elara. Do you hold love for Cael in your heart?” A trembling breath escapes her lips. “He alters his priorities for you. He abandons his duties to care for your safety. He held you closely the night Omar left the palace, when you were shaking from the tension.”

A wave of exposure crashes over Elara, her pulse quickening under the scrutiny. She meets Kaera’s eyes, her lips pressing into a thin line as her mind races. She recalls the beautiful poems she discovered in his booklet. He wrote those verses of adoration for another woman, and she cannot forget the hidden painting Cael attempted to keep from her gaze.

Elara grips the pink fabric of her garment. She tears her eyes away from Kaera’s face, dropping her focus to the floorboards as the silence stretches between them.

“I do not know,” she whispers, the confession leaving her lips in a hesitant breath as her knuckles turn white where she grips the fabric bunching under her fingers. “Around him, I feel warmth. My stomach flutters, and the aches within me ease. It is just... he looks at me, Kaera. Truly looks at me. Not at a princess from Veyrenn, and not at a political chip for your father’s council. When he stands between me and the threats in these corridors, it is the first time in my life I have ever felt... safe. The silence between us does not feel like a cage. It feels like a shield. I have spent my entire life bracing for a blow whenever a man steps near me. With Cael, I can relax. My mind stops running. I do not know if that is love, but it is a comfort I never believed I would find.”

Kaera’s eyebrows furrow as she continues to listen, her posture remaining still as she processes the raw honesty.