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A tear slips from Elara’s cheek without her realizing. “But I do not think he thinks the same way toward me. Those paintings, and I am not sure if you know this, but he writes beautiful poems of this one woman. They are the best thing I have ever read, and all of them are written for a different person. Not to me, his wife.” Her voice breaks. “I do not know. I am sorry. I do not mean to be upset and cry.” She shakes her head, turning away to hide her face.

Kaera watches the tears drop onto the dark table, her voice a soft murmur. “I believe that woman is you.”

Elara’s eyes widen, pupils dilating as her mind stalls. Her pulse shutters and her lips part, but no sound escapes as she tries to make sense of the claim.

Kaera rests her hand against the edge of the table, her composure faltering as she lets out a heavy breath. “He does not tell me anything, Elara. He never tells me anything. But I am his sister. I have spent my entire life watching him hide behind that mask. I know about him writing poems. He always carried this one small booklet and wrote poems in it. He wrote about a girl with green eyes, long brown hair, and a simple dress. The exact features from the paintings he always did and that I mentioned to you. I know it looks like he is dreaming of another person, but I notice the way he looks at you when you wear those linen garments or walk through the gardens. He tracks your movements like you are the only real thing left in this palace. There is nobody else.”

A sudden stillness locks Elara’s frame.

Kaera looks down at her own hands, tracking the grain of the wood as her mourning returns to a quiet, isolated stillness. “I am not sure, but I have seen the way he cares for you before he cares for anyone else. It almost made me feel... jealous.”

Eyebrows furrowing, Elara leans in closer. “Jealous?” She studies Kaera’s downturned face, her heart hammering.

Kaera shifts, her fingers following a split in the dark grain. “For years, I was the only person he shielded. We endured Maereth’s coldness and our father’s fading health together, locked in our own silent corners. I am the one who translates his hands, yet he treats me like a soldier on his perimeter. With you, he does not look at a strategy or a duty. He cares. I watch him carry your burdens when he refuses to let anyone assist with his own, and it made me realize how empty this palace remains for the rest of us.”

Elara watches the tight line of Kaera’s shoulders, noting the way the younger princess braces herself against the seat.

Kaera examines her fingernails. “But he used to share things with me. He used to possess a warmth before the court forced him into total isolation. The last time he ever spent an afternoon beside me, I was ten winters old. He was fifteen.”

“I had begged him for weeks to teach me how to paint and draw,” Kaera continues, her fingers tracking a line in the wood. “He finally granted me a short amount of time. Mid-way through the lesson, I left my bedchamber to search for extra brushes. That was when I spotted Maereth and our father passing down the stairs.”

Kaera pauses, a bitter edge entering her expression. “Maereth was talking ill of Cael, her tone filled with a mockery that made our father look uncomfortable. I followed from behind to listen. Maereth was laughing about a day from years before, back when I was a mere baby. She mocked the way Cael ran away to Veyrenn because of a rude comment she had made to him on his birthday.” She shakes her head.

Elara’s breath vanishes. She stares blindly into the dim chandelier light, her eyes wide as dizziness sweeps through her chest. The revelation that Cael walked the paths of her home kingdom so many years ago has her head spinning into complete disarray as she searches the dark corners of her mind for a glimpse of a boy she never knew existed outside her borders.

“Maereth said how King Eric had to guide Cael back to Riverath with his guards,” Kaera whispers, looking into Elara’s eyes. “She laughed at his weakness, mentioning that when King Eric arrived, he told them he found Cael by a green area of a running fountain, blooming flowers, and butterflies. I have been studying his paintings. He would always paint a background of greenery with simple pink flowers. Then, there is the girl that looks like you. Green eyes, brown hair and pink dress.”

A sudden brightness flashes behind Elara’s eyes, a pull of memory drawing her back to her early childhood in Veyrenn. She sees a vivid fragment of a sunlit afternoon, the heavy scent of crushed grass rising from a secluded corner of the royal estate. She recalls the splash of cold water leaping from a stone basin, the bright flicker of orange wings drifting through the summer heat, and her own small shoes sinking into the clover. A silhouette sits near the edge of her vision, where soft sobs interrupt the fluttering wings, a form she had passed without a second thought during her childhood.

Elara regains a bit of her composure and finally speaks, her voice a hushed whisper. “The eastern conservatory fountain. That was my mother’s favorite sanctuary. I used to hide among those exact bushes whenever I needed to cry.”

Kaera watches her, the anger gone from her expression as she notes the shock defining Elara’s features.

A bitter sadness darkens Elara’s expression. “It was beautiful then. A paradise of wild greenery and running water before my father ruined it. He ordered the walls torn down and the basin drained two winters later, replacing the sanctuary with stone barracks for his personal guard. He despised anything he could not weaponize for his defense.” She takes a trembling breath.

“You do not remember him?” Kaera leans forward.

“No,” Elara admits, a sudden guilt swallowing her confidence. “I do not understand how Cael, a young boy, could make his way to a different kingdom alone. It feels impossible that we met.” She tilts her head, her gaze drifting to one of the large glass vases with soil and blooming white flowers. “I met children my age before my isolation inside the palace walls. I attempted to make connections, but insults were thrown at me, or they wished to be near me merely because of my title and the wealth my family holds. It is not impossible for Cael to be one of them.”

She shakes her head, denying the turn of events. “I would feel some recognition toward him. I do not forget faces.” She searches for Kaera’s reaction. Finding nothing, her back presses against the chair. “I am realizing all of this now. I remain unable to comprehend that my mother planned this marriage so that Veyrenn could improve its standing. My father seems to know Cael beyond his status as Raelith’s son.”

“You are overwhelmed,” Kaera states softly.

Elara’s lips tremble, eyelashes fluttering from the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I am confused. Afraid.”

Under the pressure of these revelations, she imagines herself in Walker’s embrace, letting her panic break in those arms. She wishes for Walker to hold her, to prevent the world and this marriage from pulling them apart. A sob escapes her mouth, interrupting the thick silence. She desires only to be an ordinary woman with companions who wish for her friendship, caring parents, and a caretaker who remains by her side.

“If this is love,” Elara murmurs, her voice breaking. “It hurts too much. I thought it was meant to be beautiful.”

Kaera’s head tilts, her expression softening into shared grief. She wraps her arms around Elara, her own quiet breaths syncing with the tears. “I know.”

A moment of shared grief passes through them, letting the air carry it and hold their shared moment secret. Elara slowly sits up, glancing at Kaera, cheeks wet with tears.

Kaera is first to break the silence. “In spite of my infuriation with Cael, I know he holds a deeper devotion toward you. I know that if you are truly that girl, he remains bound to you.” A pause. “If you are not, he is holding onto something stronger.”

Elara shakes her head in denial.

Kaera’s posture shifts as she leans her head back against the carved crest of her father’s seat. “He will not speak of it. If you confront him, his mask will only harden. He thinks he protects us by remaining a statue. He thinks if he shows his vulnerabilities, Maereth or the outer lords will find a way to tear them apart.”