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The doors slam shut, leaving her alone in the silence.

Elara lies on the cold ground, feeling the crown slips from her head and land upon the stone with a heavy thud. Burying her face into her trembling forearm, she gasps out her cries beneath the weight of the grim future ahead.

A forced marriage to a prince who remains an absolute stranger. A foreign title, an unfamiliar family, and a kingdom she does not know await her. She must leave Veyrenn behind, driven out by the final truth that her father never wanted her.

Her eyes squeeze shut as she tries to clear her vision, but the darkness makes no difference. Elara does not know how long she remains on the cold floor, mourning the last shreds of identity she had clung to. Hurried footsteps echo through the hall, followed by the worried breathing of the one woman she still holds dear.

“Elara!” Walker drops to her knees beside the princess, guiding her head onto her lap. “What happened, my dear? Where are the guards? I heard they were dismissed.” She keeps holding Elara close. Her hands stroke through the disordered hair, her lips pressing against her forehead in desperate hope of offering solace.

Elara trembles, pressing herself deeper into the embrace as the tears refuse to end.

“No, do not move,” Walker whispers, shushing her. “My Elara.”

Elara rests against Walker’s chest, eyelids dropping as exhaustion pulls her under.

“Rest, my dear,” Walker whispers against her temple.

IV

BURDENING TASKS

C

The upcoming winter breeze grows.

His gaze flickers upon the withered flowers and the few that remain blooming. A small number of the leaves carry shades of yellow and orange, though many still preserve their green hue. The sight infuriates Cael, as he harbors a resentment toward the cold. It remains overbearing, and on rare occasions, the rain falls to let the freezing temperature grow further until it numbs his frame.

It is this bitter air that stirs the grounds as he stares ahead at the flowing fountain, where small drops of water land upon his heavy black boots, casting a silver hue under the afternoon sun. He remains seated on one of the garden benches, alone now that the caretakers have completed their daily tasks.

At first, he had hoped his bedchamber would grant him peace, but the chamber lacked the bracing, open air of the grounds. His pulse continues to race, fueled by the echoes of the earlier confrontation with his father, King Raelith.

The decree had been absolute. An arranged marriage to a princess from the neighboring realm of Veyrenn. Years ago, a desire for true understanding had driven him to study every kingdom on the continent, examining accurately drawn maps, calculating riding distances, and devouring successive editions of historical texts. For a prince of Riverath, such knowledge was mandatory to comprehend foreign traditions.

From everything he had learned, Veyrenn was a realm of oppression. It was a land devoid of true freedom, defined by a systemic disrespect toward women who were viewed as inherently lesser than men. The very concept disgusted him. Trying to imagine himself entangled with such traditions proved impossible to accept, especially with the thought of his younger sister, Kaera, who was only two years from her twentieth winter.

He cannot comprehend the thought of Kaera being harmed under such archaic laws, or being forced to conceal the person she truly is. Whenever the burdens of state overwhelmed their parents, Cael would step directly in front of his sister, shield her from the demands of the court, and sign his refusal with an unyielding clarity that left no chamber for argument. Freedom remains his highest virtue. Marrying into a lineage that systematically strips away human dignity feels like a fundamental betrayal of his own morals, a compromise sealed by a mere stroke of a pen upon a treaty.

The prospect of binding himself to a princess he does not know, raised beneath entirely different traditions, twists his gut with apprehension. Cael gives a slow shake of his head, entirely confused as to why his father would suddenly demand such a transactional alliance. His fingers curl into tight fists, the warm skin across his knuckles turning stark and bloodless.

Throughout his life, his father had been the one man who truly treated him like a son, even if the expectations placed upon him reached above the sky. None of this diminished the profound respect King Raelith held for his boy, occasionally setting aside royal obligations simply to spend time beside him.

For his stepmother, Queen Maereth, the opposite was true.

His biological mother had vanished into the darkness one night, leaving both father and son behind without a trace. She left no explanatory letter, leaving Cael with only a faint, desperate hope that she had at least spared a hesitating thought for the boy she abandoned. His father had worked tirelessly to raise his child alone, with little supported from any of his other relatives.

That was when Queen Maereth entered their lives. Cael never understood how his father could marry her. Once, after the Queen had shouted at him for pouring her the incorrect wine and his father had remained entirely silent, he signed to him, demanding to know where he could possibly have met such a woman. It saddened him deeply to watch his father stay quiet, his face carrying a distinct trace of fear that rendered him incapable of defending his boundaries or protecting his children. The King’s face always carried a distinct trace of fear and hesitancy around her, rendering him incapable of defending his boundaries or protecting his children.

Driven by a rage, Cael had signed to his father, demanding to know where he could have possibly met such a woman.

Rather than taking offense at his son’s anger and disrespect toward his wife, his father merely smiled. He admitted that Queen Maereth had approached him first, brimming with a confidence that demanded nothing while offering everything. She promised to care for him, to love him, and to provide a mother’s touch.

Cael had been a mere child of four when she first arrived, and during those early years, he genuinely believed her devotion was true. She oversaw his education and respected his boundaries, though an underlying look of frustration always marred her features because he could not speak.

King Raelith believed that Maereth truly saw his kindness and his sensitive heart. He had endured the hardships of expanding a kingdom entirely alone, and in his desperation to feel loved, he clung to her blindly. Even when the King admitted she had changed over time, he spoke with a hesitation that avoided the truth of her actions. Cael sensed that deep, desperate vulnerability in his father, a weakness that prevented the King from ever providing the proper answer his son needed.

Left unchecked, Queen Maereth’s cruelty grew until it turned physical toward the prince himself. He gives a slow shake of his head, entirely confused as to why his father would suddenly demand such a transactional marriage. His stepmother was certainly capable of engineering such a cruel arrangement. Though his father had explained how Maereth came into their lives after his biological mother abandoned them, Cael never understood the marriage.

He could never comprehend how his father would allow the cruelty to endure. In truth, his father did not even know about the worst of it. Cael's hand reaches back, his fingers tracing the heavy scars that mar his shoulders through the fabric of his shirt.