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King Raelith nods, glancing toward the knights and guards standing around the dining hall, their backs pressed against the walls. “Yes, I know I am not meant to be down here. Though you must understand my motives, son.” He looks into Cael’s eyes. “Every single chance I feel better, I will not waste my time in bed. I want to spend more time outside, in my very own palace with my family. Address me as stubborn all you wish, but I will not listen.”

Cael lifts his hands in defeat and resumes his meal, his eyes looking anywhere except his father.

Elara finds herself unable to withdraw her gaze from him. Her eyes lower toward her own untouched plate, though her thoughts remain fixed upon the silent conversation that had taken place only moments ago. She gathers her composure and rises from her seat to reach for the serving dish. The scent of roasted meat and seasoning drifts upward as she lifts it. She places a modest portion of steak onto her plate before setting the dish back in its place and settling once more into her chair. Taking up her knife and fork properly, she cuts a piece and brings it to her mouth. When she tastes it, she finds it firm and chewy, though seasoned well enough that she hardly minds.

“Ah, yes. Elara, I have not seen you all day after we met in my bedchamber,” King Raelith remarks with a pleasant smile, attempting to start a conversation with her. “Have you been busying yourself inside of the palace walls?”

She looks up, pausing mid-chew. She swallows and straightens in her seat. “Yes... I was in the library with Elias for the afternoon.” She does not mention the part where she saw Cael exiting a suspicious chamber and locking it in a panic.

Raelith nods and resumes his meal. He chews for a moment before dabbing his lips with his napkin. “Very good. There are many books in that library, and many new volumes are delivered whenever published. It is hard to get bored in that chamber.”

“It is hard.” From the corner of Elara’s eye, she notices the stillness that anchors over Cael beside her. Though he remains focused on his meal, she catches the slightest warmth rising to his cheeks. “I find the library admirable,” she continues. “The many genres for fictional and non-fictional books are spectacular.”

King Raelith smiles, turning toward Cael with unmistakable pride, the expression softening the lines around his eyes. “That is well observed. I am pleased you noticed. I trust Elias gave you a long description of the books he loves,” he laughs, before coughing to clear his throat. “That man treasures the library like his own home and treats the books like they are his family.”

Cael does not look toward his father, his gaze remaining fixed upon Elara. She wonders whether she has said something improper. The thought fades quickly, though she becomes very aware of her posture and the warmth gathering in her face.

“I love books as well,” Elara says, her shoulders losing their tension. “I prefer to spend a whole day reading than executing any other task.”

“A hobby for the weak,” the Queen interjects. “A true ruler of Riverath commands councils rather than pages. It is an investment of time I find entirely indulgent for someone of your station.”

Elara turns toward her, caught off guard not only by the interruption but by the dismissal of something she had spoken with complete sincerity. She is already expecting another complaint or an insult. No matter how many times Queen Maereth’s cruelty occurs, she will never get used to it. She will never forget the physical cruelty towards Cael. The woman reminds her so much of her father.

“This is precisely why Riverath’s progress slows,” the Queen continues, her sharp eyes boring into them. “You read books, do not involve yourself at all in our political duties and courts, and neither do you have the confidence to defend your own husband from such rumors.”

Cael lowers his gaze, his knife clicking against the porcelain as his grip tightens. His jaw clenches until the skin turns pale. He slices through his food with a severe pressure, keeping his focus pinned downward as he refuses to look at his mother.

King Raelith clears his throat when a small silence spreads across the table. “They labor for us. It is not unreasonable that they receive more than wages alone. All three of them deserve a break.”

“There is no such thing as a break when you are a part of the royal bloodline in Riverath,” Queen Maereth replies, placing her utensils upon the linen despite having only just used them. “They receive our payment and our care. That is sufficient. We do everything and so much more, and have we ever received a break? No.”

“My love, compensation is not the same as consideration,” the King answers, his tone careful and measured. He reaches for his goblet before setting it down untouched. “I have reassured them that Hartwell and I will deal with the rumors toward Cael. I insisted on it, and I want them to focus on themselves and their regular duties.”

“We elevate them, and they respond with complacency,” Queen Maereth states. “They treat our prosperity like entitlement. It is simple for Elara to become more involved.”

King Raelith reaches across the small distance between them and rests a hand upon her shoulder. The gesture lasts a single moment before she strikes it away.

“Do not touch me,” Queen Maereth snaps, her chin rising with sharp disdain. “These two do not belong under the same ceiling if they continue to slack.”

“They are ruling with balance,” Raelith’s voice remains composed, Elara notices the strain beginning to surface beneath it. “Cael completes his duties without instruction. He builds. He improves. Our son demonstrates strength despite what he must endure. Elara is with him many times, and I hear their departure every morning.” A reassuring smile meets his lips, hoping to soothe his wife. “Kaera needs rest. Her body has been cramping and she wishes for privacy.”

Queen Maereth lets out a low laugh, though there is little amusement within it. “Your son, perhaps. He acts entirely under your influence. There is no wonder why your children are spoiled rotten and your kingdom has never improved since they were born.”

Cael and Kaera look up at her with shock at the blatant denial that she is either of their mothers, despite Kaera being her own flesh and blood. Elara stares at her plate, recalling similar stinging words from her father the day she learned she would be marrying Cael. She can imagine the pain her husband and sister-in-law are feeling right now.

“Maereth,” the King says, his patience wavering. “Not at the dining table. It has become a habit that we forfeit every meal to discord. This is beneath us. Please, leave our children out of this.” He shakes his head weakly. “They are our children. No matter if they slack or are consistent, they will learn. They must be treated with respect.”

“It is not my doing,” she retorts, the words arrive quickly, as though she has repeated this argument many times before. “If they are my children too, I can talk about them as I please.”

“It is not an if, Maereth dear. They are your children too,” King Raelith says. “Perhaps the constant chaos of the council and the threats from Zahraan are leaving us heated. We must not let them overwhelm us, and truly believe we can navigate this together.”

Elara looks up at Kaera, trying to avoid Queen Maereth’s expression. The princess is not smiling. Without that warmth, Elara feels as though she has returned to her own castle.

Along the walls, the knights and guards lower their gazes to the polished floor. The tension shows even beneath their layers of silver armor and ceremonial attire. Nearby servants exchange uneasy glances before quickly returning their attention to their duties.

Elara’s fork rests in her hand. She leaves her meal untouched, allowing the warmth of the food to cool. Beside her, she feels the tension radiating from Cael. His silence carries greater force than raised voices.

“Let us finish our dinner. It is not good manners to leave delightful meals and drinks wasted,” King Raelith says, taking a sip of hot water from his cup, only to stare down into the vessel before turning to one of the servants. “Would you please bring me fresh hot tea?”