Page 103
“Oh, Cael,” Elara whispers, tracing the ink strokes while her breathing suspends over the final line. The elegance of his handwriting burns into her focus.
Memories of her arrival in Riverath resurface, a time when fear dictated her steps. She recalls the terror that he might mirror the cruelty of King Eric, suspicion framing his gestures as a mere performance to lower her guard. Reading his confession, she reviews his consistent protection across the past weeks. A numbness takes hold of her limbs while the truth of his sincerity undermines the remaining walls of her isolation.
Elara turns to the next page, revealing a short verse marred by splatters of black ink. The dark stains cross the fibers of the page, blotting the margins where his pen faltered.
A wall of glass, a threat of stone,
Bound to a crown, though entirely alone.
Turn away from the shadow I bear,
Lest you down in the quiet we share.
A mantle of green, a spirit so light,
Lost to the freeze of a kingdom in night.
Despite knowing she counted it to be the last, her fingers desperately turn toward more pages. She wants to find more of his words and to feel the hollow comfort of his confessions. A small explosion echoes from afar, rattling the glass doors of the balcony. A gasp rips out of her throat as she glances up at the clear doors.
Everything is happening too quickly. The glass balcony doors rattle again for a second, deeper resonance, the vibrating the glass until it cracks the glass. The vulnerability of her position hits her, a warning that the stone walls offer no protection against a siege. She looks down at the ink-stained splatters on the page, the black stains serving as a mirror to the chaos unfolding at the gates.
She stops her tears. Reading old pages for the sake of her comfort will not alter the threat, nor will it fulfill the vow she shared by the fireplace. She promised to be his shield, yet she remains hidden on the floorboards while he faces the vanguard. She tucks the booklet into the inside of her coat’s pocket, forcing her weight onto her feet while a resolve hardens inside her chest to honor his command and secure the safety of his family.
Elara exits her bedchamber and presses her palms against the cold wall to guide herself forward. A quick glance into Kaera’s bedchamber reveals the princess is gone.
Elara turns back around quickly, her focus locking onto the empty passage while she forces her limbs to move. She must find Kaera to fulfill the directive Cael delivered during their separation. Each sanctuary she checks is empty. When she stands in front of King Raelith’s bedchamber, her heart sinks. She must not waste time.
Opening the door, Elara enters. Her steps falter when she sees King Raelith propped against the pillows on his bed, his eyes closed while his breath rasps each time he inhales. His pale skin clings tight to the contours of his skull. He is weaker than the last time she saw him, his body noticeably thinner beneath the layers of linen sheets, his physical presence fading into the mattress. A heavy odor of damp metal, stale sweat, and rot hangs over the mattress. He is unlike the noble king she met weeks ago in her castle.
Kaera is seated in a chair near his side, her black hair covering her face while the tremors of her shoulders indicate her grief. Elara takes a tentative step forward and sinks onto her knees by her side, bringing her hands to secure the princess’s fingers.
Kaera sniffles, holding her sobs back while she looks up to meet her eyes. “Elara, what is happening outside?”
“They are attacking,” Elara whispers. “Cael left to defend the walls, and he commanded me to care for you and Raelith. It is not safe.”
“Riverath is already coming to a ruin because of my mother,” Kaera states, her voice breaking when she brings her hand over her mouth to stifle her growing sobs. “My father is dying, Elara. He told me the truth, and while I look at him, I have nothing left to grasp.”
“Why is all of this happening?” Kaera continues, her lips trembling. “Is the world punishing us?”
Elara remains silent, taking in Kaera’s words. She is unable to grant an answer. She looks over at King Raelith again, noticing a stained splatter of crimson on his robes.
“I am staying here with him. No matter what happens,” Kaera says. “I cannot leave my father like this.”
“Kaera, please,” Elara whispers. Her pleas cut off at the sound of approaching footsteps. She turns and opens the door, finding Queen Maereth approaching up the stairs. Her lips squeeze shut. Glancing back over her shoulder, she watches Kaera sink into the chair, her head in her hands.
With a shuddering exhale, Elara retreats from the threshold to evade the queen’s line of sight. She forces her trembling limbs to move, her boots catching the stone steps of the adjacent stairwell while she flees toward the quiet upper levels. She climbs to avoid Maereth, escaping the threat of words that would sting her weak heart. When she reaches the top landing, she stands within the shadows of the corridor. She looks down through the stairwell balustrade to observe Queen Maereth entering the bedchamber below. She expects to hear a loud voice of anger or mockery echo up the stone shaft.
Except the sound that rises through the dark passage is a sob. It is a weeping note that does not belong to Kaera.
Elara turns back to face the solitary hallway ahead of her, finding the private chamber Cael tried to hide from her sight. She shifts her gaze away from the oak paneling, a conflict rising within her thoughts. The urge pushes her forward to discover the truth of the glimpses flashing through her memory every time she looks at Cael. She desires to uncover what more he is hiding, to find a fragment of truth she can clutch.
Her feet remain frozen to the floorboards. Guilt takes hold of her mind, recalling the times she stripped his vulnerability away. Those discoveries lacked planning, and one occurred by her own choice. She forces her mind to imagine the reality of possessing a booklet of her own deepest, saddest secrets. To have someone discover each page, stripping away every protective barrier to leave her bare, would only leave her wrecked.
Elara takes a step forward. Then another. When she stands in front of the door, she stares at the silver doorknob while another explosion echoes from afar, louder than the last. A gasp escapes her mouth, her eyes squeezing shut. Her hand grasps the doorknob and pushes it open. She expected it to be locked, anticipating a struggle to open it, but the mechanism opens to her touch.
She freezes.
Canvases fill her vision, crowding the interior. A black wooden table occupies the center of the chamber, holding pools of black ink and dense stacks of booklets. Faded, stained papers lie crumbled across the floorboards. Her gaze drifts to the artwork, her breath locking in her throat when she targets an old, weathered canvas.
