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Securing the volume within her grasp, she tucks it against her side to keep it hidden from view. “I still feel guilty accepting these. I should support you.”

A blush warms the woman’s cheeks as she offers Elara her first genuine smile. “Please do not, Your Highness. It would make me and my sister glad to know you have it.”

Holding the volumes close, Elara steps lead her away. The light breeze lifts the edges of the pages gently, like they are a precious treasure to be admired and explored. Passing back across the stone bridge while ignoring the cool wind against her skin, an exhaustive search reveals no sign of Cael anywhere in the crowd.

She decides to continue exploring, even as the sunlight deepens into warmer shades of orange, signaling noon drawing nearer. Her steps carry her much farther than intended, passing foreign dwellings unobserved until the dense chatter of the market fades into the background. Trees begin surrounding the path ahead.

Slowing her pace, the stone roads disappear beneath her feet, replaced by uneven earth and thick roots. Pushing past the clustered trees and rocks of a river bank, she steps into the forest. Dead grass cushions the ground beneath her shoes. A clear spring bubbles from ice-rimmed stones, feeding a winding creek that glides through the barren landscape without a sound.

Elara stops mid-step, her mouth parting in silent awe as she blinks at the unexpected clearing. It is an area of total isolation, a hidden sanctuary that feels cared for by an unseen hand. The dark earth near the water’s edge is arranged. Kneeling near the bank to let her skirt spread across the grass, she sets the deep blue book down, her fingers still holding the small green booklet she purchased for the prince. Looking at the soil, her breath catches. The planting beds are completely bare. Tucked into the hollow of a tree trunk rests a set of worn gardening tools, along with a silver steel watering can.

The mystery vanishes as a clear certainty fills her mind, confirming that no other person is present in the clearing. Finding a bare, clean stone, shaped almost like a seat, Elara sits on it and looks down at the book and booklet in her hands. She does not know how to approach Cael and admit she bought a booklet for him because she kept his old one.

A sudden, freezing shift in the wind cuts straight through the dense canopy, breaking her solitary thoughts. Hours slip past unnoticed as she remains absorbed in the clearing, until a deep chill alerts her to the fading winter light. The brightness completely recedes from the sky, leaving the winding creek and the meticulous rows of white lilies cast in the deep shadows of early evening.

Scrambling up from the firm stone, a sharp shiver runs down Elara’s spine as the biting air hits her bare skin. Her fingers tighten in panic, clutching both the blue leather volume and the small green booklet tight against her chest. She turns in a frantic circle, her eyes scanning the shifting shadows only to realize the path back to the stone bridge and the safety of the busy market is erased by the blinding mist. The evening air drops into a biting freeze, her gown offering little defense as she stands lost in the fading light.

The snapping of a root shatters the stillness behind her. The distinct thud of horse hooves echoes through the clearing, trapping her in a rigid stance as she realizes she is no longer alone. Her heart hammers violently against her ribs as an imposing, tall silhouette breaks through the thick air. With a sigh of relief, she realizes it is Cael. He emerges from the frost, his storm-grey eyes locking onto her frame.

Elara steps back. Her eyes widen with confusion at how Cael found her here of all places. Though if it was easy for her to find a precious place like this, it would not be hard for him either.

He guides his horse forward to Elara. Even with his heavy silver crown gleaming in the dim mist, his posture carries a profound, bone-deep exhaustion from his morning labor. Standing in front of him, Elara’s fingers tighten around the green leather booklet.

She scrambles internally, terrified that if he steps closer, he will see the blank green notebook and realize she has been tracking his pain, or worse, remember the original booklet she still has hidden back in her vanity drawer. Tucking the small volume behind the larger book, Elara smooths back her hair, heart hammering as she waits for his next move.

Slowly, Cael extends his left hand down toward her. His thick black leather gloves are back on, but the silver marriage ring is now worn prominently over the leather, catching the glint of the freezing mist. Knowing that on this hand and arm were deep injures, and knowing that she jumped to a hasty conclusion, Elara blushes, refusing to meet his eyes as she grasps his hand.

Cael hoists her onto the saddle behind him, barely waiting for her to secure her hold around his waist before steering the horse back toward Raeverband. He has no booklet to write with, but Elara requires no inked words to recognize they cannot remain in this isolated wood. The rigidity of his posture and the urgency of his movements convey that they have no time to waste. With King Raelith fallen gravely ill, it is vital they present a unified, unbreakable bond to the public. The authority of the crown must be protected.

Elara makes no effort to maintain a distance between them as they ride back into the noisy market. The dense chatter of the vendors and shoppers vanishes the moment they appear, the crowd falling into a hush to stare at the uncommunicative prince and the new Veyrenn princess.

Elara swallows, straightening her spine, masking the guilt of having falsely suspected him of betrayal and trying to mimic Cael’s stern public composure to fit her role of princess in this vast kingdom. Keeping the booklet hidden in the space between her and Cael, she lifts a hand to wave at her people.

Stepping forward and keeping their focus straight ahead, they find someone waiting by the mounting block. It is the tall, elderly sentinel who was present within King Raelith’s royal suite. He previously identified himself as Hartwell, a man who has served the king for years. His face is pale, his posture replaced by a panic that signals an emergency.

Before Cael can fully bring the horse to a stop, Hartwell hurries forward, his soft leather boots scuffing against the stones. He does not offer a royal greeting.

He reaches up toward the saddle, his hands holding a heavy parchment document bound in dark, foreign leather. It is sealed with a crimson wax stamp bearing the sharp, stylized crest of Omar Zahraani, which depicts a curved scimitar crossed beneath a falcon. “Your Highness, His Majesty has received a letter from Omar Zahraani. It is urgent. He arrives in two days without prior agreement,” he says, his voice a low whisper as he delivers the news, ensuring no nearby courtyard guards can overhear the contents.

The name is familiar to Elara, matching the crest she recognized upon the dark leather of the document. Zahraani. It casts a strange weight into her chest. Cael tenses in front of her, bringing his hands up and signing his words with great hurry.

Hartwell pursues his lips, his expression tightening before he continues. “A foreign rider reached the outer perimeter checkpoints under the cover of the morning frost to deliver the message to the guards, who brought it straight to the royal suite,” he breathes out. “The letter is a demand for a discussion regarding the redistribution of the shared border territories. Omar Zahraani is openly exploiting the rumors of His Majesty’s failing health, using this precise moment of weakness to force a massive shift in political power. His Majesty is also insisting on participating in this discussion, despite his condition.”

Cael signs with forced movements, his hands cutting sharply through the air.

“I know, Your Highness.” Hartwell shakes his head. “I promise that I have tried my best telling His Majesty to rest, but his treaty with Omar is a fragile peace. The king believes his personal presence is the only thing preventing an open conflict.”

Fear catches her throat as she absorbs the reality. She realizes now why Cael was so desperate to project absolute unity in the market. If Omar Zahraani’s spies report that the prince and his new princess are fractured, it will prove to the foreign leader that Riverath is ready to crumble.

Clutching the hidden green booklet tighter against her side, she prepares herself to follow Cael straight into the sick King Raelith’s chamber to face the impending threat.

XVIII

THE GREEN BOOKLET

C

Cael rushes towards the council chamber.