Page 47

Elara absorbs her words in silence. Thoughts of her own mother surface almost instinctively, followed by the realization that absence wears many faces. Death. Distance. A parent who chooses to leave and never returns.

“Do you regret it?” she murmurs. “Coming here? I understand being away from your family causes pain.”

Maren considers the question longer than Elara expects, her gaze dropping to her folded hands. “Some mornings,” she admits. “His Majesty created these positions for women like me,” she continues. “Women without family nearby, without anyone waiting for them when the day is done.” Her eyes drift toward the bedchamber door, where muted voices carry through the corridor beyond. “He said we would find that here instead.”

The revelation sends a cold prickle across Elara’s skin. In Veyrenn, her father viewed vulnerable women as liabilities to be discarded or locked away, transforming his fortress into a prison of presentation. Here, the concept of a ruler actively building a sanctuary of defense for his people is foreign.

Maren falls silent for a moment before adding, “For the most part, we have. Many of the workers in this palace did not simply walk by with aching feet and plead for His Majesty to accept them and work for him. It was more like His Majesty and His Highness found us and gave us a place.”

Elara’s stomach twists, but she wipes her face of emotion. “Cael helped?”

Maren smiles. “Oh, yes. He helped tremendously and accompanied us like we are all beyond professional duties and work. He is always the first one to bring people in. Her Highness sees many women, even young ones, and gives them a chance to enter.” Turning her head away, Maren looks ahead at the other women and maids walking. “You help us all as well. You helped me, Your Highness.”

Elara’s breath catches in her throat. She opens her mouth to ask what Maren means, but the words die upon her lips. Before she can form her question, a harsh shout echoes from the corridor outside, shattering the peace of the chamber.

“Everyone, silence!” The sudden command fractures the stillness of the corridor, delivered by a voice stern with authority. Stepping toward the bedchamber doorway to turn toward the sound, Elara locks her focus on the landing.

At the center of the staircase stands Kaera. Her black hair is drawn into a loose bun, several strands escaping to frame a face shaped more by resolve than softness. She wears a gown elegant in its restraint, the bodice simple, its flowing sleeves resting low upon her arms, while the pale gray skirt catches the shifting light each time she moves. A silver crown rests upon her head, gleaming where sunlight spills through the windows.

“There will be a dinner tomorrow,” she announces, her voice carrying the effortless authority of someone long accustomed to obedience. “Leader Omar of Zahraan will attend alongside his delegation. I expect the palace to be spotless by evening, particularly the guest dining halls. The menu will require further adjustments as well, so speak with the head chef before noon.”

Then, she exhales, exhaustion evident as every woman’s voice quiets. Kaera gives a firm nod, a silent command to continue. Movement returns, the staff moving in sync to obey their princess.

Beside Elara, Maren leans in and whispers to her, “She seems exhausted, Your Highness. I am worried.”

Elara turns to Maren’s expression of concern before shifting her gaze back toward Kaera standing upon the staircase. Awareness gathers piece by piece as the terrifying connection forms. Physical movement becomes impossible. She forces her posture to straighten. “I appreciate your kind words and work, Maren.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Maren inclines her head.

Wanting to reach Kaera before she leaves, Elara hurries toward the staircase, panting under the weight of dragging her heavy pink skirt around. Kaera’s eyes land on hers. Her earlier sternness fades with a smile. Around them, movement returns to the wing as maids gather baskets and folded linens before hurrying down separate halls. Guards reposition themselves near the staircase, armor shifting. Voices remain low, purposeful, blending into the rhythm of preparation surrounding the approaching evening.

“Let us go. These wonderful women have it all arranged,” Elara reassures. “I will work with you by your side.”

Kaera’s gaze softens, her stance straightening. “Together?”

“Together,” Elara smiles.

The heavy oak doors of the wing swing open, and Elara accompanies Kaera down the winding stone staircases toward the lower dining halls and preparation areas. Kaera clutches a thick, heavy leather inventory log against her chest, her knuckles straining against the material, but the noticeable tremor in her fingers betrays the immense fatigue draining her posture.

Matching her pace, Elara extends her hand, her fingers gently easing the heavy log away from the other princess’s grip to share the burden.

Kaera glances at her with a flicker of surprise, her shoulders dropping a fraction as she releases a tired breath. “Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice carrying the strain of a long morning. “The advisors left the checklists in absolute chaos.”

“Let us settle it together,” Elara says, offering a calm smile as they step into the dining hall.

They work side by side, checking the long black tables that stretch across the stone floor. Elara helps Kaera select the exact silver candleholders and heavy, pristine linens required for today’s summit. Each polished piece of flatware must rest in flawless symmetry, ensuring everything looks impeccable to hide the kingdom’s internal stress from Omar Zahraani.

While arranging the heavy silver ornaments at the center of the table, Kaera’s movements slow, her eyes fixing onto the polished base of a silver candelabra. “Father insisted on reviewing the guard rotations himself this morning,” she says, her voice sinking to a more personal, fragile register. “He can barely lift his cup, Elara. Watching him force that crown authority in front of the vanguards... it frightens me. I feel as if the entire foundation of our home is fracturing before he can even face the Zahraani delegation.”

Elara listens, setting a heavy silver candelabra down with a metallic clink before reaching out to touch Kaera’s arm. “He is a king, Kaera. His strength belongs to his people, but right now, your composure is what encourages him to continue.”

Kaera gives a nod in acknowledgment, her fingers lingering against the metal before returning to her task. A silence settles between them for several minutes, the only sound the rustle of fabric as they work. Adjusting the edge of a heavy linen runner, a sense of clarity settles in Elara’s mind. In Veyrenn, her endless hours spent mastering the formal presentation of the high court felt like a prison of useless idleness. Here, beneath the shifting shadows of the chandeliers, that exact background is finally useful, providing a shield of perfection to guard Riverath’s royal family from the threats outside their gates.

They move together into the massive, bustling palace kitchens, where the loud chattering of the staff echoes against the stone walls and the rich aroma of roasting meats and savory herbs fills the air.

Navigating past the large preparation tables, they speak with the head chef to finalize the adjustments Kaera announced on the staircase earlier. The chef listens intently, his brow furrowed as he takes in the princess’s commands regarding the main courses.

Stepping closer to the wide wooden counter, Elara offers her own soft input, suggesting the addition of specific honeyed tarts and spiced cinnamon cider elements she observed at the lower city market during her walk. The combination balances Riverath’s traditional grandeur with a comforting, welcoming warmth, creating a menu designed to ease the high tension of the summit. The head chef nods in deep agreement and he relays the new instructions to the nearby bakers.