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She reaches automatically for the nearest glass, only for Cael’s hand to touch her wrist beneath the tablecloth, halting her movement. When she looks at him in confusion, his gaze shifts toward the dark vintage before landing upon the untouched iced water already resting beside her plate. Heat rises faintly into her cheeks as she withdraws her hand and reaches instead for the water, realizing he is shielding her from drinking something altered.
Cael releases her wrist, his bare fingers remaining against her skin for only a second longer than necessary.
The piano melody lowers, nearly drowned beneath the stillness overtaking the table. Even the servants move more carefully now, placing dishes and refilling glasses with lowered eyes, understanding instinctively that this conversation has drifted far beyond diplomacy.
King Raelith regards Omar across the length of the table, candlelight sharpening the silver threaded through his dark coat. “A rewrite of our borders,” he says, his voice thin but unyielding. “You arrive without warning, demand our standing regiments to fight your border war, and imply our own northern front will suffer if I refuse. You mask a threat under the guise of an alliance request.”
Omar exhales once through his nose, the faintest crack appearing within his composure. “You misunderstand my intention.”
“No,” King Raelith replies, his gaze steady. “I understand your motives. They remain identical to your past transgressions.”
The words echo across the chamber. Elara becomes painfully aware of how little anyone else at the table speaks. Queen Maereth sits in total silence beside her husband, while Kaera watches Omar with the watchful stillness she might reserve for an opponent across a battlefield.
Omar’s gaze shifts toward Cael. “And what does your heir think?” he asks, a slow sneer warming his tone. “Surely Prince Cael has opinions regarding military strategy. If only he could speak them aloud.” The insult alters the atmosphere in an instant. Several members of the foreign delegation glance toward the crown prince, their eyes widening at the blunt venom of the remark.
King Raelith is the first to counter Omar’s manners, his posture straightening. “I will not tolerate you speaking to my son in that manner.”
Elara looks up at Cael, noting the sharp shift in his posture before he raises his bare hands to command the space. His long fingers move with cutting precision through the air. He does not have his leather notebook, but he requires no page; his movements are so commanding that the entire table watches his fingers cut through the silence. Hartwell steps forward, his voice projecting the prince’s silent words for the assembly to hear.
“Weakened rulers invite invasion,” Hartwell translates, his delivery matching the unyielding speed of the prince’s gestures. “And kingdoms unable to secure their own borders eventually lose the right to claim them.”
Omar absorbs the statement, his amused expression dissolving until only a dangerous stillness remains. He lifts his gaze back toward Cael, his eyes glinting as a dark glare settles over his features. “Is that what you believe, Prince?” he asks.
Elara’s breath catches at the bluntness of the exchange, but Cael’s expression never changes. He watches Omar from across the table, his storm-grey eyes unwavering beneath the older man’s stare.
“It is not about what I want,” King Raelith continues, steering the council back to the map lines. “You came seeking to exploit my resources while contributing nothing of value. I will not squander my kingdom’s strength to secure yours. There must be balance.”
Omar’s eyes narrow, the golden light of the candles glinting off his heavy rings. “You may regret this decision when chaos spreads beyond my borders.”
“If it does,” King Raelith pauses, his tone dropping to a colder register, “then I will address it. I will not be manipulated into carrying burdens that are yours to bear. I am denying this immediate deployment, but I remain bound to the defensive terms of our existing treaties.”
The hall suffocates with restrained anger, the air sharpened by a tension that spreads over the porcelain plates like smoke. The tightening of Cael’s shoulders is impossible to miss.
Elara senses the selfishness beneath Omar’s requests, the greed concealed beneath polished words and practiced diplomacy, but she maintains her silence. She recognizes the danger beneath Omar’s calculated demands carries the very same secretive nature she witnessed in the marketplace with the vendor. This is not her place to interfere, no matter how the discomfort presses against her ribs.
Omar scoffs, the sound rough with disdain as he looks directly at Elara. “You waste your defenses on this southern princess, a mere ornament unsuited for the harsh realities of a war council.”
Elara’s fingers tighten against the edge of the dark wood.
King Raelith does not rise from his seat. “Speaking negatively about those uninvolved reflects immaturity, Omar. I have aided you and many rulers for decades, and you remain the only one who has failed to outgrow selfishness.”
Omar’s hands slam against the table, the brute impact rattling the silver utensils and sending iced water spilling across the silk cloth. Around the chamber, chairs scrape against the marble floor as nearly everyone rises in alarm, the vanguards shifting toward their weapons. Only King Raelith remains seated, unmoving beside Queen Maereth.
Elara flinches as she grips the edge of the wood. Before she can pull back from the table, Cael moves, his frame shifting to block her from Omar’s line of sight. His fingers slide over her wrist, his grip firm as his free hand drops to the hilt of the dagger at his belt.
“We do not behave like this at the dining table. This conduct is unacceptable within Riverath,” Kaera says, her voice stern and unwavering as strands of black hair fall across her shoulders.
Omar laughs dismissively. “Silence, woman. You do not order men. You listen.”
Kaera lets out a low growl of disgust, her fingers tightening until the empty crystal glass within her grasp cracks in her hand. Rage flashes across her expression, sharp enough to still the entire chamber. Elara watches the glass fracture in Kaera’s palm, a cold prickle of awe running down her spine. King Raelith’s jaw tightens. Queen Maereth watches the chaos with narrowed eyes filled with disapproval instead of surprise.
“I have held great patience for you, Omar. All you do is insult my family, and you return demanding our strength.” Raelith’s tone lowers. “Causing chaos each time you enter my kingdom will not grant you your wish.”
With the erupting chaos and everyone only focusing on each other, Elara pushes her chair back to stand on her feet. Leaving the dining hall, Elara’s heart races at her dismissive action. She hurries down the dim hall toward the outside of the palace.
Stepping past the stairs to remain near the overflowing water fountain, Elara keeps her gaze down on her hand, her focus shifting to the silver band on her finger. A breath interrupts the silence beside her. She whips around, finding the knight who has been staring into her eyes all evening.
Elara takes a few steps back to create distance, thoroughly confused by how she did not hear a single footstep or notice anyone following her from the dining hall.
