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“My mother never once treated me with hostility,” Elara continues. “What you perform here is unkind. My mother...” Her lips tremble while her gaze falls to the dress Cael brought for her. “She had her reasons. There were circumstances I never understood as a child, but that does not mean she wanted to hurt my future.”

She wipes her tears with the back of her hand, but more gather along her lashes while she tries to clear them. Her fingers tremble against her cheek, and she lowers her hand into her lap, ashamed that Queen Maereth can see how the words reach her heart.

Maereth’s chest heaves beneath her velvet bodice while she steps closer to the bed. “You speak of circumstances to defend a woman who signed your life away for riches. Queen Aline was no angel. She was a schemer who approached our emissaries fourteen years ago, when you were a child of five and Cael was only eight. She recognized the rising wealth of Riverath and desired that treasury for her own husband’s expansion. She bought her kingdom’s luxury and political gain with your future misery, and you ruin your own dignity by defending the hand that pushed you into our palace.”

Cael shifts only enough to prevent her from coming any closer. His boots remain planted against the floorboards, his hands relaxing by his sides despite the tension tightening through his arms. He does not need to threaten her again.

Before Queen Maereth can step forward again or launch into another wave of insults, a vanguard clears his throat loudly from the open threshold, shattering the mounting friction. “Your Majesty, the high council advisors have assembled in the main hall. They demand your immediate presence to sign the emergency border logs.”

Queen Maereth smooths the elegant velvet of her gown, forcing her posture back into a cold mask. She offers them one final stare of pure malice before turning on her heel, her heavy skirts sweeping past the threshold as she exits into the corridor with her guards following close behind.

The moment the hallway falls silent, Kaera moves toward the door, gathering her scattered canvases into her arms. She looks at Cael’s tense shoulders and then down at Elara’s tired demeanor. Then, she steps out into the corridor, pulling the heavy wood closed behind her until the latch clicks into place.

The emptiness of the chamber leaves nothing but the morning light tracking across the gray stone. Cael turns around, his knees almost buckling and steps toward the bed. He sinks to his knees in front of Elara, his palms lifting to frame her face, cradling her cheeks. He searches her expression, his thumbs brushing beneath her eyes to check for tears, waiting for the look of horror he dreaded his sword strike yesterday would cause, but her eyes reveal no terror toward him.

Her gaze remains pinned to a vacant patch of air past his shoulder, unfocused. She does not blink, and she makes no move to hide her face from him.

The warmth leaves her cheeks so rapidly it feels like the frost from the courtyard stone is transferring into her frame. She offers no resistance when he applies a light pressure to tilt her chin down, her face drifting wherever his palms guide her, like a porcelain ornament left behind in a vacant gallery. Her mind is trapped under the weight of the reveal, her posture locking into a hollow suspension that terrifies him far more than his stepmother’s screaming ever could.

He slides his thumbs closer to her cheekbones, trying to anchor her focus back to the chamber, but her fingers remain limp against Kaera’s bedsheets, drained of the strength to hold on.

Are you all right, my petal? Cael signs, the endearment slipping into the movement. Remembering that she does not know the language, he reaches for the booklet and quill with unstable hands.

“I am not,” Elara whispers, tears continuing to spill down her cheeks. “I do not think I know how to be.”

Cael’s brows draw together. His hands freeze against her skin. She understood his hands. Without the written words, she read his question. He leaves his palms resting against her face, his thumbs staying still to let her finish while he processes the sudden connection.

Elara wipes beneath one eye with the back of her hand, though another tear follows almost immediately. “Almost my entire journey here, I could not determine whether I was happy or not.” She pauses. “Everything changed so quickly. A man I claimed as my father sold me away with ease, and I came here believing that perhaps I could still find something good in all of it.” Her voice grows quieter, and she seems to reconsider how much she has already revealed. “I suppose I was beginning to believe I had.”

Her voice falters, and she looks down at the dress gathered beneath her fingers. A heavy silence settles over the mattress as she draws a shallow breath.

“I thought I could have something that belonged to me,” she says, her voice growing softer, almost trailing into a whisper. “A place where I could be loved.” Her fingers gather the fabric of her dress again, though she releases it when she notices herself doing so. “Someone who would not make me feel as though I were a burden for simply existing.” The admission leaves her visibly uncomfortable, and she lowers her gaze. “I was beginning to believe that I could be happy here, even after everything that happened in Veyrenn.”

She draws a shaky breath, pressing her lips together. “And now my mother. I always thought she was kind.” She lowers her gaze, her fingers curling together in her lap. “She was gentle with me,” she adds hesitantly. “When I was frightened, she would tell me that I did not have to hide my tears.”

Elara’s voice falters. She turns away, refusing to let Cael see how deeply the memory has reached her. “I believed she loved me. I still want to believe that.”

You do not have to decide what to believe today, Cael signs, making each movement easy for her to follow. Remember what you know. Leave the rest until you are ready. You do not have to tell me anything you are not ready to tell me. Realizing his trembling hands are overwhelming her, Cael lowers his arms into his lap, letting the drop be a silent indication that his incomplete feelings are left unfinished for now.

“Why me?” Elara asks, her voice quieter. “What made you want to protect me?” She hesitates, almost reconsidering the question before she continues. “I was not even kind to you when we first met.”

Cael’s lips curve into a small smile, and the sight makes her cheeks redden. He carefully brings out his green booklet and opens it over her lap, keeping his wrists and hands from touching her or her dress. He adjusts his position so her back rests almost against his chest, her head looking down at the parchment. His left hand starts to move with the quill, letting her watch the ink form without having to turn the pages. He pauses after the first few letters, his nib hovering as he thinks whether it is right to mention the deeper truths he hides.

You do not owe me anything, petal. I never needed your kindness to know you are a warm-hearted woman. It is the shield you place around yourself, the way you try your best to be strong, bearing the discomfort you can speak freely about now, though choose not to. The way you wish to understand me first.

As she reads the final words, Elara slowly tilts her head up to look into his eyes. Her soft green eyes make Cael forget his own existence. He never imagined he would be this close to her, let alone have her leaning against him for support. There is an aching familiarity on those eyes he cannot understand, but his need to protect her from the cruelty she has endured overrides everything else.

He lifts his left hand as his fingers reach toward her face. The back of his hand grazes the soft curve of her jaw, his knuckles brushing away the loose strands of hair that have dried against her damp cheek. His touch is tentative, almost questioning, and he pauses when his fingers reach the edge of her skin, giving her the opportunity to pull away. She does not. Only then does his palm settle gently against her cheek as he watches her expression.

Elara does not pull away from his touch. Her breathing remains uneven, and the uncertainty in her expression does not disappear, but some of the rigidity leaves her shoulders as she allows herself to remain within his reach. She turns her face toward his palm, her eyes closing for a moment as though the warmth of his hand gives her somewhere to rest. His thumb brushes away another tear.

After a long pause, Elara moves closer on her own. Her forehead comes to rest against his chest, and her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.

Cael’s breath catches. He gives her the opportunity to change her mind, his hands hovering near her back until her grip tightens.

Only then does he wrap his arms around her.

Cael ensures Elara is asleep within her quarters.