Maybe it’s the stones beneath my boots, or the high windows that never quite let the warmth in. 

Or maybe it’s just the people. 

My father sits on the throne like it’s a battlefield he’s too tired to leave. 

His crown sits heavy on his brow, a gleaming thing that reflects the torchlight with cruel precision. He was not always so gray, nor so quiet. 

War does that, I’m told. 

To kings. 

To men. 

Lady Maelis stands behind him, her hands folded like she’s cradling a dagger instead of air. Her smile is thin, polished like old silver, and just as cold. 

“The envoy from Evasia arrives in five days,” my father says. 

No greeting. 

No warmth. 

Just orders. 

“You will prepare yourself to receive them — and the prince.” 

So it’s real. 

The marriage. 

The alliance. 

The last gamble to secure peace before the war swallows what’s left of Valenor. 

“I understand,” I say, even though I don’t. 

Even though I never will.

“You’ll be respectful. Eager, even.” 

I meet his gaze. “I will be what I must.” 

It’s not the answer he wants. I see it in the flick of his brow, the tightening of his jaw. But he says nothing more. The council watches. No one speaks. No one offers sympathy. Just the sound of the fire and the weight of expectation pressing down like a mountain. I curtsy, low and smooth, just like I was taught. When I rise, I don’t look at him again.

Later, in my chambers, I lean against the door and let the silence swallow me whole. The windows are closed, the candlelight flickers weakly against the walls, and everything feels smaller somehow. 

Kaelis is there again — in the corner, sharpening a blade like it’s just another evening. 

Like the day didn’t shift beneath our feet. 

“Tonight,” I say, my voice rasping against the quiet, “the war feels closer than ever.” 

Kaelis doesn’t look up, but he unsheathes a small dagger and holds it up, letting the light catch on its edge. “We survive it,” he says. 

The words are soft. 

Steady. 

I cling to them like a lifeline. 

Kaelis leaves without another word. I don’t hear the door close, but I feel it — the air shifting once he’s gone, the stillness folding back over me like too-heavy cloth. 

I let my feet carry me to the window, the same one I always return to when I don’t know where else to stand.

Arathen sprawls beneath me, a city caught between beauty and ruin. Its spires gleam in the moonlight, but the streets below are stitched with shadow. I can see the flicker of hearth fires, the movement of people settling in for another cold night. No feasts. No silk. Just endurance. 

The castle lights burn longer. 

Too bright. 

Too hollow. 

We pretend we are the spine of the kingdom, but it is the city that bears the weight. 

I press a hand to the glass, palm flat. It’s cool against my skin, like touching a memory. 

They’ve told me all my life that I was born to rule. 

To lead. 

To carry peace on my shoulders like it was armor. 

But peace isn’t something you wear. 

It’s something you fight for. 

And I’m starting to think no one here remembers that.

I don’t know how long I stand at the window, watching the breath of the city move beneath clouds and rooftops. But I hear him again — Kaelis — long before I turn to look. 

His footsteps are deliberate, not loud. 

The sound of someone who wants you to know he’s there without demanding your attention. I don’t speak, and neither does he. 

For a while, we just share the quiet. 

Then, softly, behind me, he says, “You speak less than I expected.” 

A flicker of something—wry amusement, maybe—pulls at my mouth. “People talk enough for me.” 

Kaelis steps beside me. Close, but not too close. 

I can feel the warmth of him, like a fire you sit beside but never touch. 

I keep my eyes on the window. “Do you ever wish you were someone else?” I ask. 

He takes longer to answer than I expect. “No,” he says. “But I’ve often wished I didn’t have to be who I am.” 

That... sits with me. 

He doesn’t explain further. 

He doesn’t have to. 

And maybe that’s why it settles in so deeply. 

I turn my head slightly, just enough to see his face in the reflection of the glass. Hard edges. Tired eyes. A man shaped by war and silence. But tonight there’s a stillness in him, too — like maybe he’s tired of pretending none of it touches him. 

“They’ll marry me to a stranger,” I say, not because I think he doesn’t know, but because I need to hear the truth aloud. 

Kaelis’s jaw tightens, just a fraction. “I know.” 

“And you’ll be expected to stand beside me while I do it.” 

He doesn’t answer. 

That silence says more than words could. I nod, as if we’ve agreed on something unspoken. 

“Then I suppose we’ll both be pretending.” Another pause. 

Kaelis says quietly, “I don’t think you’re as good at pretending as you think you are.” 

The words hit lower than expected. 

Not cruel. 

Not even unkind. 

Just... honest. 

He turns before I can respond. 

The door opens, then closes gently behind him. 

And I’m alone again. 

But somehow, it feels a little less like it.

Later, I find him again. 

Not by design — or maybe it is. 

The palace halls are endless, but I seem to always end up where he is. 

The armory is empty this time of night. The lanterns are dimmed, their light flickering across racks of blades and battered shields. 

Kaelis is seated at the long bench near the far wall, oiling a sword with methodical care. He doesn’t look up when I enter. “You’re not supposed to be here,” he says. 

“I’m not supposed to be a lot of things.” 

He smirks, just slightly. A twitch of the mouth, gone as quickly as it comes. 

I sit on the opposite end of the bench, the silence stretching between us like something worn but comfortable. 

“I don’t think I’m ready,” I say after a while. 

“For the marriage?” 

“For all of it.” 

Kaelis sets the cloth down. “You don’t have to be ready. You just have to survive it.” 

I lean forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the scuffed floor. “And what does surviving look like to you?” 

He doesn’t answer right away. I hear the oil bottle being capped, the creak of leather as he shifts in his seat. “Some days,” he says slowly, “it looks like keeping your head down. Doing what you're told. Letting the world use you so it doesn’t break you.” 

“And other days?” 

A breath. 

“Other days it looks like getting out before it costs you everything.” 

I turn to him. “And which do you think I’m doing?” 

Kaelis meets my eyes. 

The room feels too small all at once. 

“I think you’re trying to do both. And I don’t know if the court will let you.” 

There’s no pity in his voice. 

No softness. 

Just that solid, unflinching truth I’ve come to expect from him. 

I look away. “I don’t think I know how to stop trying to be what they want.” 

“You shouldn’t have to.” 

The quiet between us returns, heavier this time. 

But not sharp. 

Not cutting. 

It wraps around us like a blanket we both pretend not to need. 

After a while, Kaelis stands. “Get some rest, Elira.” 

He doesn’t say Your Highness. 

Just my name. 

It stays with me longer than I mean for it to.

That night, I can’t sleep. 

The sheets are cold, no matter how I turn them. I’ve lit the hearth. I’ve cracked the window. I’ve closed it again. Nothing helps. 

I stare at the ceiling and try not to count the hours until dawn. 

Kaelis’s voice still echoes in my head: You shouldn’t have to. 

So simple. 

So steady. 

Like truth spoken without fear of consequence. 

No one’s ever said something like that to me. Not without expecting something in return. Not without it being a promise buried in a knife. 

I shift onto my side, eyes fixed on the window where a sliver of moonlight creeps in. It’s strange, how I’ve never felt so seen and so hidden at the same time. 

The court wants a princess. 

My father wants a treaty. 

The kingdom wants a symbol. 

Kaelis... hasn’t said what he wants. 

But I’m starting to understand that he sees me even when I don’t speak. 

Especially then. And I don’t know whether that comforts me or terrifies me. 

My fingers twist in the fabric of the blanket. I whisper his name into the dark, not because I want him to hear it — but because I need someone to know it’s him I’m thinking of. 

Kaelis. 

It settles into the room like the softest rebellion. 

I close my eyes and let it stay there.