Lady Maelis is already seated when I arrive. 

My father, too, though his eyes are half-lidded with the look of a man who no longer deals in details — only outcomes. 

The others file in slowly. Whispers quiet. Eyes narrow. 

I let them all settle before I speak. 

“I want to postpone the engagement announcement.” 

Maelis lifts her head sharply. “Pardon?” 

I remain standing, letting my voice carry. “There is too much unrest. Too many variables. If we’re to present this union as a step toward stability, then it must be timed with precision. Not haste.” 

My father narrows his gaze. “The envoy leaves in three days. The announcement was set. It will proceed.” 

I meet his stare. “Then it will proceed without substance. Without certainty. You brought Eiran here to strengthen the kingdom — not shake it further. I’m asking for time.” 

“You’re making a scene,” Maelis cuts in.

I turn toward her. “No. I’m making a decision.” 

She doesn’t hide the way her hands tighten against the table’s edge. “You would delay a political alliance for the sake of your own unease?” 

“I would delay it,” I say calmly, “because it is not yet safe. Not for the crown. Not for the court. And not for the people who will bleed if we misstep.” 

A long silence stretches across the chamber. 

My father doesn’t speak. 

Which, in this room, is as close to permission as I’ll get. 

Maelis lowers her gaze, the corners of her mouth drawn tight. 

But she nods once — stiff, shallow. “Very well,” she says. “You have your time.” 

I curtsy. 

Controlled. 

Just enough to respect the throne without kneeling to it. 

Then I leave. 

I don’t look back.

I find Kaelis again before dusk. 

This time, he’s in the old watchtower — the one that overlooks the western wall. Most of the court doesn’t bother with it anymore. No strategic value. No aesthetic grandeur. Just crumbling stone and open sky. Exactly why he likes it. 

I climb the narrow stairs, my dress gathered in my hands, each step dragging a little more than the last. When I reach the top, he’s leaning on the ledge, arms folded, watching the horizon like it might do something worth remembering. 

“I did it,” I say. 

He doesn’t turn right away. 

I move beside him, placing both hands on the low stone wall, letting the wind cut across my face. “I delayed the engagement. No timeline. No announcement. Just space.” 

Now he looks at me. 

He studies me for a moment — really looks — and then, with the faintest lift of his brow: “So you do have teeth after all.” 

I snort. “I think I bit my tongue with them.” 

Kaelis’s mouth twitches. 

Not a smile, not quite. 

But it’s close. 

He nods toward the city. “They’ll be watching you now.” 

“They already were.” 

“True.” A beat. “But now they’re wondering if they misread you.” 

I glance sideways. “And you?” 

Kaelis doesn’t answer right away. Then: “I never stopped watching.” 

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. 

It just... holds everything too close to say aloud. 

Eventually, I straighten. “He’ll know.” 

“He already does.”

The moonlight through the conservatory windows paints silver ribbons across the marble floor. Eiran stands alone among the orchids and glass, a crystal goblet untouched in his hand. 

When I enter, he doesn’t turn. 

“You’ve delayed it,” he says softly. “I suppose congratulations are in order.” 

I take a few steps forward, careful not to speak too soon. “You said you didn’t want this,” I reply. “I assumed you’d be pleased.” 

He turns now — slowly, elegantly, his expression a mask polished to a high shine. “I said I didn’t want this, yes. But that doesn’t mean I appreciate being made a fool of in front of your court.” 

“There was no spectacle.” 

“No, just strategy. Well done.” His smile is too sharp. “I underestimated you. That won’t happen again.” 

I don’t look away. “Good.” 

The smile fades — not entirely, just enough to show the edges beneath. “You’ve made your move, Elira. But if you want to keep the crown, you’d better know what game you’ve started playing.” He sets the glass down, untouched. 

Then he walks past me, graceful as ever, like he didn’t just bare his fangs beneath a silk veil.

I don’t remember climbing the stairs. 

My feet brought me here, pulled by some quiet tether I never quite chose. The wind has picked up — colder tonight, rushing through the crumbled stone like it’s trying to push something loose. 

Kaelis is already there, leaning against the wall with his cloak drawn around his shoulders. No weapon tonight. Just him, quiet and still, watching the stars as if he’s memorizing their positions for war. 

I stand beside him. 

No words. 

No nod of greeting. 

He waits. 

Eventually, I exhale. “He wasn’t angry.” A beat. “He was… polished. I’ve never seen someone hold so much venom behind a single smile.” 

Kaelis doesn’t move. “He showed his hand.” 

“He showed nothing.” 

Now he looks at me. “Exactly.” 

That sinks like a stone in my chest. 

“He warned me,” I murmur. “Said I’d started a game. Said I’d need to finish it if I wanted to keep the crown.” 

“Do you?” he asks. 

“What?” 

Kaelis studies me. “Want the crown.” 

The question shouldn’t catch me off guard. 

But it does. 

I look away, toward the distant lights of the city. “I don’t know.” 

“That’s not an answer.” 

“It’s the only honest one I have.” 

A gust of wind presses against us, cool and sharp. I wrap my arms around myself, but the chill is deeper than the air. 

“I’m tired,” I admit. 

Kaelis watches me for a long time. “Then lean,” he says quietly. 

I blink at him. 

His voice is steady, low. “You don’t have to collapse. But you don’t have to stand alone, either.” 

He doesn’t move closer. 

Doesn’t reach for me. 

But he doesn’t need to. 

He’s there. 

Unmoving. 

Unyielding. 

And somehow, still soft enough for me to want to lean into. 

So I do. 

Just a little. 

Just enough to breathe again.