That’s always the way of it. 

They tear something down and wait for the dust to settle, assuming I’ll kneel in the ruin and thank them for the reminder of my place. 

But not this time. 

Not with him. 

I wake early — before the bells, before the corridors fill with whispers and scent of polished shoes and plans half-hatched in silver cups. I dress in black and gray, no royal crests, no sash. 

Just me. 

I find Kaelis outside the lower barracks, as the sun begins to rise behind the outer wall. He’s checking the saddles again. 

Of course he is. 

Preparing, as always. 

“You don’t need to run,” I say quietly. 

He turns. 

The early light carves soft gold across his face, but there’s a tension there — not fear, exactly. 

Bracing. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs. 

“I know.” A pause. I take a step closer. “Walk with me.” 

He studies me like he’s searching for the trap. “They told you not to be seen with me.” 

I nod. “So let them see.”

We walk side by side, down the garden steps, through the open arch of the courtyard, toward the grand hall. Guards pause. 

Servants hush. 

Two advisors at the balcony lean forward, as if trying to decide whether they’re witnessing a mistake — or a message. 

Kaelis doesn’t speak. 

But he doesn’t stop, either. 

I don’t look at anyone else. 

Only forward. 

It’s not a speech. 

Not a declaration. 

It’s something quieter. 

And, somehow, louder. 

He’s here. 

And I’m still walking. 

They’re already assembled when we arrive. 

The court doesn’t rise when I enter — they rarely do unless my father does first — but today, something in the air tilts. 

Kaelis walks half a step behind me, close enough to see, far enough to make them question why he’s here at all. The silence when we enter is immediate. 

Dense. 

I let it stretch. 

Let them see. 

King Aldric lifts his gaze from the council notes in front of him. His fingers pause mid-gesture, one ring catching the light. 

“Elira,” he says, voice quiet but not soft. “You were not summoned this morning.” 

“No,” I say, stopping at the base of the steps. “But I came.” 

I meet Maelis’s eyes next. 

Her mouth is tight. 

Controlled. 

A woman who expected a chess piece to fall — not stand up and walk the board. 

“You were warned about the optics of your associations,” she says, careful. 

“I wasn’t warned,” I reply. “I was threatened.” 

She blinks. 

A misstep — rare for her. 

The council stirs. 

“I was advised,” I continue, voice steady, “that being seen with the man who has protected my life would cause discomfort. That it would damage my reputation, or suggest disloyalty to the crown.” I let my gaze fall to each of them — slowly. “If my loyalty is measured by how well I play pretend,” I say, “then perhaps you’ve crowned the wrong princess.” 

That lands. 

My father exhales, slowly, like he’s biting back a dozen things at once. “Is this a rebellion, then?” he asks. 

“No,” I say. “It’s a reminder. I am your only daughter. I am your only child. I am the heir. And I will not be made into a symbol for your comfort.” 

Kaelis shifts slightly beside me — not protectively, but grounded. 

Steady. 

He isn’t touching his sword. 

But the whole room acts like he might. 

The king leans forward. “Do you love him?” he asks. 

The question cuts the air clean in half. 

Even Maelis turns. 

I don’t look away. “I trust him.” 

The silence after is absolute. 

And I let it stand. 

Because love, in court, is a weapon. And I won’t let them turn it against me like a weakness. 

Not yet. 

The king sits back. 

Maelis folds her hands. “This changes things.” 

“No,” I say. “I am changing things.”

We don’t speak again until we’re alone. 

Not truly alone — in the palace, no one ever is — but here, in the garden where the stone is cracked and overgrown with ivy, where no councilor dares to tread, it’s quiet enough to breathe. 

Kaelis stands a few paces from me, arms folded across his chest. 

I lean against the weather-worn statue of some ancestor whose name I never bothered to learn. 

The silence stretches. 

Comfortable. 

Charged. 

Then, quietly— “You didn’t have to do that,” Kaelis says. 

“I did.” 

He looks at me — no anger, but something close to it. 

Something rawer. 

“You’ve made yourself a target.” 

“They already had me in their sights. This way, at least I’m facing them.” 

A beat. 

Kaelis steps closer. “You could’ve denied it.” 

“I didn’t.” 

“Because it’s true?” he asks. 

Not a challenge. 

Not quite a question. 

I don’t look away. “I don’t know what it is. Not yet. But I know I’ll fight to keep it.” 

Kaelis is still. 

I wait for him to deflect, to fold back into formality, to call me princess again and vanish into duty. But he doesn’t. Instead, he exhales — just once — and lets his shoulders drop. “You’re a fool,” he says. 

“And you’re still here.” 

His mouth twitches. 

Almost a smile.

 Almost. 

“I always will be.” 

The wind rustles through the garden. 

Somewhere deeper in the castle, a bell tolls the hour. 

But here, it’s quiet. 

And for the first time in days, maybe longer, I let myself feel the space between us—not as something dangerous, but as something real. 

He doesn’t touch me. 

He doesn’t need to. 

He’s here. 

And for now, that’s enough.