I don’t turn back to look. 

But I know he’s still there. 

Kaelis doesn’t pace. 

Doesn’t lean. 

Doesn’t even pretend to relax. 

He just stands in the sunlight filtering through the laurels, gaze fixed on the chapel entrance — not with suspicion, but with something quieter. 

I wonder, sometimes, what he thinks when he sees me like this. 

Unarmored. 

Uncertain. 

Changing. 

Does he grieve the girl I used to be? Or has he been waiting for this version of me to finally arrive? 

I’ll ask him someday. 

If we survive it.

That evening, I return to my chambers without guards. Kaelis walks me to the door, but he doesn’t follow me in. I think he knows this is something I need to do alone. 

Rellin arrives shortly after dusk. He knocks only once — a soft tap, the way he always has, as if the sound might inconvenience the furniture. 

I let him in. 

He carries fresh linens, a tray of tea, and a folded letter addressed to me with no seal. “It was slipped beneath the door to the old study,” he says as he sets the tray down. “No signature.” 

He says it like it’s meaningless. 

Like people don’t die in this court over unsigned letters. 

I pour the tea myself. 

He watches but says nothing. 

I take a long sip, then set the cup down. 

“I’m told,” I begin, casually, “that I’ll be traveling to the border province in three days.” 

Rellin doesn’t blink. “Are you?” 

“That’s what Lady Maelis says. There’s word of unrest. I’m to appear as a sign of unity. Just a day or two, I assume.” He nods once. “Would you like your things packed?” 

“No,” I say. “Not yet.” I watch him carefully. “If word of that trip spreads before morning… I’ll know.” 

Rellin meets my eyes. And for the first time in months, I see something flash across his face. 

Not fear. 

Loyalty. 

Sharp. 

Uncompromising. 

The kind Kaelis once told me you only ever earn, never command. 

“I won’t speak of it,” Rellin says. “Not even to the walls.” 

I nod. 

He bows low, but not with submission. With choice. And when he leaves, I lock the door myself. Then sit down at my desk, take out fresh parchment, and begin drafting the next move. 

It’s well past midnight when I find him. Kaelis is where he always is when he’s not at my side — in the small stone alcove just beneath the west turret, where the wind cuts clean through the palace walls and the stars are visible through the broken arch above. He doesn’t startle when I step into view. Just glances over once, then returns his gaze to the sky. 

“You’re not sleeping,” I say. 

“I rarely do.” 

I step closer and lean against the wall beside him. 

Neither of us speaks for a while. Not because there’s silence between us — but because there isn’t need for anything else yet. 

Then Kaelis says, “You were careful today.” 

“You noticed?”

“Of course.” 

I smile faintly. “I trusted Rellin with a thread,” I say. “Just enough to see where it would be pulled. He didn’t move.” Kaelis tilts his head. “You expected him to?” 

“I didn’t know. That’s the point.” 

He exhales slowly. “You’re learning to play.” 

I shake my head. “I’m learning how they’ve played me.” 

There’s a pause. 

Then Kaelis turns to look at me fully, his voice lower now. “You don’t have to become them to win.” 

“I know,” I reply. “But I might have to speak their language long enough to be heard.” 

His jaw clenches slightly — not in disapproval, but in reluctant understanding. “You’ve changed,” he says. 

I glance at him. “Is that a warning?” 

“No,” he says. “It’s a truth.” 

Another pause. 

Then, softer: “I just hope the version of you that survives this… is still the one I recognize.” 

I don’t look away this time. 

I don’t deflect. 

I just say, “So do I.” 

And for a moment, in that frigid wind, in the fractured shadow of a palace built to hold us both captive — we stand still. 

Together.

The next morning breaks soft and colorless. 

A pale gray light spreads through the palace, quieting the world before it can stir. I stay in my chambers longer than usual — not out of fear, but purpose. 

I’m waiting. 

By midday, the rumor spreads: the princess is preparing to travel. 

Not officially. 

Not declared. 

But whispered. 

Wondered. 

Wondered just enough. 

I watch for the reaction. 

From the council? Nothing. 

From the servants? A bit of movement. A bit of curiosity. But no ripple. 

From Eiran? He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t demand clarification, or speak my name aloud, or ask to be included in the arrangements. 

But when I pass him in the marble corridor just outside the south wing, he glances at me with that slow, deliberate turn of his head — And smiles. 

As if he already knew I’d make this move. 

As if he’s already decided how he’ll use it. 

I hold his gaze a second too long. 

Just enough to make him wonder if I meant him to see through me. 

And then I walk away.