Elara’s POV
The palace did not pause to ask whether I could breathe.
The days that followed the announcement blurred into a relentless procession of fittings, lessons, inspections, and rehearsals, each one pressing closer than the last. Silk replaced wool. Shoes replaced bare feet. Words replaced instinct.
Every hour belonged to someone else, every decision already made before I could consider whether I agreed with it.
I learned how to stand without shifting my weight. How to smile without showing teeth. How to lower my eyes without appearing submissive.
None of it felt natural.
Serena hovered like a quiet shield, intercepting sharp remarks when she could, correcting my posture with a gentle hand instead of a scolding voice. Still, the pressure seeped through everything. Noble women watched me with open curiosity now, no longer pretending indifference. Some were amused. Some were resentful. All of them measured me like fabric being cut to size.
Lord Dani, my father, visited when he could.
His presence was a comfort and a wound all at once.
He stood at the edges of rooms he did not belong in, hands clasped behind his back, eyes tracking me with an expression I had never seen before. Not anger. Not disappointment. Something deeper. Something like grief being forced to stay quiet.
During a gown fitting, I caught him watching as seamstresses adjusted lace along my shoulders.
“This one will do,” a woman said briskly. “She’ll look acceptable.”
Dani’s jaw tightened.
I met his eyes and gave a small nod, a silent reassurance I wasn’t sure I believed myself. He returned it, barely.
Later, when Serena finally managed to carve out a moment of privacy, Dani and I slipped into a narrow side corridor lined with faded tapestries. The sounds of the palace dulled there, muffled by stone and distance.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said softly. “They don’t like it.”
“I don’t care,” Dani replied. His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed him. “I made a mistake, Elara.”
My chest tightened. “Dad—”
“I asked you to come here,” he continued. “I believed it would protect you. Secure you. I didn’t understand what kind of place this is.”
I swallowed. “You couldn’t have known.”
“I should have,” he said. “I should have trusted my instincts.”
We stood facing each other, the weight of years pressing down between us. He looked older than he had the last time I saw him, the lines around his eyes deeper, his shoulders carrying a burden I had never intended him to bear.
“I can still take you home,” he said quietly. “Even now.”
My heart stuttered.
“Dad…”
“You don’t have to prove anything,” he said. “You don’t owe them your strength. Or me.”
“I owe myself,” I replied gently.
His brow furrowed. “And what is it you think you’re proving?”
“That I won’t be erased,” I said. “That I can stand in places that weren’t built for me and still remain myself.”
He searched my face, as if hoping to find uncertainty he could cling to. Instead, he found resolve mixed with fear, honesty laid bare.
“This place will hurt you,” he whispered.
“I know.”
“It already has.”
“I know,” I repeated.
Silence stretched between us, heavy but not painful. Dani’s shoulders sagged slightly, the fight draining out of him.
“I lost Vivian,” he said quietly. “I can’t lose you too.”
The words broke something open inside me.
“You won’t,” I said, stepping closer. “I promise.”
His lips trembled. “Promises don’t protect anyone.”
“No,” I admitted. “But love does.”
His breath hitched.
For the first time since Vivian’s death, Dani cried.
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet and devastating, tears sliding down his cheeks as he bowed his head, hands clenched like he was holding himself together by force alone. I had never seen him like this. The man who had taught me how to fight, how to endure pain, how to stand tall—reduced to grief he had carried alone for too long.
I wrapped my arms around him.
He stiffened at first, then collapsed into the embrace, gripping me like I was something real in a world that had turned cruel and unreal.
“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered brokenly. “And I’m so afraid.”
I pressed my face into his shoulder. “It will turn out well,” I said, even as doubt trembled beneath the words. “It has to.”
We separated reluctantly. He wiped his face, straightened his posture, became the man the palace could tolerate again.
“I’ll be nearby,” he said. “As long as they allow it.”
I nodded. “That’s enough.”
The rehearsal took place in the grand hall.
Rows of empty seats loomed like silent judges as I walked the path I would soon walk for real. The air felt too warm, too thick. My corset was laced too tightly. My head ached from days of restless sleep.
“Again,” a court official said. “Slower.”
I turned, stepped, bowed.
The room tilted.
For a moment, everything went strangely quiet, like sound had been pulled away. My vision blurred at the edges, lights smearing into pale streaks. I tried to steady myself, but the floor seemed to rise to meet me instead.
“Elara?” Serena’s voice cut through faintly.
I took one more step.
And then the world went dark.