Caden’s POV
The rehearsal continued as if nothing was wrong.
Silk rustled. Instructions echoed. Nobles whispered behind gloved hands while servants moved with practiced obedience. From where I stood, the grand hall looked like a stage prepared for sacrifice rather than celebration. Rows of empty seats waited patiently, as if they already knew what kind of spectacle they would soon witness.
Kaela stood beside me.
She leaned close enough that her perfume curled into my senses, sweet and sharp, her voice low and careful so only I could hear it. “She looks ridiculous,” she murmured, eyes fixed on Elara across the hall. “All that lace trying to hide what she really is.”
I didn’t respond.
“She walks like she’s afraid the floor will swallow her,” Kaela continued softly. “Do you think she knows everyone can tell she doesn’t belong?”
“Stop,” I said flatly.
She glanced at me, surprised, then smiled thinly. “I’m only saying what everyone thinks.”
“You’re saying what Mother taught you to say,” I replied. “There’s a difference.”
Kaela scoffed. “You defend her now?”
“I’m tired of hearing about her origins,” I snapped, turning to face her fully. “As if any of us earned where we stand.”
Her eyes narrowed. “She’s a filthy no-one.”
“That’s enough,” I said sharply.
Kaela stiffened.
“The only reason she’s here,” I continued, my voice low but burning, “is because of this family. A King who enjoys testing his son’s limits. A Queen who thrives on destruction. And children raised in venom so long they forget what it tastes like to breathe.”
Kaela stared at me, stunned into silence.
“You’re not better than her,” I added. “None of us are.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Whatever she had planned to say dissolved under the weight of my gaze. For once, she said nothing.
That was when I saw it.
Elara swayed.
At first it was subtle—a slight falter in her step, a pause that lasted a heartbeat too long. Then her shoulders dipped, her knees buckled, and the world seemed to tilt around her.
“Elara,” Serena called.
I moved before I realized I had decided to.
The distance between us vanished in long strides. Gasps rippled through the hall as she collapsed, her body folding in on itself like a marionette with cut strings. I caught her before she hit the marble, the impact jarring through my arms.
She was frighteningly light.
Her head lolled against my shoulder, her skin too pale, her breath shallow. Anger surged up my spine, sharp and irrational, aimed at the palace, at the crown, at myself.
“I’ve got her,” I said, more command than reassurance.
Servants scattered. Serena hovered close, her face tight with concern. Kaela stood frozen where she was, shock written plainly across her features.
I carried Elara through the hall, ignoring the whispers, the stares, the questions thrown uselessly into the air. Her hand twitched weakly against my chest, and something twisted painfully in my gut.
I shouldn’t care.
And yet I did.
The infirmary doors opened quickly at my approach. I laid her carefully on the bed, stepping back only when the healer waved me away. My hands were shaking.
“Exhaustion,” the healer murmured after a brief examination. “Stress. She’s been pushed too far.”
I clenched my jaw.
As the room settled, footsteps echoed softly behind me.
Father Alastor entered without ceremony, his robes simple, his presence oddly grounding in the sterile space.
He has been the Pastor of Verloren for years. More years than I've lived, to be quite honest. I'm not even sure how old he is, but if there's anyone respected without a second thought in Verloren, it'll always be Father Alastor.
Even my father speaks highly of him.
My father. The King.
Alastor's gaze lingered on Elara for a long moment before shifting to me.
“You look troubled,” he said mildly.
“She shouldn’t be here,” I replied.
“And yet she is,” he said.
“That doesn’t make it right.”
Alastor smiled faintly. “Destiny rarely concerns itself with comfort.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “You always speak like things are already written.”
“Some are,” he said gently.
I turned to face him fully. “Then tell me. Does destiny require cruelty?”
“No,” he said. “But it often survives it.”
Silence stretched.
“You should stop fighting what has already been decided,” Alastor added quietly.
Something in his tone prickled my instincts.
“You speak as if you know her,” I said slowly.
His smile deepened, unreadable. “Do you think I don’t.”
My pulse quickened. “Have you met her before.”
Alastor’s eyes flicked briefly back to Elara, then returned to me. “That depends on how you define meeting.”
“What does that mean,” I demanded.
He only smiled again, serene and infuriating. “In time, Prince Caden.”
Then he turned and left, his footsteps fading down the corridor, leaving behind more questions than answers.
I stared after him, unease settling deep in my bones.
I wondered whether Elara’s presence here was not an accident at all—but the beginning of something none of us could escape.
The infirmary settled into uneasy quiet after Father Alastor left.
The healer finished adjusting the blankets and instructed me, firmly, to give Elara space. I stepped back, hands clenched behind me, forcing myself to look anywhere but at her face. She lay far too still, lashes resting against her cheeks, her breathing shallow but steady. Seeing her like this—unconscious, defenseless—ignited something ugly inside me.
Guilt.
Anger.
Fear I refused to name.
Kaela lingered in the doorway, pale and silent, her earlier venom replaced by something closer to unease. She looked at Elara, then at me, and seemed to think better of speaking. For once, she didn’t push.
“Leave us,” Serena said quietly.
Kaela obeyed without argument.
When the door closed, Serena turned to me. “She warned us,” she said. “Her body did.”
I exhaled sharply. “The palace doesn’t listen to warnings.”
“No,” Serena agreed. “It only listens to consequences.”
I glanced at Elara again, noticing the faint bruising at her wrist where stress and overuse had finally taken their toll. My jaw tightened. “This ends,” I said, more to myself than anyone else.
Serena studied me carefully. “You cannot fight every battle openly.”
“I know,” I replied.
“And yet you keep trying.”
I didn’t answer.
When Serena left to arrange guards outside the infirmary, I remained behind, standing watch like a fool who didn’t know what he was guarding against. Time stretched thin and brittle. I replayed Kaela’s words, my mother’s smiles, my father’s silence. Everything connected in ways I didn’t like.
Elara stirred faintly.
Not awake. Just enough to remind me she was still here.
I turned away from her then, gripping the edge of the table until my knuckles whitened. I hated that I cared. Hated that it made me predictable. Weak. Vulnerable to exactly the kind of manipulation my mother thrived on.
And yet—If this was destiny, it was a cruel one.
Father Alastor’s words echoed again in my mind, too calm to be innocent. Stop fighting what destiny already decided.
I had never believed in fate.
But standing there, listening to Elara breathe, knowing how many forces were already circling her, I wondered if denial itself was the most dangerous illusion of all.
Whatever she was—whoever she truly was—she had become the axis everything was beginning to turn around.