Elara’s POV
The palace chapel smelled of wax and old stone.
It wasn’t a place meant for comfort. Every arch rose too high, every bench too hard, as if the building itself demanded reverence instead of offering shelter. I stood near one of the tall windows, fingers pressed into the cool glass, watching the courtyard below where servants moved like ants preparing for something monumental.
Preparing for me.
Behind me, the door creaked softly.
“Elara.”
I turned.
Dani stood there, just inside the threshold, his shoulders tense, his expression carved from a mixture of worry and regret. He looked out of place in the palace, his clothes too plain, his presence too honest for walls that thrived on pretense.
“Dad,” I smiled.
He crossed the room in three long strides and pulled me into his arms without asking permission. His grip was tight, almost desperate, like he was afraid I might disappear if he loosened it.
“I shouldn’t have let this happen,” he said into my hair. “I should’ve protected you better.”
I swallowed hard. “You did.”
“No,” he said, pulling back to look at me properly. “I failed you.”
I shook my head. “You raised me. You loved me. That’s not failure.”
His jaw trembled. “This place isn’t safe. Not for someone like you.”
“I know,” I admitted.
He took my hands, his rough palms warm and familiar. “Then run. Please. Leave before they bind you to this palace forever.”
My chest tightened.
“I can’t,” I said softly.
His brows knit together. “Because of the crown?”
“No,” I said. “Because of him.”
Understanding flickered across his face, followed quickly by fear.
“Elara—”
“I know what he is,” I said quickly. “Cold. Cruel sometimes. Complicated. But there’s something else there too. Something buried.”
“That doesn’t make him safe,” Dani said.
“I know,” I replied. “But it makes him human.”
Dani exhaled shakily. “I thought I was saving you by bringing you here.”
“You gave me a choice,” I said. “Even if you didn’t mean to.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached into his coat and pulled something out.
A necklace.
Silver, worn smooth with age, a small pendant shaped like a tear caught in delicate filigree. The chain glinted softly in the chapel light.
My breath caught.
“This was your mother’s,” Dani said quietly. “Vivian wore it every day.”
My fingers trembled as I reached for it.
“I gave it to her when I married her,” he continued. “She said it made her feel brave. Like she belonged wherever she stood.”
Tears blurred my vision.
“And now,” he said, voice thick, “it’s yours.”
I smiled through the ache and clasped it around my neck. The metal was cool against my skin, grounding.
“I’ll carry her with me,” I whispered.
“You already do,” Dani said.
A voice interrupted gently.
“It truly is as beautiful as ever.”
I froze.
Dani went still beside me.
I turned slowly.
An elderly man stood near the chapel entrance, hands folded calmly, expression serene. His robes were simple, his eyes sharp and knowing.
Father Alastor.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“You,” I whispered.
He smiled faintly. “We meet again, Elara.”
Dani’s hand tightened around mine. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said softly, as if Alastor was an unexpected yet pleasant surprise.
Alastor tilted his head. “And yet here I am.”
Something clicked inside me.
I saw it then—the flicker of recognition in Dani’s eyes, the relief in his posture, yet the way he subtly positioned himself between me and the priest.
“You know him,” I said slowly.
Dani didn’t answer.
My chest constricted. Memories surged—sunlit fields, Vivian’s laughter, my younger self running barefoot through grass. And then the dream. The memory. A strange man approaching, introducing himself calmly.
Pastor.
“You were there,” I whispered to Alastor. “When I was a child.”
His smile deepened. “I was.”
“Who are you?” I demanded.
Before either of them could answer, trumpets sounded.
Loud. Clear. Unavoidable.
The chapel doors trembled slightly as the sound echoed through stone.
Serena appeared in the doorway, breathless, her eyes locking onto mine.
“It’s time,” she whispered. “The King awaits.”
My heart pounded.
Dani squeezed my hand one last time. “No matter what happens,” he said fiercely, “you are my daughter.”
I nodded, tears threatening again.
As Serena led me toward the doors, I glanced back once more.
Father Alastor met my gaze, his expression unreadable.
And somehow, deep in my bones, I knew—this was not the beginning.
This was the moment everything hidden would start to surface.