Elara’s POV
I felt like I was drowning in my own crown.
The war had a way of pressing in from all sides at once—past, present, and future colliding until I could no longer tell which pain belonged to which time in my life. Every step through the palace echoed with expectation, with judgment, with fear disguised as loyalty. I smiled when I had to. I commanded when it was necessary. And inside, something fragile splintered a little more each day.
Alexander’s face haunted me.
Not the one I had seen in the hall—that calm, terrifying smile—but the idea of him. My uncle. My blood. The man who had murdered my mother without hesitation and watched my childhood be erased for his ambition. I had lived half my life not knowing who I was, and now that I did, it felt like the truth was strangling me instead of setting me free.
At the same time, everything I loved in the present threatened to fall apart.
Elena and Lise could not stop fighting. One wanted duty, the other love, and neither understood how dangerous the world had become for girls who carried royal blood. Caden had grown distant—not cruel, not cold, but guarded in a way that hurt worse. He carried the weight of the kingdom like armor, and I could not tell where the steel ended and the man began anymore.
And I was so tired.
That was what frightened me most.
Not fear. Not anger. But exhaustion so deep it dulled even my grief.
So I left.
I did not announce it. I did not summon guards or ladies-in-waiting. I wrapped myself in a dark cloak and slipped through the side corridor that led toward the old church beside the grand palace. The same one I had passed a thousand times without ever entering.
The bells were silent.
Inside, the air was cool and dim, lit only by candles that trembled faintly with each breath of wind sneaking through ancient stone. The scent of incense wrapped around me gently, not suffocating, just present. Familiar, in a way I couldn’t explain.
I knelt.
The stone was cold beneath my knees, grounding in its harshness.
I hadn’t prayed in years.
Not truly.
What would I even say? That I was angry? That I was afraid? That I felt abandoned by the gods I was supposed to represent? My hands trembled as I folded them together, resting my forehead briefly against my fingers.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I whispered.
The words came easier than I expected.
“I’m trying to hold everything together, but it keeps slipping through my hands.” My throat tightened. “I don’t know how to protect my children from a man who shares my blood. I don’t know how to lead people who hate each other more than they trust me.”
My voice cracked.
“And I don’t know how to save my marriage when both of us are bleeding in different ways.”
Silence answered me—not empty, but listening.
I stayed there for a long time, breathing, letting the weight drain from my shoulders inch by inch. The candles flickered. The church remained still.
Then footsteps echoed softly behind me.
“Elara.”
I did not startle.
Father Alastor’s voice always carried peace with it, as if it existed outside the rules of the world. He stood a few steps away, hands folded inside his sleeves, eyes kind and knowing in a way that had unsettled me since childhood.
“I hoped you would come here one day,” he said gently.
I exhaled slowly. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Most people don’t,” he replied. “That is why they end up here eventually.”
He sat beside me, not crowding, not demanding. Just present.
“I’m failing,” I admitted quietly.
He shook his head. “You are struggling. There is a difference.”
I laughed bitterly. “Tell that to my council. To my children. To my husband.”
“Caden still stands beside you,” Alastor said.
“Yes,” I agreed. “But he’s carrying his own war. And I don’t know how to reach him anymore.”
Alastor’s gaze softened. “Love does not disappear because it grows quiet. Sometimes it simply waits.”
I swallowed hard.
“This war,” I continued, “it feels… older than us. Older than the crowns. Like something that was never resolved and has come back to demand payment.”
Alastor nodded slowly. “It has.”
I turned to him sharply. “You knew.”
“I suspected,” he corrected. “Long before Alexander revealed himself.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, anger flashing despite myself.
“Because some truths destroy when revealed too early,” he said calmly. “And because this war is not born of strategy alone.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“This conflict,” he said, “is rooted in old sins.”
The words sent a chill through me.
“Sins committed by those who believed power mattered more than consequence,” he continued. “And sins inherited by those who never asked for them.”
My chest tightened. “Alexander killed my mother.”
“Yes,” Alastor said quietly. “But he did not act alone.”
I froze.
“What?” I whispered.
He did not elaborate. Instead, he placed a gentle hand over mine. “Be careful, Elara. The enemy you see is not the only one shaping this war.”
My pulse quickened. “You’re saying—”
“I am saying,” he interrupted softly, “that when blood and ambition mix, they rarely remain contained to one man.”
He stood then, smoothing his robes. “You are not alone. You never have been. But the path ahead will demand clarity, not just courage.”
I rose slowly, heart pounding.
“Who else is involved?” I asked.
Alastor smiled sadly. “You will learn. Soon enough.”
He turned toward the exit, pausing once more. “And Elara?”
“Yes?”
“Do not let guilt convince you this war is yours alone to carry.”
Then he was gone. I stood there in the dim light, the echo of his words settling deep into my bones. Alexander was not acting alone.
And whatever was coming next would test far more than crowns. It would test blood itself.