Elara’s POV
I left the council chamber with a headache pulsing behind my eyes and the taste of iron at the back of my throat. Every meeting lately ended the same way—raised voices, clenched jaws, thinly veiled accusations wrapped in silk words. They called it strategy. I called it fear.
The heavy doors closed behind me with a dull echo, and I let out a breath I had been holding far too long. My shoulders ached from the weight of the crown, though I hadn’t worn it during the council. Sometimes it felt like the crown lived beneath my skin now, pressing into my bones whether I wanted it there or not.
“Elara?”
I startled.
I turned sharply—and there she was.
Lise stood pressed against the stone wall beside the chamber doors, her small hands clasped tightly in front of her, knuckles pale. Her curls were pulled back hastily, as if she’d dressed herself in a rush. Her eyes were too wide, too shiny.
My heart sank.
“How long have you been there?” I asked quietly.
She didn’t answer right away. Her lips trembled, and I saw it then—the fury, the fear, the heartbreak all tangled together inside her small frame.
“Long enough,” she whispered.
I swallowed. “Lise—”
She shook her head violently. “You’re planning war.”
The words struck like a slap.
I glanced down the corridor instinctively, then back at her. “We’re planning protection,” I said, lowering my voice. “We’re trying to keep people safe.”
“No,” she said, her voice cracking. “You’re talking about soldiers and borders and weapons. You’re talking about hurting people.”
I stepped closer, slowly, as if approaching a wounded animal. “Lise, listen to me—”
“I listened,” she snapped, tears spilling over at last. “I listened to everything. To how many lives you’re willing to sacrifice. To how many people you think have to suffer just so this kingdom can stay together.”
Her words hurt more than the council ever could.
“Sweetheart,” I said, reaching for her hands.
She pulled away.
“Don’t,” she sobbed. “Don’t touch me like that. Like you’re sure you’re right.”
That stopped me cold.
“I just want peace,” she cried. “I want people to stop hating each other. I want Verdana and Verloren to stop bleeding. Why does everything have to be solved with swords? Why can’t people just talk?”
My chest tightened painfully.
“I wanted that once too,” I said softly. “I still want it. But wanting doesn’t always make it real.”
She shook her head again, curls bouncing wildly. “That’s what he wants you to believe.”
“Who?” I asked gently, though I already knew.
“Alexander,” she said fiercely. “He wants you to become just like him. He wants blood. And you’re letting him win.”
The accusation burned.
Before I could answer, footsteps approached down the hall. Strong, steady.
Caden. He took one look at Lise’s tear-streaked face and my rigid posture, and his expression darkened with concern.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“She heard the council,” I said quietly.
Caden exhaled slowly, then crouched down to Lise’s level. “Lise,” he said calmly. “We’re doing everything we can to avoid violence.”
She glared at him. “That’s a lie.”
He didn’t flinch. “Sometimes force is the only thing standing between innocent people and those who would burn their homes.”
“That’s what everyone says before wars,” she shouted. “That it’s necessary. That it’s justified. And then people die, and everyone pretends it wasn’t their fault.”
Her words stunned even him.
I saw something flicker in Caden’s eyes—pain, recognition.
“We’re trying to stop something worse,” he said carefully. “Alexander isn’t someone you can reason with.”
“You don’t know that,” Lise insisted. “You don’t know that talking wouldn’t work because you never try.”
Caden’s jaw tightened. “I’ve tried my entire life to reason with people who only understand power.”
“Then you failed,” she cried. “And now you’re teaching Elena to fight like that’s the only way to live.”
My breath caught.
Caden stiffened. “This isn’t about Elena.”
“It is,” Lise shot back. “She wants to rule. She wants to be strong like you. And you’re teaching her that strength means hurting people.”
“That’s not what I’m teaching her,” he said sharply.
“Then why does everything you say sound like war?” she demanded.
Silence fell between us.
Lise’s shoulders shook as she broke completely, sobs tearing from her chest. I rushed forward this time, ignoring her protest, and wrapped her in my arms.
“I’m scared,” she cried into my shoulder. “I don’t want our home to turn into a battlefield. I don’t want to grow up surrounded by death. I just want love to be enough.”
Tears burned my own eyes.
“I know,” I whispered. “I know.”
Caden stood frozen, helpless.
“I don’t want to be a queen,” Lise sobbed. “I don’t want crowns or armies. I want people to choose kindness.”
“And that makes you brave,” I said, holding her tighter. “Braver than you know.”
She pulled back slightly, her eyes red and swollen. “Then why won’t you listen to me?”
Because the world doesn’t bend to goodness alone, I thought—but I couldn’t say that to her. Not yet. Maybe never.
“Because I’m trying to protect you,” I said instead.
She looked at us both—at me, at her father—and something hardened in her gaze.
“You can’t protect everyone,” she said quietly. “And you can’t protect me from the world by becoming part of what’s wrong with it.”
Before either of us could respond, she turned and ran.
“Lise!” I called.
She didn’t stop.
Her footsteps faded down the corridor, swallowed by the stone halls of the palace.
Caden stared after her, horror dawning slowly. “Elara…”
“I know,” I said hoarsely.
A terrible understanding settled in my chest, heavy and sharp.
That night, long after the palace fell silent, I lay awake staring at the ceiling, replaying her words over and over. Love should be enough. Kindness should be enough.
The door creaked softly.
I sat up instantly.
“Lise?” I whispered.
No answer. My heart began to race.
I rose from the bed and moved quickly through the corridor toward the twins’ chambers. A terrible dread crept into my bones with every step.
When I opened the door, Elena lay asleep in her bed, curled tightly beneath the blankets.
Lise’s bed was empty. The window stood slightly open. My blood turned to ice.