Elara’s POV
I woke to the sound of my name being shouted like a wound tearing open the night.
“Elara!”
I sat up in bed so fast the world tilted. My heart slammed hard against my ribs before my mind even caught up, before logic or reason could soften the panic already flooding my veins. I knew before I reached the door. I knew before my feet hit the cold stone floor. I knew in the same instinctive way a mother knows when something is wrong with her child.
Lise was gone.
Serena stood in the corridor, pale as ash, her hands clenched together so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Guards were already moving behind her, boots striking stone, voices overlapping in urgent fragments. The castle, which had been quiet only moments ago, now felt like a living thing jolted awake in fear.
“She’s not in her chambers,” Serena said, breathless. “We checked twice. Elena hasn’t seen her since supper.”
The name tore out of me before I could stop it.
“Caden!”
He was already there.
He emerged from the opposite corridor, sword half-drawn, hair loose around his shoulders, the sharp calm on his face cracking the moment his eyes found mine. In that second, there was no King and Queen. No rulers, no strategy, no war. There were only two parents staring at each other with the same horrifying thought burning behind their eyes.
“She’s gone,” I said, my voice breaking despite my effort to steady it. “She ran.”
Caden swore under his breath, a sound low and violent. He turned immediately to the guards. “Lock the outer gates. Wake every watch. No one leaves the capital.”
“But if she already—” one of them started.
“Now,” Caden snapped.
They moved.
I didn’t wait for permission. I grabbed a cloak and shoved my feet into boots, my hands shaking so badly Serena had to fasten the clasp for me. Every terrible thought came rushing in all at once—Alexander’s threats, the riots, the whispers, the soldiers who had burned homes only days ago. Lise was soft-hearted. Naive. She believed in kindness like it could shield her from blades.
“She was upset,” I whispered, more to myself than anyone else. “I should have seen it. I should have stayed with her.”
Caden’s hand closed around my wrist, grounding, firm. “This is not your fault.”
I yanked my hand free, not angry at him, angry at myself. “She listened outside the council. She heard everything. I should have known she wouldn’t just… sleep after that.”
“She is her own person,” he said quietly. “Just like you were.”
That didn’t help. It made it worse.
We ran.
The castle gates opened under Caden’s authority, torches flaring as guards poured into the streets. The capital at night felt different—less forgiving. Shadows stretched longer, alleys narrowed, every sound carried too far. My heart pounded with every step as I scanned faces, corners, doorways.
“Lise!” I shouted, my voice echoing uselessly. “Lise!”
Nothing.
We split forces. Caden took the western quarter with James and half the guard. I went east with Serena, refusing to stay behind no matter how many times they urged caution. If my daughter was out there, frightened and alone, I would not be safe behind walls.
Minutes stretched into an eternity.
I pictured her small hands clutching the hem of her cloak, her eyes wide but determined. I knew where she would go. Lise always went where pain was loudest. Where people needed help. She didn’t understand danger the way Elena did. She believed goodness was enough.
And that terrified me.
We found signs quickly. A dropped ribbon near the old market road. Footprints in the dust leading toward the lower quarter where displaced families had been gathering since the riots. My breath hitched painfully.
“She went to help,” Serena said softly. “She always does.”
“I know,” I whispered. “That’s why I’m afraid.”
We followed the trail beyond the city’s inner ring, past shuttered shops and broken lanterns, until the walls fell behind us and the night opened into something wilder. Campfires flickered in the distance—refugees from Verdana, families driven from their homes by unrest and soldiers alike.
I broke into a run.
I found her exactly where I feared she would be.
Lise knelt beside a woman with soot-stained hands, holding a waterskin far too large for her small arms. Her hood had slipped back, silver hair catching firelight. She looked tired but determined, murmuring soft words I couldn’t hear from where I stood.
Relief crashed into me so violently my knees nearly gave out.
“Lise,” I breathed.
She looked up.
For one heartbeat, her face lit up. Then it crumpled.
“Mother,” she said, scrambling to her feet. “I was just—these people needed—”
I crossed the distance between us in three strides and pulled her into my arms so tightly she gasped. My whole body shook. I didn’t care who saw. I didn’t care that refugees stared or that guards approached cautiously behind me.
“What were you thinking?” I demanded, my voice breaking between fury and terror. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?”
Her arms tightened around my waist. “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt,” she whispered into my chest. “I thought if I could help even a little—”
I pulled back enough to look at her. Her cheeks were streaked with dirt, her eyes red from crying. She looked so small. Too small for this world and its wars.
“You cannot do this,” I said, gripping her shoulders. “You cannot run into danger alone. Not now. Not ever.”
“But you do,” she said quietly. “You and Father. You fight all the time.”
The words cut deeper than any blade.
Before I could answer, the night shifted.
I felt it before I saw it—the change in the air, the sudden tension in the refugees’ movements. Then steel glinted in torchlight. Figures emerged from the darkness beyond the camp, armored silhouettes moving with practiced precision.
Verdanan soldiers.
Not ours.
“Mother,” Lise whispered, fear finally breaking through her brave front.
I turned, instinctively placing myself in front of her.
“Get behind me,” I ordered Serena, already drawing the small blade I still carried out of habit.
They moved fast. Too fast.
Shouts erupted. Refugees scattered, screams tearing through the night as soldiers advanced, their formation closing around us like a noose. I recognized the insignia immediately. Alexander’s.
“No one touch the child,” a voice called out sharply.
My blood ran cold.
Hands grabbed Lise before I could reach her. She screamed, clawing at the air, her fingers slipping through mine as they dragged her back.
“No!” I lunged forward, slashing wildly, but someone struck my arm hard enough to send my blade skidding across the ground.
“Mother!” Lise cried, tears streaming down her face. “Mother!”
I fought like an animal, screaming her name, my vision blurring as soldiers restrained me. Serena shouted for help. Somewhere in the chaos, I heard Caden’s voice roaring orders, heard steel clash against steel—but it was too late.
They had her.
A soldier hoisted Lise over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing, retreating swiftly into the darkness. Her cries echoed until they were swallowed by the night.
I collapsed to my knees, a sound tearing out of me that I didn’t recognize as human.
“Lise!”