The corridors of Halden rang hollow. Elowen moved through them like a blade too long in its sheath, her steps sharp, her expression unyielding. The servants knew better than to speak. The nobles turned away quickly, whispering once they were certain she had passed. She had worn her silence all day like armor — through the council meeting, through the empty post outside her chamber door, through Alaric’s smug smile and the court’s baited breath. But now, it cracked. And once it cracked, she moved.
She cornered the gate captain beneath the eastern tower. “Sir Cillian Thorne,” she said. “Where is he?”
The man straightened, caught off-guard. “He—he wasn’t on the schedule this morning, Princess. I assumed he—”
“Assumed?” she snapped. “Did anyone see him leave?” “No, my lady. No record. No departure notice.”
She turned on her heel before he could say more. In the kennel yard, she found the boy who cared for the hounds. He looked up, startled, straw clinging to his sleeves.
“Did you see anyone leave the keep before sunrise?” she asked. His eyes widened. “I saw a man—dark cloak, tall. Didn’t speak. Walked west. Toward the woods.” “Which path?” He hesitated. “Chapel ruins.”
The wind picked up as she left the palace. The kind of wind that made cloaks snap like warning flags. She didn’t take a horse. Didn’t call for guards. She moved alone, through the western gate, into the forest where no royal walked anymore. Branches clawed at her sleeves. Dead leaves crushed under her boots. Her breath came hard, not from the cold — from what she knew she’d find.
The ruins stood half-swallowed by ivy and time. Cracked columns leaned like old men whispering secrets. The altar was broken, the stained glass long shattered, scattered like forgotten prayers. And there, just before the last broken step, sat the man who had vanished.
He looked up. “You shouldn’t be here.” “I searched the castle,” she said. “Every corridor. Every gate. I thought you were dead.”
“You wear a crown now,” he said. “You don’t need to chase ghosts.” “I didn’t come here for ghosts,” she snapped. “I came here for you.”
Cillian stood slowly, rain darkening his cloak. “I had to leave.” “You abandoned your post.” “I was no longer fit to hold it.” “That wasn’t your call to make.”
He met her gaze, jaw clenched. “You think I wanted to go? You think it was easy to walk away from the only thing I’ve ever—” He stopped himself.
“What?” she asked. “The only thing you’ve ever what?” He said nothing. She stepped closer, voice shaking. “You stood by me through poison and politics, through humiliation and war. You fought for me when no one else dared. And now, when the world finally turns its eyes to me — you disappear?”
“They don’t want me at your side,” he said. “I’m not noble. I’m not safe.” “I never asked for safety.”
“You asked for silence. For control. For loyalty.” “I asked for you!” she shouted. The forest held its breath.
He looked away. “You gave me your strength,” she said softly. “And then, when I finally stood tall enough to use it — you took it back.”
His voice broke. “Because if I stayed, I wouldn’t have been able to let go.”