Princess Ava

Chapter 8

The palace was quiet by the time Ava returned to her chambers. Her head throbbed with history, names, alliances — and Selene’s sharp voice still echoed in her skull like a war drum.

She kicked off her slippers with more force than grace, thinking she might finally have a moment alone. But before she could collapse onto the velvet couch, a soft knock came at the door.

A maid stepped in, eyes downcast. “Your Grace… the king awaits you in the West Hall for supper.”

Ava stiffened. “Now?”

“Yes, my lady. He… he requested you dine with him. It is to be a daily occurrence.”

Daily.

Ava clenched her jaw. She was tired, half-feral from too much memory and too little food. But refusing now would only make her look weak — or worse, defiant.

“Very well,” she said, and let the maids dress her again.

⸻

The West Hall was quiet — too quiet. No guards. No advisors. Just a long table beneath a vaulted ceiling painted with constellations, and Kaelen seated at the far end, reading.

He didn’t look up when she entered.

Ava sat without waiting to be told.

For a time, only the sound of silver against porcelain broke the silence.

Finally, Kaelen spoke. “Selene said you did well.”

“She would’ve said the same if I drowned in a scroll and choked on my own pride,” Ava muttered.

That earned her a glance — faint amusement tugging at his mouth. “She’s difficult. But fair.”

“She’s a blade,” Ava said. “Not a tutor.”

“And yet you’re still standing.”

A pause.

Then, without looking at her: “I remember when we were children, you called the court ‘a nest of wolves wearing crowns.’ You weren’t wrong.”

Ava froze, spoon mid-air.

“You remember that?”

“I remember everything about you,” he said simply.

Her stomach tightened. Words like that were dangerous. Too soft. Too close.

“I don’t remember you being this quiet,” she said, keeping her voice sharp. “You used to talk so much I prayed for silence.”

He gave a soft, huffed laugh. “War changes everything.”

Ava looked at him — really looked. There were lines around his eyes now. Not age, but weight. His hair was longer, darker. His armor wasn’t on, but he still sat like it was: straight-backed, always on edge.

“You don’t look like a king tonight,” she said before she could stop herself.

Kaelen met her gaze. “And you don’t look like a rebel.”

That silenced them both.

After dinner, he stood and walked her back through the silver halls. The silence between them was no longer hostile — just heavy with things unsaid.

When they reached her chamber, he paused.

“You hate me,” he said quietly.

She opened her mouth. Closed it.

“I don’t trust you,” she replied. “But hate…” Her fingers brushed the door handle. “Hate is easy. I’m not sure what this is yet.”

Kaelen nodded once — not pleased, not hurt. Just… accepting.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.

And he left her alone, the echo of his footsteps vanishing down the corridor