As the meal ended, Kaelen stood and offered his arm again. This time, she didn’t refuse it outright. His hand brushed her elbow — a touch light as silk, but it still made her stomach tighten.
“You’ve changed,” he said.
“So have you,” she answered.
He nodded. “But not everything.”
As they stepped into the corridor, he glanced at her — candlelight glinting in the dark waves of her hair, her cheekbones catching gold, lips set in a quiet, calculating line.
Ava didn’t walk like a courtier. She walked like a queen who hadn’t yet claimed her throne. Every step measured. Every breath poised.
“She’s too beautiful for her own good,” he thought.
Or perhaps for his.
In the echo of dreams, Ava stood beside Kaelen once more beneath the summer tree.
They were children then — his hand full of stolen figs, her hair tangled with flowers. The war hadn’t come yet. The promises hadn’t been broken.
“Do you think we’ll really be married one day?” Kaelen asked, legs dangling over the stream.
Ava laughed. “You’d have to stop falling out of trees first.”
“I’ll be king one day, Ava. You’ll see.”
“And I’ll be queen of Eldara.”
He had smiled so confidently then. That was before fire and betrayal split the world in two.
The throne hall buzzed with cold approval and concealed venom. Nobles lined the chamber walls — velvet cloaks and jeweled fingers hiding the rot underneath.
Ava stood at Kaelen’s side now, in a gown of silver and storm-gray. She looked radiant — unshakable — though her heart coiled tightly in her chest.
Lord Halric, the oldest snake among them, bowed and spoke with venom wrapped in civility. “A queen from a broken house, Your Majesty? The nobles of Andarin had expected… something more strategic.”
Kaelen didn’t blink. “The crown does not consult cowards.”
Gasps rippled through the chamber.
Ava didn’t look at Kaelen, but her fingers twitched at her side — part of her was still stunned by how ruthlessly he defended her.
Still, she knew the truth: they would never truly accept her. Not unless she made them.