Kaelen’s POV
“Don’t.”
The word left my mouth before I could stop it. My fingers were locked around her wrist like a steel band. I could feel her pulse hammering against my thumb—fast, panicked, alive.
She stood frozen, half-turned toward the door. Those ice-blue eyes finally lifted to mine, and the fear in them hit me like a blade between the ribs.
I should have let go. A better man would have.
Instead, I tightened my grip.
“Sit down, Elara.”
“Your Majesty—”
“Sit. Down.”
She obeyed. Not because she wanted to. Because my voice left no room for refusal. She lowered herself into the chair across from my desk, spine rigid, hands clasped in her lap. Her knuckles were white, but I did not release her wrist. I held her there, a prisoner in the silent archive.
The archive was empty now.
