The princess’s love

The gilded shadow

The morning after the disastrous dinner, the palace was a whirlwind of silk, perfume, and frantic energy. The Southern Ambassador was arriving at noon, and in the Aethelgard court, a guest of his stature was treated like a god. For Elara, however, the morning was a nightmare.

She stood in the center of her ransacked room, her heart hammering against her ribs. The loose stone in the bookshelf hung open like a wounded mouth. Her journals—three leather-bound volumes filled with her most private thoughts, her sketches of the guards, and her whispered hopes for a life outside these walls—were gone.

"Someone has them," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Silas, someone has my diaries."

Silas Vane was standing by the door, his eyes scanning the chaos of the room. He didn't look panicked; he looked like a hunter tracking a scent. He stepped over a pile of discarded shawls and knelt by the bookshelf.

"The stone wasn't pried open with a tool," he observed, his voice low and steady. "It was moved by someone who knew exactly where to press. This wasn't a random search, Elara. This was a message."

"If my sisters read what I wrote about them..." Elara trailed off, her face flushing crimson. "Or what I wrote about... other things. I’ll never be able to show my face again."

Silas stood up, his tall frame casting a long shadow over her. He stepped closer, his presence acting like a physical shield against her panic. "Then we find them. But today, you have to be the Princess they expect. If you look worried, they’ll know they’ve won. You have to walk into that reception hall and act as though you don't have a single secret in the world."

"How?" she asked, looking up at him. "I'm the girl in the lavender noose, remember?"

Silas reached out, and for a heartbeat, Elara thought he might touch her face. Instead, he straightened the silver locket around her neck. His fingers were warm against her skin, sending a jolt of electricity through her that made her breath catch.

"Dress in the gold gown," he commanded. "The one with the high collar. If you’re going to be a ghost, be one that haunts them."

The Reception Hall was a sea of bodies. The Southern Ambassador, Count Julian of Valis, was a man who looked like he had been dipped in chocolate and sunlight. He was charming, wealthy, and possessed a smile that had already made Princess Genevieve swoon twice.

Elara stood in her designated spot—the furthest corner of the room, partially hidden by a massive marble pillar. Silas stood just behind her, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. To anyone else, he looked like a loyal guard. To Elara, he felt like the only solid thing in a world made of smoke and mirrors.

"Look at him," Genevieve hissed, drifting over to Elara with a glass of sparkling nectar in her hand. She looked radiant in emerald green, her eyes darting toward the Count. "He’s magnificent. And he hasn't looked at you once, Elara. I suppose even a man from the South knows better than to stare at a blemish."

"I’m sure the Count is very busy being charmed by your personality, Genevieve," Elara replied coolly. "It must be an exhausting role for you to play."

Genevieve’s smile curdled. She leaned in, her voice a sharp whisper. "Enjoy your corner, little sister. I heard your room was a bit of a mess this morning. It’s such a shame when things go missing, isn't it? Especially things that are so... revealing."

Elara’s blood ran cold. "You took them."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Genevieve said, her eyes dancing with malice. "But I did find some very interesting reading material near the fireplace. I think I’ll save the best parts for the Solstice Ball. It would be a shame to waste such juicy secrets on a Tuesday."

She sauntered away, her laughter tinkling like broken glass. Elara felt like the floor was falling away from beneath her feet.

"She has them," Elara choked out, turning slightly toward Silas. "She’s going to read them at the ball. Silas, I have to get them back."

"Not now," Silas muttered, his eyes fixed on the entrance. "The King is watching. And so is the Count."

Indeed, Count Julian had turned away from the King and was scanning the room. His eyes passed over Beatrice, skipped over Genevieve, and landed directly on the girl in the gold dress hiding behind the pillar.

He didn't look away. Instead, he began to walk toward her, weaving through the crowd with practiced grace.

"Oh no," Elara whispered.

"Smile," Silas ordered softly. "And for the love of heaven, don't look at me. Look at him."

The Count arrived, bowing low before Elara. "I was told Aethelgard had three treasures," he said, his voice smooth as velvet. "But it seems the King has been hiding his most precious jewel in the shadows."

"Count Julian," Elara said, curtsying perfectly. "I am Princess Elara. I’m afraid I’m more of a family legend than a treasure."

"Legends are far more interesting than facts," Julian replied, his eyes lingering on her violet gaze. He took her hand, his lips brushing her knuckles. "Would the Princess honor a weary traveler with a stroll through the rose gardens? I find the air in this hall a bit... stifling."

Before Elara could answer, she felt the temperature behind her drop twenty degrees. Silas shifted his weight, the leather of his uniform creaking.

"The Princess is on a strict schedule, Count," Silas said, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Security protocols require her to remain in the hall during the reception."

Julian looked at Silas, his eyebrows arching in amusement. "A very protective shadow you have, Princess. Is he always this... vocal?"

"He is very dedicated to his duty," Elara said, her heart racing. She felt the tug-of-war between the two men—the charming Prince who offered a temporary escape, and the brooding Guard who held her secrets.

"A garden stroll sounds lovely, Count," Elara said, a spark of rebellion lighting up her eyes. She looked back at Silas, a challenge in her gaze. "I’m sure Captain Vane can manage to follow us at a respectful distance. After all, what’s a ghost without her shadow?"

Silas’s jaw tightened so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. "As you wish, Highness."

The rose gardens were in full bloom, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and petals. Julian was a flirtatious companion, telling her stories of the Southern Isles where the sun never set and the sea was the color of her eyes. It was the kind of attention Elara had craved her entire life—someone looking at her as if she were the only woman in the world.

But every time she laughed at one of Julian’s jokes, she could feel Silas’s eyes on her back. He stayed exactly ten paces behind, a silent, menacing presence that made her skin prickle.

"Your guard is quite intense," Julian whispered, leaning closer as they stopped by a marble fountain. "Does he ever sleep? Or does he just spend his nights thinking of new ways to scowl at people who admire you?"

"He takes his job very seriously," Elara said, glancing back.

Silas was leaning against a stone archway, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He wasn't looking at the flowers; he was looking directly at Julian’s hand, which was resting dangerously close to Elara’s waist.

"He looks like he wants to challenge me to a duel," Julian chuckled. He reached out, plucking a white rose from a bush and tucking it behind Elara’s ear. "Tell me, Elara. Is it true what they say? That you are the unloved daughter? Because I find that very hard to believe."

"It’s not a story, Count. It’s my life," she said softly.

"Then let me change the story," Julian said, his voice dropping to a seductive low. He stepped into her space, his hand finally settling on her hip. "Come to the South with me. Be my Countess. You’ll have all the books you can read and all the love you’ve been denied."

It was the dream. The perfect escape. But as Julian leaned in, his face inches from hers, Elara didn't feel the spark she expected. She didn't feel the electricity.

She looked past Julian’s shoulder and saw Silas. He had moved. He was standing just a few feet away now, his hand gripped so tightly on his sword that his veins were standing out. His eyes were burning with a dark, raw emotion that wasn't duty. It was jealousy.

"Count Julian," Silas’s voice barked out. "The King is calling for you. A matter of the treaty."

Julian sighed, pulling away with a frustrated smile. "Duty calls, it seems. We will continue this tonight at the dance, Elara. Do not forget our walk."

As Julian disappeared back toward the palace, Elara turned to Silas, her face flushed with a mix of anger and excitement.

"You lied," she said. "The King didn't call for him."

"He was touching you," Silas said, his voice sounding like a growl. He stepped toward her, closing the distance until she had to tilt her head back to see him. "He’s a predator, Elara. He sees a pretty girl with a broken heart and he thinks you're an easy prize."

"And what are you, Silas?" she challenged, her breath coming in short huffs. "You're my jailer. You’re the one who watches me cry and tells me to tighten my corset."

Silas reached out, his hand finally making contact with her skin. He didn't touch her chin or her locket. He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. The world went silent. The scent of roses vanished, replaced by the scent of him.

"I’m the man who’s going to get your journals back," he whispered, his eyes dark and intense. "And I’m the man who’s going to make sure that if anyone touches you, they lose the hand that did it."

He leaned down, his forehead resting against hers for one agonizingly beautiful second.

"Go inside, Elara. Before I forget who I am."

She fled. She ran all the way back to the North Wing, her heart thumping a frantic rhythm against her ribs. But when she reached her door, she found something pinned to the wood with a small, silver dagger.

It was a page from her diary. The page where she had described, in vivid detail, a dream she had about a man with a scar and dark, protective eyes.

And across the bottom of the page, in her sister Genevieve's elegant handwriting, were the words:

Does the Captain know he’s the star of your little fantasies? I wonder what Father would do if he found out his 'Stain' was lusting after the help