Two weeks had passed since the banquet. Two weeks since the chandelier incident had shifted the currents beneath the palace's polished surface.
The whispers about the maid by the Duke's side had not died. If anything, they had sharpened, weaving their way into the ears of those who mattered. The Crown Prince's casual words to her, fleeting as they were, had been noted by many who had no business noting them. What others saw as a small courtesy was enough to breed suspicion.
And suspicion, in the palace, was currency.
It was in the secluded colonnade between the west gardens and the old library where Elara found herself alone—or so she thought. The late afternoon light filtered through the marble arches, painting soft gold across the floor. She had been sent to deliver a sealed letter for Viscount Rulane, and the quiet path was the quickest way back.
Her steps slowed when she felt it. The prickle at the back of her neck, the sense of being watched.
From the shadow between two pillars, he emerged.
Prince Rian.
Not in the embroidered finery of the banquet, but in dark, understated attire that made the sharpness of his gaze all the more striking. His presence swallowed the space, and Elara's instincts told her to keep moving—yet her feet refused.
He didn't walk toward her so much as close in, his pace unhurried, deliberate. Each step seemed to press the walls closer, narrowing the air between them.
"Two weeks," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of a thought rather than a greeting. "I wondered how long it would take before I found you without… the Duke, the Prince, or the other watchful eyes."
Elara's grip on the letter tightened. "Your Highness," she said evenly, giving the title the respect it demanded.
One corner of his mouth tilted—not in warmth, but in the amusement of someone who knew she was measuring every word. "You remember me. Interesting. Most people would rather forget a face they only saw once."
"I don't forget easily," she replied, cautious.
"Mm. Good." He stopped within arm's reach, close enough that she had to tilt her head to keep his gaze. "I've been… considering you." His tone was low, threaded with something that made the hairs at her nape rise. "I hear you were standing very close to the Duke when the chandelier fell. I hear the Crown Prince spoke to you. Twice."
Her eyes flickered. "I was only doing my duties."
"And yet," he murmured, leaning slightly in, "duties do not make people talk." His gaze was unyielding, a predator's focus. "You were not mentioned much in the… story I was told of palace life. That intrigues me. People who are overlooked often have the most… hidden value."
It was strange—Rian was not in the novel she knew as more than a name. A shadow at the edge of the royal family. Harmless. Unremarkable. The kind who appeared once or twice and faded into the background. That was the memory that kept her from stepping back.
"You seem tense," he said, his eyes dropping briefly, deliberately, to the whiteness of her knuckles around the letter. "Do I make you uneasy?"
She swallowed. "You are… unexpected, Your Highness."
His smile was slow, deliberate, the kind that was meant to corner more than charm. "Good. Stay unexpected. That's how pawns survive long enough to become something else."
Her brow twitched at the word pawns, but before she could answer, his voice dropped to a murmur, almost conspiratorial. "We'll speak again. Soon."
He stepped past her, the faint brush of his shoulder a reminder that escape had only been granted—not taken.
When he was gone, Elara exhaled slowly, the sound trembling in her chest. She told herself he was nothing more than a half-brother with too much time and too little influence. But deep inside, she knew—pawns only mattered when someone planned to move them.