The palace library was nearly empty, its high, arched windows letting in the gray winter light. Elara had come to deliver a tray of tea for the Crown Prince, though she'd been told only Kael was inside.
She pushed the door open quietly, stepping into the heavy stillness.
Crown Prince Kael sat at the far table, a book open before him, his hand curled loosely around a quill. He didn't look up immediately, but she could feel his attention shift the moment she crossed the threshold.
"Set it down," he said, voice calm, almost detached.
She obeyed, placing the tray at his elbow. As she straightened, his eyes met hers. They were colder than Prince Rian's, but sharper too — like they could peel away a person's outer layers and see what they'd rather hide.
"You've been in my company more than most," Kael said without preamble. "Has anyone asked you anything… unusual?"
Elara blinked. "No, Your Highness."
He studied her a beat longer, then looked back at his book. "If anyone does, remember this: the more you give freely, the less value you hold."
It wasn't a warning, not exactly — more like a lesson. And it left her wondering why he'd bothered to say it at all.
---
Two corridors away, Prince Rian—Kael's half-brother—moved with a very different rhythm. He was direct, predatory in ways Kael was not, and he had no patience for niceties.
Rian found her again that afternoon in the covered walkway by the west gardens, the kind of place where the air smelled faintly of damp stone and the wind couldn't reach. His posture was deceptively casual, leaning against the wall as she passed.
"You've been avoiding me," he said, his smile a little too smooth.
"I've been… working, Your Highness."
"Working," he repeated, as though tasting the word. "And yet you always seem to find time for others." His eyes drifted meaningfully in the direction of the library.
Elara forced herself to keep her breathing even. "I serve the palace. I don't choose the assignments."
He stepped closer, the space shrinking in a way that made the back of her neck prickle. "Mm. That's the thing about pawns, Elara. Someone always chooses where they stand."
Before she could respond, the sound of approaching voices pulled him back. He left without looking over his shoulder, but she could feel his satisfaction at leaving her rattled.
------
In the winter gardens, Lady Mirren walked beside Lord Lucienne, the crunch of frost beneath their boots filling the silence. She kept her gaze ahead, on the skeletal branches of the rose bushes, their thorns tipped with ice.
Her thoughts were not on the garden.
Why do I keep catching myself comparing him… to you?
The thought was unwanted, yet persistent. Crown Prince Kael — her husband in another lifetime — lingered in the back of her mind like a phantom limb. She'd sworn to herself she had moved past it. That this life was hers to live differently. And yet, every time Lucienne spoke with that calm, unhurried certainty, it unsettled her.
Lucienne glanced at her. "You're unusually quiet."
She offered the faintest smile. "It's simply the cold, my lord."
He didn't look convinced, but he let the subject drop. Instead, he adjusted the collar of his coat, and for the briefest moment the wind shifted the fabric enough for her to glimpse a faint embroidered crest on the lining. Not a noble house she recognized. The threads looked old, worn, as though they belonged to something… older than his supposed title.
Her brow furrowed, but when she looked up, he was watching her again, expression unreadable.
And that was when she realized — perhaps she wasn't the only one with things she'd rather not say aloud.
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