The moon hung high, casting a cold silver glow over the training yard. Most of the castle lay in slumber, but Elias stood alone beneath the watchtower, clutching his sword like a lifeline. He wasn't training—not really. His strikes against the straw dummy were hard but distracted, wild. His focus wasn't on form or stance—it was in that room.
She'd said she liked him.
She'd called him handsome.
Dumb, too—but that wasn't new.
He'd gone over it a dozen times. The way her fevered voice had softened when she looked at him. That small, crooked smile. The confession. And then… chaos.
He halted mid-strike, letting the sword drop as he leaned against the fence.
Charlotte no longer remembered. Not officially. That morning, she'd brushed it all off with the kind of theatrical denial only she could manage—blaming the fever, the herbs, Mira's "lies." But Elias had seen the faint flush on her cheeks.
She remembered some of it.
And he couldn't forget any of it.
He'd sworn to protect her—a vow made when they were still children. When he was her shadow, her shield, her silent sword. When she wore ribbons far too large for her head and insisted the guards call her Your Fearsome Highness, Queen of Mischief.
He'd followed her into brambles, snowdrifts, palace intrigue, and peril.
But he hadn't meant to follow her into his own heart.
He sank onto the low stone bench and buried his face in his hands.
What had her words meant? Did she truly feel anything? Or had the fever tricked her into softness? Charlotte was shrewd—unbearably so—but her heart was a fortress, kept behind cleverness and command. She had built walls to survive, to lead, to win.
And she was still so young. Not in years—though yes, they were both young—but in burden. In weight. She carried a kingdom on her shoulders and poison in her blood. What place was there for his feelings in that?
He clenched his fists.
But still—she had said it. And somewhere along the way, Elias had stopped seeing her as just a charge. She was his equal now. His compass. His queen. And though he had sworn to be only her sword… some part of him longed to be more.
"She'd be furious if she knew you were pouting this hard."
Mira stepped into the moonlight, arms crossed, her eyes dancing with mirth and quiet concern.
"I'm not pouting," Elias muttered.
"You're pouting so loudly, Eladin could hear it in his nursery," she signed, dropping beside him.
He didn't respond.
"She meant it," Mira signed, looking at him softly.
"What?"
"The confession. She might've forgotten it come morning, but it was real. You know it. You felt it."
Elias looked away. "It doesn't matter. She's the future queen."
"And that makes her feelings less real?"
He was quiet for a long moment. "It makes them dangerous."
Mira didn't reply right away. Then she stood and signed.
"So is loving someone who keeps throwing herself into danger for everyone else. But that's never stopped you before."
And with that, she left him beneath the moon.
Elias stared up at the stars—cold, distant, and far above him.
Dangerous? Perhaps.
But if Charlotte ever said those words again—awake, clear-eyed, and certain—
He didn't think he could pretend he didn't feel the same.
Not anymore.