The moment the doors to the Queen's Hall closed behind us, I could still feel the weight of the conversation I had just overheard. A wedding. My wedding. To Claire.
I hadn't known what to say. My mother's smile had been gentle but determined, Claire's gaze curious and warm, and Liora's expression unreadable. It had taken everything in me to pretend I wasn't shaken. I barely remembered the rest of that meeting—only the way Liora kept her head turned slightly away, her hands clasped behind her back, as if distancing herself.
Later that afternoon, i visited my father,
He looked nothing like the man carved into the grand statues around the palace. The father I had imagined growing up—broad-shouldered, iron-spined, with a voice that commanded storms—was now a man sunken into pillows and covered in layers of silk and wool. His once-proud frame looked fragile, like the sickness had hollowed him out from within.
But even in his weakened state, there was still something fearsome about him. The sharpness of his jaw hadn't dulled, and his eyes—pale gray and heavy with unspoken thoughts—cut through me like he was still measuring my worth, still judging my every breath. He didn't need to speak for me to feel the weight of him in the room. The silence between us was filled with everything I never got to ask and everything he never said.
His hair, streaked with more silver than black now, was brushed back neatly. The nurses had tried to preserve some of his dignity, but I could see the truth in the tremble of his hands and the slow drag of his breath.
He was the kind of man whose presence once filled war halls and silenced entire courts. Now he barely filled the bed, yet I still found myself straightening my back in his presence, still yearning for a nod of approval I might never get.
And even though his body was failing him, I knew this—he was still my king. And more than that, my father.
And after that I found myself in the smaller lounge where my mother often read. She looked up from her book, her lips parting in that regal smile I had quickly learned wasn't just for show—it was her mask, too.
"Mother," I began slowly, approaching her, "about earlier… the wedding thing with Claire. That was real?"
She set the book down, folding her hands in her lap.
"Yes, Elias. It's something we discussed with Claire's family years ago. You were too young to remember. It was more of a hopeful arrangement at the time, but now that you've returned, it seems like the right step. She's a good girl, well-mannered, beautiful, from a trusted house. You two would make a strong match."
I hesitated. "But don't you think it's a bit too sudden?"
She tilted her head gently. "No one is forcing you into anything, my dear. But I do think you should at least spend time with her. Let your heart decide if this bond is worth exploring. Give her a chance, Elias."
I nodded, though my heart beat heavily against my chest.
"Alright," I murmured. "I'll try."
That evening, after spending some time with Father—who was thankfully looking a bit stronger—I returned to my chambers to prepare. The dinner with Claire had been arranged swiftly. The maids brought in a formal coat I hadn't worn before. Rich navy blue with golden trim, elegant yet restrained.
As I stepped out, I found Liora waiting in the hallway. She smiled politely, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"You're meeting Claire tonight?" she asked.
"Yes. Mother arranged it."
She gave a small nod. "She's kind. And she likes you, I think."
I looked at her, trying to read her expression. "And what do you think?"
Liora glanced away, her voice quieter. "It doesn't matter what I think. Just be yourself."
I wanted to say more, to reach for her hand, to ask what was truly bothering her, but the moment passed, and I was ushered away.
Claire greeted me in the palace's east garden, a space filled with flickering lanterns and sweetly perfumed flowers. She wore a flowing lilac dress, her long black hair curled delicately over one shoulder. She smiled when she saw me, genuinely pleased.
"Elias," she said warmly. "I was worried you might not come."
"I wasn't sure I should," I admitted.
She laughed, her tone easy and disarming. "Well, thank you for braving the unknown."
We talked as we ate. She spoke of her mother's design work, of growing up alongside Liora, of the capital city's festivals and the history of the palace gardens. I listened, surprised by how at ease I felt. Claire was witty, intelligent, and engaging in ways I hadn't expected. She asked thoughtful questions and made me laugh more than once. For the first time since I arrived, I felt like I wasn't pretending.
Still, something was missing.
As we finished our dessert, footsteps approached. I turned to see Liora stepping into the garden, her long emerald dress flowing like water behind her. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes lingered on me, then on Claire.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," she said softly.
"Of course not," Claire said brightly. "We were just finishing."
Liora gave a small nod, then turned to me. "I came to remind you about tomorrow's feast preparations. There are some final things we need to review."
"Now?" I asked, confused.
"Yes. The steward needs your final approval on the list. It won't take long."
I glanced back at Claire, who gave me an understanding smile.
"Go," she said. "Royal duties call."
I stood, offering her a small bow. "Thank you for tonight. I enjoyed it more than I expected."
She smiled. "So did I."
As I walked away with Liora, I felt the mood shift. She walked faster than usual, silent beside me. The moonlight caught on her hair, and I couldn't help but glance at her more than once.
"Did I do something wrong?" I asked finally.
She stopped walking and turned to me. "No," she said, though her voice sounded strained. "You were perfect. Just like a prince should be."
And yet, in her eyes, I saw the sadness. The quiet, unspoken ache.
We said nothing more as we returned to the palace.
That night, as I lay in bed, I thought about Claire—her charm, her grace, her effortless confidence—but it was Liora's face I saw behind closed eyes. Her words echoed louder than anything Claire had said.
"Just like a prince should be."
And I couldn't help but wonder what it meant that those words hurt more than they should.