Chapter Two — Smoke and Silence
The air smelled of jasmine and firewood.
Elara jolted upright, her breath catching in her throat. Gone were the cold stones, the blood, the dagger, the betrayal. She was wrapped in soft linen sheets, her skin warm beneath the weight of a thick woolen blanket. Faint morning light filtered in through a cracked windowpane, painting golden streaks across the wooden floor.
She blinked. Once. Twice.
She knew this room.
Her heart thudded against her ribs.
This wasn't the royal chambers. This wasn't even the west wing of the castle.
This was... her old room. In her father's manor. Before the title of Queen ever belonged to her. Before the court knew her name. Before Calren. Before Kaelin. Before the lies.
Her fingers curled into the bedding. She stared at her hands—young, unscarred, trembling.
"I'm dreaming," she whispered. But even the words felt thin, unconvincing.
A faint knock sounded at the door, followed by the creak of it swinging open.
"Elara?" a familiar voice called, soft and young.
She turned slowly.
It was her maid—Lani. Seventeen years old. Just as she remembered her. Wide eyes, auburn curls escaping her braid, apron still slightly crooked.
"You'll be late for lessons if you don't hurry," Lani said with a gentle smile. "Lady Ysra's already waiting."
Lady Ysra.
Elara's old tutor. She had died seven years ago in a carriage accident.
Elara's lips parted, but no words came.
She couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.
"Elara?" Lani tilted her head. "You alright?"
"I…" Elara shook her head. "I need a moment."
The maid gave a small curtsy. "Of course, my lady."
As the door closed, Elara swung her legs over the bed. Her feet met the smooth wood floor, warm from the sun. She stood slowly, moving like she was trying not to disturb a spell.
Everything was *exactly* as it had been ten years ago. The cracked mirror on the dresser. The faded tapestry of the Moonstone Forest above her headboard. Even the stuffed fox toy on the shelf—Fenn, her childhood companion.
She crossed to the mirror and stared.
Her reflection stared back—fifteen years old, flushed cheeks, wild dark curls that hadn't yet been tamed by royal duties. Her eyes looked wide, too full of innocence, too unaware of the future carved out for her.
Magic had brought her here.
She felt it still—tingling in her spine, pulsing under her skin. It wasn't like the magic she read in books or saw in court sorcery. It felt ancient. Raw. Like something she had always had but never awakened.
Something passed down from her mother's bloodline. The Solari Gift.
And now… it had given her a second chance.
But why? Why now? Why ten years?
She had no answers. Only a promise burning in her chest:
She would not be the same Elara.
She would not be blind.
And she *would not* be betrayed again.
Later that day, she sat in the stone courtyard behind the manor, nibbling the crust of a honey tart while pretending to read an old scroll. The voices of her younger cousins played in the distance, and for a moment, the sweetness of the afternoon almost masked the bitterness in her soul.
But her thoughts were miles away—on Kaelin.
Kaelin would be arriving at the manor soon. Elara remembered clearly now. Their families were close. That summer, Kaelin stayed with them for two whole weeks.
The very summer she introduced her to Calren.
Elara's jaw clenched.
They must have started everything back then. The subtle manipulation, the planted doubts, the hidden plans. She had missed it all—too enamored by first love and boundless trust.
Not this time.
She'd watch them.
She'd listen.
She'd learn *everything.*
"Elara!" a voice called from the archway.
She looked up. Her younger brother, Aven, grinned at her—eleven years old, cheeks round and dirt smudged.
"You're going to burn in the sun if you sit there any longer."
She smirked despite herself. "I thought I looked radiant."
"You look sweaty."
She threw a piece of crust at him.
He ducked and laughed, then plopped down beside her.
"I overheard Papa. He said Kaelin's coming today."
"I heard," she said, keeping her tone neutral.
Aven eyed her. "You don't seem excited."
"I'm not."
He snorted. "Last year you cried when she left. You wrote her letters every week like a lovesick bard."
Elara rolled her eyes. "People change."
He tilted his head. "Did you hit your head or something?"
"Maybe," she muttered under her breath. "Maybe I finally woke up."
Aven blinked, confused.
She stood, brushing crumbs from her lap.
"When she arrives," Elara said, her voice low, "tell me first. I want to see her before she sees me."
Aven saluted dramatically. "Yes, my queen."
She gave him a small smile. He didn't understand. None of them did. But one day, she would tell him the truth—when it was safe.
For now, she would play the game.
Smile when needed.
Act like a child.
But her heart had hardened. Her mind was sharper.
Kaelin might have fooled her once.
Not again.
She glanced across the garden, where bees danced lazily over the lavender, and her cousins chased butterflies with woven nets. The simplicity of it all tugged at her heart. How had life ever been so untouched? So full of light?
She could almost pretend, for a moment, that nothing had happened.
Almost.
That night, as the manor quieted, Elara sat by the fireplace, a single candle flickering beside her as she reread an old journal she hadn't touched since childhood. Her fingers trailed over the words—silly dreams, secret wishes, innocent doodles.
At the bottom of one page was a list.
Things I'll never forget:
1. Kaelin's laugh.
2. How Mama braided my hair.
3. The way Calren looked at me when he said "forever."
Elara stared at that last line for a long time. Her heart twisted—not in sadness, but in fury.
"Forever," she whispered, then scratched it out with a swift stroke of her quill.
She added another line beneath it:
4. Never again.
She closed the book, placed it back beneath her bed, and blew out the candle.
Tomorrow, Kaelin would walk through those doors.
And Elara would be ready.
Let the game begin.