The west library of Floravere Palace stood mostly unused, filled with dust-frosted scrolls and rosewood shelves lined with books too rare to be touched. Light filtered through stained-glass windows, casting soft mosaics across the stone floor. It was here that Elira wandered on her own, drawn by habit more than curiosity.
And it was here that Lucien found her.
"You still come here," he said, quietly.
Elira turned slowly. She hadn't heard him enter, but she didn't flinch. The air between them felt still and heavy—like walking into a memory preserved in glass.
"Only when I need silence," she answered.
Lucien stepped closer, but not too close. For once, he seemed cautious.
"You used to read to me here," he said with a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. "You said the pages smelled like spring. I never understood what you meant until—"
"Lucien," she interrupted, gently but firmly. "Why are you here?"
He inhaled through his nose, grounding himself. When he spoke again, his voice was low, sincere—softer than she'd expected.
"I haven't stopped thinking about you. Not once. The way we laughed. The way you used to rest your head on my shoulder when the world felt too loud. You said I made you feel safe."
Elira's fingers curled into the folds of her dress.
"I said that because I wanted to believe it."
Lucien blinked, startled. She continued, her voice level:
"But I was always afraid. I tiptoed through every sentence, every glance. You watched my every move like I was something fragile… or something dangerous. You didn't love me. You tried to keep me."
Lucien flinched like she'd struck him.
"That's not true. I was trying to hold on—to protect—"
"You were trying to control."
For a moment, he looked shattered. But even then, the old softness crept back in.
"I've changed. I can change. I still—""Lucien," Elira said again, quieter this time. "I don't need you to change for me. I just need you to let me go."
She stepped past him without waiting for a reply, her pace calm—but her breath trembled the moment she reached the hallway.
Outside, Jarell stood waiting, having grown uneasy when she didn't return. He saw her the instant she stepped through the tall doors—face composed, but her fingers were trembling.
He offered his hand without a word. She took it.
"He found you," he said gently.
She nodded.
"And you held your ground."
A pause. Her throat caught.
"It still hurt," she whispered.
"That means you cared. But it doesn't mean you were wrong."
He squeezed her hand. She didn't speak again—just leaned against him for a moment, taking in the steadiness of his silence.
---
Later that evening, Marienne cornered Lucien in the candlelit corridor outside the ballroom. Her expression was pure frost.
"You spoke to her."
Lucien looked weary. "I had to."
"No," she said. "You wanted to. And you couldn't help yourself."
"I didn't hurt her."
"Did you help her?"
He said nothing.
Marienne stepped closer, her voice sharp but quiet.
"This is not a game where you break her heart and hope she forgives you for sport. She has someone now. Someone who holds her without fear. Someone who never made her afraid to speak."
"I loved her," he said through clenched teeth.
"Then you should've protected her from you."
And with that, she turned and walked away.
---
Elira watched the sunrise the next morning from the garden steps—Jarell beside her, silent as always. She didn't mention Lucien again.
She didn't have to.
Some things, once cracked, never return to what they were. And some reflections, once shattered, show you who you truly are.