The morning air in Floravere Palace was brisk despite the spring sun, and yet the whispers drifted through the corridors like smoke:
"Prince Lucien was seen in the west wing—confronting Sir Jarell.""They argued near the portrait hall. No one dared get close.""Elira's knight didn't even raise his voice, they say.""And Lucien? They say his hands shook when he walked away."
The palace pulsed with it—rumor dressed in silk. Petals from the Petal Festival still clung to corners of the stone steps, now trampled and fading.
Jarell had not spoken of the encounter. But Elira noticed the way his hand lingered a little longer in hers. How his eyes scanned doorways before they entered. How he stood just slightly closer, as if shielding her from a shadow only he could see.
And it was only later, when he excused himself briefly from their garden walk, that the shadow found him again.
In the narrow corridor just outside the solar, Lucien waited.
His coat was sharp, his expression sharper—cool and coiled like a blade not yet drawn.
"Sir Jarell," he greeted, voice calm. Too calm.
Jarell stopped. The corridor was quiet, private. No courtiers here—only old tapestries and the distant sound of doves outside.
"Your Highness," Jarell replied.
Lucien stepped closer.
"I assume you know who she used to be."
"I know who she is now."
A flicker passed through Lucien's eyes.
"You think she's healed?" he asked. "You think one dance, one smile, erases everything she endured?"
Jarell's tone didn't shift. "Nothing erases pain. But love can hold it differently."
Lucien's voice rose, sharp with unspoken things. "She still flinches at thunder. Did she tell you that? She still avoids mirrors in the morning. And I see the way she touches her wrist when she's nervous—like she's counting her breath."
"Then you should ask yourself why."
Silence fell between them.
Jarell didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. He simply looked at Lucien—steady, grounded, unshaken.
"I am not your rival," he said at last. "But I won't let you be her fear again."
Lucien's breath caught—just for a moment. And then he turned on his heel and left without another word.
---
Later that day, Marienne found Elira reading near the fountain.
She sat beside her, brushing stray petals from her lap with more force than necessary.
"He cornered Jarell."
Elira's eyes widened, but she said nothing.
"He's not done," Marienne said flatly. "You need to know that."
"I thought he'd…" Elira shook her head. "No. I knew. I just hoped."
Marienne's voice softened, just barely.
"Hope can be dangerous when it's dressed like kindness."
Elira looked down at the book in her lap but didn't turn the page.
"Jarell didn't tell me."
"Because he didn't want to worry you. But I will. Because I'd rather see you wary than wounded."
---
That night, as twilight fell over Floravere, lanterns flickered to life along the corridors.
And somewhere deep within the stone of the palace, something unspoken simmered—too quiet to burn, too sharp to extinguish.