Elowen
The candles had long been extinguished, yet the palace corridors still hummed with a quiet resonance, as if the walls themselves whispered of the evening's events. I walked alone, my skirts brushing softly against the stone floor, the lingering scent of my gown — lavender and rose — clinging to me like a delicate memory. Even the soft rustle of fabric felt loud in the hush of the palace. The ball, the court's gaze, the weight of the crown, all pressed upon me now that the performance was done.
I paused at the gallery where the tapestries hung, the depictions of battles long past catching the dim candlelight. The images should have intimidated me, reminded me of the grandeur and gravity of my new position. Yet my mind refused to dwell there. Instead, it returned to the library — to Darian — and the way his eyes had locked on mine, unflinching and raw, beneath the glittering chandeliers. Every step I had taken across the ballroom floor seemed to echo the heat of his touch, the steady pressure of his hand at my waist, and the impossible weight of desire that lingered there still.
Fiona had retired earlier, no doubt exhausted from orchestrating every detail of my debut. I was left alone with the faint sound of distant footfalls, perhaps a guard, perhaps merely a trick of the echoing halls. The quiet should have been calming, yet it only made the memory of him sharper, more immediate. I drew in a steadying breath, pressing my palms together, willing composure back into my body.
The Crown sat in my private chamber, a silent testament to what the day had demanded — the ceremonial bond, the recognition, the court's acknowledgment. I approached it, hesitating just short of touching the cold metal. To wear it was to step fully into the role, yet in that moment, I wondered if I could ever reconcile the weight of tradition with the pull of the man who had made it all feel so achingly intimate.
A soft knock broke my reverie, startling me. My heart skipped.
"Elowen? May I enter?"
It was Fiona, her voice light yet carrying that unmistakable reassurance. I nodded, allowing her to step inside. She carried a small lantern, casting a gentle glow over the room, and her smile was both knowing and playful.
"You need not be alone with your thoughts tonight," she said, placing the lantern on a side table. "I imagine the court's applause still echoes in your ears."
I managed a small laugh, pressing my hands to my lap. "It does. And yet, it is not the court I recall, but… the King. Every step, every glance, every breath seems to have been taken by him, whether he meant it or not."
Fiona's gaze softened, a mix of empathy and amusement in her blue eyes. "Ah, then it seems you have discovered what many before you have felt. The King… he does not merely command attention. He seizes it. And those who meet his eyes find themselves caught, whether they wish it or not."
I swallowed hard, nodding. "It is… overwhelming. I do not know if I can speak freely around him yet. The court demands a composure I can barely sustain when he is near."
Her laugh was soft, almost conspiratorial. "And yet, you have borne it with grace tonight. Do not forget, Elowen — composure is not the absence of feeling. It is mastery over it, until the right moment presents itself. And, my dear, the King is rarely one to leave a moment unclaimed."
I felt a flush rise to my cheeks at her words. "Do you speak from experience?"
Fiona's head tipped slightly, a sly smile tugging at her lips. "From observation, mostly. And a touch from circumstance. He is… formidable. But he is also human. And in rare moments, he reveals it — those glimpses are… not easily forgotten."
The silence that followed was comfortable, yet weighted. My gaze drifted toward the small window, where the moonlight touched the garden beyond. The roses, the fountains, the paths I had walked only hours ago, now seemed like a memory painted in silver. And there, in the quiet, the thought crept forward unbidden: Tomorrow, I will see him again. I will stand before him fully as Queen. Am I ready for that intensity? For that closeness?
Fiona reached across and placed a hand over mine. "You are stronger than you believe. You have already charmed the court, impressed the King, and held your own in a room full of seasoned eyes. You will not falter."
Her words grounded me, though they did not erase the fluttering in my chest. I allowed myself a single, deep breath, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease slightly.
"And… you?" I asked softly. "Have you ever felt… something that could not be named? Something that made every decorum and rule of conduct feel… fragile?"
Fiona's eyes gleamed in the lantern light, and she shook her head slowly. "I have. And I survived. You will too, Elowen. But you must learn to see it for what it is — not merely fear or desire, but… a bond. It is the same that has drawn him to you. And you to him."
I let her words settle, feeling their weight yet also their comfort. The room felt smaller, warmer, the shadows less imposing. I rose, smoothing the layers of my gown, and cast a glance at the crown. Tomorrow, it would rest upon my head, and the court would know me as Queen.
And perhaps, tomorrow, I would learn what it meant to stand fully in his presence without trembling beneath the gravity of what we both desired.
As I left the room, closing the door softly behind me, I felt the hush of the palace press around me — and yet, for the first time since arriving, it felt almost welcoming. The night had belonged to the court, yes, but the bond I shared with Darian — unspoken, unclaimed, yet undeniable — had taken its first real hold.
And for the first time, I realized that no ceremony, no crown, no hall of marble or candlelight could ever prepare me for what was coming next.