Night cloaked the castle, and the corridors lay quiet. Elswyth moved with care, her slippered feet silent on the cold stone. She had risked everything to come here. When she reached the small garden courtyard, she found him waiting—Caedmon, his cloak drawn against the chill.
"My lady," he whispered. "You should not have come."
"And yet I am here," she replied, her voice trembling with both fear and longing.
They stood close, the moonlight casting silver upon their faces. For a long moment, they said nothing, only breathing the same air, their hearts racing as one. Then Elswyth spoke, her voice breaking. "I am to marry your brother. But it is you I… it is you I love."
Caedmon closed his eyes, the confession striking him like both blessing and curse. "Then we are damned," he whispered. "For I love you too."
Their lips met in a desperate kiss, born not of triumph but of grief. For even in this moment of union, they both knew the truth—they were betraying the future king of Eryndor.
From the shadows, unseen, a pair of eyes watched. A servant lingered in the darkness, clutching the knowledge that could shatter the kingdom.
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