The ceremony ended with the faint chime of bells — hollow and final.
Incense still lingered in the air, curling above the marble altar like fading breath.
Kael had stood apart through most of it, the perfect image of restraint. I, meanwhile, had felt the weight of every gaze, every polite whisper of "condolence" that sounded more like calculation.
By the time the Evandelle carriage was being prepared outside the Dravenhart keep, I thought it was over — that we would leave together as planned.
Then Father spoke.
"Zelene will stay."
For a moment, I thought I'd misheard him. "What?"
He didn't look at me. His tone was clipped, as if issuing a decree, not a discussion. "You and your guard will remain here for the time being. There are matters that require your presence."
"Matters?" My voice came out sharper than intended. "What kind of matters, Father? You can't just—"
"I can," he said, turning to face me at last. His expression was the same one that made generals flinch and courtiers obey. But behind it — behind that layer of command — I saw it: something uncertain. Something almost pained.
"Alaric—" Mother began softly, but he raised a hand.
"Zelene." My name, firm but weary. "You'll stay here. Dravenhart territory is safer than the capital for now."
"Safer? Safer from what?" My pulse thudded against my ribs. "You said nothing of danger."
His silence said everything.
I took a step closer. "Father—what's happening in the court? Why are you suddenly sending me away?"
He looked away. "Because some things are moving too quickly," he said, quiet now. "And because your name is being spoken in circles it shouldn't be."
That made the air thin. "You mean... my Gift."
He didn't confirm it, but he didn't deny it either. The line of his jaw tightened.
Before I could speak again, he turned to one of the attendants. "Ensure Lady Zelene's belongings are transferred to the east wing."
Just like that.
Command. Distance. Finality.
I stared at him, trying to find the father beneath the Duke — the man who taught me to ride, to read maps, to think like an Evandelle. But all I saw now was someone building walls around me.
"Ray will stay as well," he added, without meeting my eyes. "You'll need someone... trustworthy."
Ray inclined his head, silent as ever.
That — somehow — made it worse.
When Father turned away, his cloak brushing the stone, it felt like something inside me snapped.
"Is this punishment?" I asked. My voice trembled, though I tried to steady it. "For questioning you? For being—?"
He paused at the doorway but didn't turn back. "It's protection."
Then he left.
Mother found me moments later. Her hand, soft and gloved, slipped into mine.
"Don't be angry at him," she whispered. "He's doing what he must."
"What he must," I echoed bitterly. "And what about what I want?"
Her gaze softened, full of quiet sorrow. "He loves you more than you think. But love, for men like him, comes out as armor."
"Armor," I muttered. "Or a cage."
"Sometimes," she said, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear, "they're the same thing."
I swallowed hard. "Mother... what's really happening? In the palace? Why won't anyone tell me?"
She hesitated — just long enough for fear to flicker through me. "The tides are shifting," she murmured. "The Council whispers of alliances, of balance between houses. The enemies are rising again... and the Evandelles cannot afford to appear uncertain."
"So I'm the bargaining piece."
"You're the bridge," she corrected gently. "And bridges, my love, are always placed where the ground is most unstable."
Her words sank like stones in my chest.
Behind her, Elara lingered — tearful, clutching the hem of her dress. "You'll write, won't you?" she said, trying to sound brave. "You always promise, but you never do."
I forced a smile. "I will this time."
She hugged me tight before running off to the carriage, her curls bouncing like sunlight I couldn't reach anymore.
Caelen came last. He didn't say much — he never did when he was angry or scared. He just placed a hand on my shoulder, his voice low.
"If anyone gives you trouble, you send word," he said. "Dravenhart or not."
"I can handle myself," I said.
"I know," he replied. "That's what worries me."
And then — just like that — they were gone.
The carriages rolled down the mountain road, their wheels grinding against stone until the sound faded into the wind.
I stood there long after, my cloak whipping against the cold air.
Ray stood behind me, silent as ever — a person that was forced to stay. He still wouldn't talk though.
Dravenhart loomed before me: vast, somber, and full of secrets.
And somewhere inside its heart waited Kael — the man I was bound to, by name, by politics, by fate I hadn't asked for.
I drew a breath, steady and defiant.
If Father thought sending me here would keep me safe, he underestimated one thing — I wasn't here to hide.
I was here to learn why.
---
The Dravenhart estate was quiet after my family left— too quiet.
The kind of quiet that didn't come from peace but from being watched.
Every corridor I passed held servants who looked away too quickly, tapestries that muffled sound a little too well.
Ray followed a few steps behind me, his usual silent presence. He didn't ask where we were going — maybe he already knew.
By the time I reached the main study, I could see the faint glow of candlelight spilling from beneath the heavy door. Voices murmured within.
I pushed the door open without knocking.
Kael was there — of course. Standing by the tall windows, one hand resting on the edge of a desk scattered with papers. His expression didn't change when he saw me, but his tone was almost bored.
"Lady Evandelle," he said. "You have a talent for appearing unannounced."
"Perhaps because I've recently learned that announcements mean nothing in this household."
His gaze lifted from the documents to me — sharp, deliberate. "You heard, then."
"I heard enough," I said, stepping closer. "My family is gone. I've been told to stay here without explanation. And you—" I gestured toward him, "—seem remarkably unsurprised by all of it."
He didn't deny it.
I exhaled slowly. "So you knew."
He regarded me for a long moment before answering. "Your father and I had correspondence before the funeral. Certain arrangements were... discussed."
"Arrangements," I repeated, the word tasting bitter. "So this was planned — without me."
He inclined his head slightly. "You were never meant to be informed until after."
I laughed softly — not out of humor, but disbelief. "How thoughtful. To trap me in courtesy and silence."
Ray shifted behind me, probably sensing my rising tone, but I lifted a hand without looking back. "Stay outside, Ray."
He hesitated. "My lady—"
"That's an order."
A brief pause — then footsteps retreating, the door closing behind us.
Now, only Kael and I.
The firelight cast long shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp lines that made him look carved rather than born.
He studied me — not coldly, but intently, as though assessing how much of this conversation could become a weapon later.
"Tell me, Lord Kael," I began, my voice steadier than I felt. "Did my father send me here because of political convenience, or because there's something happening in your lands he isn't telling me?"
His jaw tightened — just slightly, but enough. "You think too much of your father's secrets, Lady Evandelle."
"Do I?" I stepped closer until the fire's glow hit the silver clasp of his cloak. "Because I think you know more than you're admitting."
He leaned back against the desk, folding his arms. "Perhaps. But I fail to see how confronting me in my own study benefits you."
"I don't like being used."
"Neither do I," he said simply, and the honesty in his tone threw me off balance.
I blinked. "Then why agree to this?"
His eyes flicked to the window — the dark expanse of Dravenhart territory stretching beyond.
"Because sometimes," he said quietly, "it's better to keep an Evandelle close than to let the crown decide what to do with one."
The words struck harder than I expected.
"You make it sound like I'm a threat."
"You are one," he replied, matter-of-fact. "Maybe not by choice, but by bloodline. And by what you're capable of."
The silence that followed burned hotter than the fire between us.
He didn't know what I could do — not exactly — but he knew enough. Enough to tread carefully.
I crossed my arms. "So that's it? You're keeping me here like some diplomatic trinket until my father needs leverage?"
His mouth twitched — almost a smirk, though it didn't reach his eyes. "If that's how you see it."
I stared at him. "You could at least pretend you're not enjoying this."
"If it helps," he said dryly, "I'm not."
Something about his tone — weary, almost sincere — made me falter. For the first time, I noticed the exhaustion beneath his composure. The faint dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his shoulders.
This wasn't a man reveling in control; it was someone barely holding order together.
"You're angry," he said finally, "and you have every right to be. But your father didn't send you here out of malice."
"Then what was it, mercy?"
"Strategy."
"Same thing to a politician."
He almost smiled again, though it was thin and humorless. "You and your father speak alike."
That stung. I turned away before he could see it.
Through the window, the Dravenhart grounds were bathed in mist — quiet, somber, like the world itself was listening.
When I spoke again, my voice was low. "I don't like being kept in the dark, Lord Kael. Whatever's happening — in the court, in this alliance, in whatever shadow my father's trying to avoid — I will find out."
He regarded me for a long while. "Then I suggest you tread carefully," he said softly. "Dravenhart isn't forgiving to those who dig too deep."
I met his gaze again, unflinching. "Neither am I."
A beat of silence — then his lips curved faintly, as if in reluctant respect. "Then perhaps," he said, "we'll get along after all."
I didn't return the smile. "We'll see."