The palace was a maze of whispers.
Since the engagement announcement, Elara had become the center of every conversation, every sideways glance, every veiled insult. Nobles speculated. Servants gossiped. Even the guards seemed to watch her with narrowed eyes.
She was the girl who stole the crown prince.
She was the girl who didn't belong.
And Kael made sure she felt it.
---
The message came at dawn.
Lady Lyria,
His Highness requests your presence in the war chamber.
—Captain Rell
Elara frowned. The war chamber? That wasn't part of the original story. She dressed quickly, choosing a modest navy gown and tying her hair back with trembling fingers.
When she arrived, the room was colder than she expected.
Maps covered the walls. Swords lined the shelves. A long table stretched across the center, surrounded by generals and advisors.
Kael stood at the head.
He didn't look at her.
"Lady Lyria," he said, voice clipped. "You're late."
"I came as soon as I received the message."
"Then you should have come sooner."
The room fell silent.
Elara stepped forward. "Why am I here?"
Kael finally looked at her.
His eyes were ice.
"To observe," he said. "And to learn your place."
---
The Humiliation
For the next hour, Kael spoke of border tensions, rebel movements, and trade negotiations. He pointed to maps, issued orders, and corrected his generals with sharp precision.
Elara stood silently, ignored.
Until one advisor—Lord Varrick—turned to her.
"Your thoughts, Lady Lyria?"
Kael didn't wait for her to answer.
"She has none," he said flatly. "She's here to listen, not speak."
Elara's breath caught.
The room went still.
Lord Varrick cleared his throat. "Of course, Your Highness."
Kael turned back to the map.
Elara clenched her fists.
She had written Kael to be ruthless.
But she hadn't expected him to use that ruthlessness on her.
---
After the meeting, Elara followed Kael into the corridor.
"You didn't have to humiliate me," she said.
Kael didn't stop walking. "You humiliated yourself."
"I was trying to understand."
"You were trying to insert yourself."
"I'm your fiancée."
Kael turned sharply. "You're a political tool."
Elara flinched.
Kael stepped closer, voice low and venomous. "You think saying yes to me makes you powerful? It makes you vulnerable. It makes you a target. And if you don't learn to stay silent, it will make you dead."
Elara met his gaze, fury rising. "Then teach me."
Kael's eyes narrowed.
"I'm not here to teach you," he said. "I'm here to use you."
Then he walked away.
---
Elara returned to her chambers shaking.
She slammed the door, tore off her gloves, and collapsed onto the chaise.
She had survived the truck.
She had survived the proposal.
But Kael's words cut deeper than steel.
She wasn't just rewriting the story.
She was bleeding for it.
---
That night, a letter arrived.
No seal. No signature.
Just one line.
"You're not safe. Not even with him".
The note sat heavy in her palm.
You're not safe. Not even with him.
Elara read it again, then again, as if the words might change. But they didn't. They stayed sharp, final, and terrifying.
She had no idea who sent it.
But she knew what it meant.
Kael wasn't her shield.
He might be her sword.
Or her executioner.
---
She didn't sleep that night.
She sat by the window, watching the moon crawl across the sky, her fingers tracing the edge of the note. Her mind spun with possibilities. Dorian? A servant loyal to Seraphina? A noble who saw her as a threat?
Or Kael himself?
She didn't know.
And that was the worst part.
---
The next day
At dawn, a knock rattled her door.
"His Highness requests you in the training yard," said a guard.
Elara blinked. "The training yard?"
"Yes, my lady. Immediately."
She dressed quickly, pulling on a fitted riding coat and boots. Her heart thudded with dread. Kael never summoned her to places like this. Not in the original story. Not ever.
Something was wrong.
---
The yard was empty except for Kael.
He stood in the center, dressed in black, a sword in his hand. His hair was tied back, his eyes unreadable.
"You came," he said.
"You summoned me."
Kael tossed her a wooden practice sword.
She caught it, barely.
"Fight me," he said.
Elara stared. "What?"
"You want to survive in this world? Then fight."
"I'm not a soldier."
"You're a target."
He lunged.
Elara dodged, heart racing.
Kael didn't hold back. His strikes were fast, brutal, calculated. She stumbled, blocked, gasped. The wooden blade stung her palms. Her breath came in ragged bursts.
"You're weak," he spat.
"I'm trying."
"Try harder."
He swung again. She ducked, rolled, came up swinging.
Their swords clashed.
Kael knocked hers aside and grabbed her wrist, twisting it until she cried out.
"You think marrying me makes you safe?" he snarled. "It makes you visible. Vulnerable. Hated."
"I know," she gasped.
He shoved her back.
She hit the ground hard, dust rising around her.
Kael stood over her, eyes blazing.
"You're not ready," he said. "You're not smart. You're not strong. You're just a girl who said yes to a crown she doesn't understand."
Elara pushed herself up, trembling.
"I'm learning," she said.
Kael stepped closer.
"You're bleeding," he said.
She looked down. Her palm was cut. A thin line of red.
Kael grabbed her hand.
His grip was rough, almost punishing.
Then—without warning—he pulled her into him.
His arms wrapped around her like iron. His breath was hot against her temple.
"You're mine now," he whispered. "And I protect what's mine. Even if I hate it."
Elara froze.
She didn't know if it was comfort or control.
She didn't know if it was possession or protection.
She only knew that her heart was pounding, and Kael's embrace felt like a cage made of fire.
Then he let her go.
"Go back to your chambers," he said coldly. "And next time, come prepared to bleed."
---
Elara returned to her room, hands shaking.
She stared at herself in the mirror.
Sweat. Dust. Blood.
She looked like a warrior.
She felt like prey.
But she was still alive.
And that meant the story wasn't done with her yet.
---
---