By midday, Elena was finally able to breathe like a functional organism again.
Which was convenient, because that was precisely the moment Soren said:
"I have to return to the capital."
Her stomach dropped.
Not because she wanted him to stay.Heavens no.Not because she had dream-induced tension-related feelings.Absolutely not.
Relief. She decided she felt relief.
"Right," she said quickly, trying to sound unaffected. "You should go. Yes. Go. Far, far away. For… politics."
Soren's mouth twitched. "You seem pleased."
"Thrilled," she lied.
He stepped closer, close enough that Eric—Eris—standing guard in the hallway straightened like someone bracing for impact.
"Elena," Soren murmured, "I will not be gone long."
"Good!" she answered too fast. "I mean—good. Fine. Normal. Go govern something."
His eyes narrowed the way they did when he knew she was lying.
But instead of teasing her, he simply said:
"Eris will stay with you."
"Oh," she muttered. "My favorite medieval cologne model."
Eris coughed softly. "My lady…"
Soren ignored them both, voice returning to that clipped, command-sharpened tone he only used in public.
"You do not leave the citadel grounds."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"You stay within sight of Eris at all times."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"You do not—under any circumstance—attempt to investigate anything alone."
She hesitated.
Soren arched a brow.
"…Yes, Your Highness," she sighed.
He studied her for one long, unreadable moment, something unspoken flickering through his features—restraint? Frustration? Want?—before he finally turned away.
"Eris," he ordered. "You answer to no one but me."
Eris saluted. "Yes, Commander."
"And keep her breathing."
Eris swallowed. "Yes, Commander."
Soren paused just before the door.
"Elena."
She looked up.
His gaze softened—barely. Enough to ruin her day.
"I'll return soon."
She nodded.
He left.
And the citadel exhaled with her.
...
An awkward silence lingered for only three seconds before Eris cleared his throat.
"So," he said. "Breakfast was… eventful."
Elena groaned into her hands. "We don't talk about breakfast."
"Understood," Eris said solemnly. "We don't talk about breakfast. Or… noises."He winced.
She buried her face deeper. "Eris, please. Mercy."
"Of course. Absolute silence." Beat. "But I am sworn to protect you, so if the prince is causing distress—"
"ERIS."
He shut his mouth.
They walked together down the corridor, and Elena realized something surprising:
He was actually… easy to be around.
In a nervous, giant-puppy-who-could-kill-you way.
"Why are you even assigned to me?" she muttered.
Eris blinked. "His Highness said you require someone fast."
"Elaborate."
"He said…" Eris hesitated. "You run toward danger."
Elena threw her hands up. "ONE TIME. I ran toward danger one time."
"And the dungeon," Eris reminded gently.
"That doesn't count."
"And the spy."
"That was barely danger."
"And the alleyway last week—"
"Oh my god. Stop."
He smiled, awkward but kind.
"I like guarding you," he said. "You're… interesting."
"No one has ever said that without an insult attached."
"That was not an insult."
"Thank you," she said, strangely touched.
They headed toward the library.
"Why the library?" Eris asked.
"I want to learn more about healing," she said. "Your herbs and medicines here are so different. If I'm stuck in a fantasy-medieval-blood-pressure-nightmare world, I might as well contribute something useful."
Eris nodded. "That seems wise."
"It IS wise. Tell Soren that."
"I will not."
"Traitor."
...
The shelves felt warm, familiar. A refuge.
She found the section on Materia Medica of the Northern Territories and immediately fell into it like a woman returning to her natural habitat.
Roots, tinctures, dried powders, salves she couldn't possibly pronounce—the differences fascinated her.
Some plants resembled earth herbs.Some didn't at all.
One entry made her freeze:
"Frostneedle: used for fever and rib fractures."
Her ribs throbbed in memory.
Another:
"Fireblossom tea: accelerates healing but induces vivid dreams."
No thank you.
Another:
"Shadowmoss: do NOT ingest unless guided by a Master Healer."
Good to know.
She gathered several books, arms full, and marched toward the head healer's chambers.
Eris followed like a tall, concerned shadow.
"I'm going to learn something productive," she declared. "I am an educated woman. I am a doctor. I survived the Kharath Empire. I refuse to remain helpless."
Eris nodded encouragingly.
She knocked. The door opened.
Master Healer Bryn looked her up and down like she was a suspicious stain on his floor.
"Yes?" he said.
"I have questions about your medical practices," Elena said brightly. "And I'd like to assist—or at least learn."
"No."
Her smile froze. "…No?"
"No," he repeated, attempting to shut the door.
She blocked it with her foot. "Sorry—just to clarify—you said no because?"
"Because I do not take students without royal sanction."
"You need Soren's permission to TALK to me about bandages?"
"Yes."
"That's medieval."
"This is, in fact, a medieval castle."
Elena's eye twitched. "I am a trained physician."
Bryn sniffed. "That remains unverified."
"UN—VERIFIED—?! I diagnosed your assistant in three seconds!"
"He is frequently dizzy."
"BECAUSE HE DOESN'T EAT ENOUGH SALT."
Bryn shrugged. "Perhaps."
Elena inhaled very slowly.
"Let me help."
"No."
"I can read."
"No."
"I can teach YOU things."
"No."
She stared at him. "You know Soren won't be happy when he hears that you refused to educate the person the Empire tried to abduct."
Bryn did not blink. "He also will not be happy to learn you are wandering the citadel unsupervised, asking questions, and standing in my doorway without resting."
Elena sputtered. "…You wouldn't."
Bryn shut the door in her face.
She turned to Eris, outraged. "HE WOULD."
Eris rubbed the back of his neck. "Healer Bryn is… very loyal to His Highness."
"He's a tyrant in a robe."
"Yes. Most healers are."
Elena stomped away from the door. "Fine. I'll learn on my own."
Eris trailed after her. "I will… supervise that."
"Good. Supervise my academic rage."