Elena did not speak to Soren for one full day.
Then two.
Then three.
By day four she had achieved a level of avoidance that deserved academic recognition. If her medical degree were here, she'd add a specialization:
Dodgeology: the art of not running into overprotective, infuriatingly attractive princes.
And for reasons unknown to science or logic…
Soren let her. She kept waiting for him to appear in a doorway, voice rumbling Elena, or for Eris to say your prince is looking for you, or for Kael to drag her bodily into a room for "discussion."
Nothing.
Soren did not knock. Did not summon her. Did not stop her in the hallway.
He simply wasn't there. Which was extremely considerate. And absolutely maddening.
By the fifth day, she was furious he wasn't chasing her.
"That man," she hissed while reorganizing books in the library for no reason at all, "has the emotional intuition of a baked potato."
Eris, who had been stationed at the door, blinked. "Should I… tell Commander Soren that?"
"No. Maybe. I don't know!" She flung a hand dramatically. "Don't answer questions like that!"
Eris nodded, adopting the facial expression of a man who wished for a helmet that covered his ears.
By the sixth day, irritation began curdling into something uncomfortable.
She saw him.
Not in the training yard — she avoided that entire wing specifically.
But in the Council Corridor, the long hall of northern banners where commanders met with scribes and advisors.
She turned a corner too quickly and froze.
Soren stood at the far end, speaking with Kael and two council officers. Cold light from the tall windows framed him like some carved deity of winter judgment. His posture was rigid, formal, perfectly controlled — the prince-mask locked so tightly it erased the man she knew beneath.
He didn't laugh. Didn't soften. Didn't tilt his head like he always did when he sensed her nearby. He didn't even look around. Not once.
Just stood there, speaking in that low, authoritative tone that made entire rooms obey.
A strange heaviness pressed against her ribs.
She retreated before anyone noticed. Not once. Her stomach twisted. Annoyance… and something uncomfortably close to disappointment.
She turned away before he could spot her.
(Not that he was looking. Which was rude.)
Day seven.
She found Claire in the infirmary restocking herbs.
"Claire?" Elena asked.
Claire looked up, warm and worried. "You look tense. And exhausted. And tense."
Elena groaned and collapsed onto the nearest bench. "I think I'm broken."
"Physically?"
"No. Emotionally. Mentally. Spiritually. Pick one."
Claire set aside a basket and sat beside her. "Would you like to talk about it?"
Elena buried her face in her hands. "I'm avoiding Soren."
"I noticed."
"Everyone noticed, didn't they?"
Claire gave a sympathetic smile. "The Sentinels have a betting pool."
"Oh God." Elena dropped her arms. "Tell me Eris didn't bet on me losing."
"He refused to participate. He said Soren would 'hear it in his heartbeat.'"
"…Okay, that's actually sweet."
Claire turned more serious. "Why are you avoiding him? Fear? Anger? Something else?"
Elena hesitated.
"I'm mad at him," she said. "For… treating me like I'm helpless. For deciding what I can and can't do. For not understanding who I am."
"That sounds valid."
"But…" Elena exhaled shakily, "…I miss him."
Claire's expression softened immediately.
Elena stared at her hands. "I miss talking to him. I miss… feeling like he sees me. Even when he drives me completely insane."
Claire folded her hands neatly in her lap. "Elena… Soren has never let anyone get close. Not emotionally. Not personally. Not the way he lets you."
"He didn't really let me," Elena argued weakly. "He just… tolerated me."
Claire actually laughed. "Oh no, dear. He doesn't tolerate you. He orbits you."
Elena blinked. "He—what?"
"You don't see it because you're you," Claire said gently. "But Soren hasn't been the same since you arrived. The way he looks for you in a room, the way he listens only when you speak, the way he almost tore down an empire to get you back—"
"That was situational," Elena said quickly.
Claire just looked at her. "Was it?"
Elena swallowed.
Claire squeezed her hand. "Talk to him when you're ready. But don't assume he stayed away this week because he didn't care."
"Then why?" Elena whispered.
Claire smiled softly, knowingly.
"Because he thought you needed space. And Soren will break the world for you, but he will not break your boundaries."
Elena's chest tightened.
"…Oh," she whispered.
And for the first time since she'd begun her avoidance marathon, she wanted—achingly, embarrassingly—to see him.
Claire patted her shoulder. "Talk to him, Elena. Before he convinces himself he's the problem."
Elena shot upright. "He thinks he's the problem?!"
Claire raised a brow. "Have you met him?"
Elena groaned into her hands.
"Fine. I'll talk to him. Tonight. Maybe."
Claire smiled and returned to her herbs. "Good. The citadel is much quieter when you two aren't vibrating with unresolved tension."
"CLAIRE."