Elena spent the rest of the morning hiding in her chambers.
Specifically, under a blanket.Specifically, avoiding all living beings.Specifically, replaying every single second of the night before with surgical precision and zero mercy.
Unfortunately, Claire did not count as a living being.
Claire counted as a force of nature.
The door opened without ceremony.
"Elena? Kael said you needed—"
Claire stepped inside.
Stopped. And stared.
"Elena," she said slowly, carefully, like approaching a startled animal, "why does it look like your entire soul attempted to exit your body and then crawled back in out of spite?"
Elena made a sound somewhere between a squeak and the death rattle of a very small woodland creature.
Claire's gaze sharpened.
She noticed everything.
The faint bruising at Elena's lips.The red marks blooming along her throat.The shirt worn inside out.The blanket clutched to Elena's chest like a sanctioned emotional support artifact.
Claire's hand flew to her mouth.
"Oh," she whispered."Oh gods."
Elena groaned and pulled the blanket over her face. "Please don't say anything. Please don't think anything. Please don't breathe in my direction."
Claire turned pink.
Then red.
Then a shade of purple Elena suspected might be medically concerning.
"Elena," Claire said faintly, "Kael came to find me."
Elena froze.
Claire swallowed, eyes watering—not with concern, but with laughter she was desperately failing to contain.
"He was walking like he'd stepped on a rake," she continued. "Refused to make eye contact. Stared very intently at a tapestry of sheep for a full minute."
"Oh no," Elena whispered into the blanket.
"And then," Claire said, voice breaking, "he said—and I quote—'Something occurred and I must never enter those chambers again.'"
Elena screamed into her pillow.
Claire bent over, hands on her knees, absolutely losing the battle.
"He told me to apologize to you," she gasped, "for witnessing… whatever that was."
"I am never leaving this room," Elena declared. "I will become a myth."
Claire sat beside her, still wheezing. "That's unfortunate, because Soren just left the citadel looking like the North itself decided to go to war."
That got Elena's attention.
She lowered the blanket slowly. "Left?"
Claire's laughter faded, replaced by something more serious. "The Fourthmarch border. Kael said Kharathi units crossed the river markers overnight. No banners. No declarations."
Elena's chest tightened.
"They're testing him," Claire went on. "Testing how fast he responds. How far he'll go."
As if summoned by the words, horns sounded faintly beyond the stone walls—low, measured, unmistakably martial.
Elena moved to the window.
Below, the courtyard was alive with motion.
Sentinels in blackened armor formed ranks with terrifying efficiency. Horses stamped and snorted, steam rising from their nostrils. Steel flashed as weapons were checked, adjusted, secured. Banners bearing the sigil of the North snapped sharply in the cold air.
And at the center of it all—
Soren.
Fully armored now. Dark plate fitted to his frame like it had been forged around him. Cloak clasped at his shoulders. Helmet tucked beneath one arm.
A war prince.
He spoke briefly to Kael, voice too low to hear, then mounted in one smooth, powerful motion. The gates began to open.
Elena's breath caught painfully in her chest.
She hadn't even said goodbye.
"He didn't come to see you," Claire said gently.
Elena nodded. "I know."
She watched as Soren rode out at the head of his men, posture rigid, attention already locked on the road ahead. He didn't look back.
She told herself that was normal. Necessary. Safer.
And yet—
Her fingers curled against the stone sill.
She remembered the first days in the citadel—how afraid she'd been of him. How she'd told herself not to trust a man with that reputation. With that history. With other women whispered through the halls like cautionary tales.
She'd told herself she was just another distraction. Another complication.
But last night—
Last night hadn't felt like that.
It had felt like gravity.
Like recognition.
Like something that had been moving toward them long before either of them had chosen it.
Claire watched her quietly. "You're worried."
"I'm not," Elena lied automatically.
Claire didn't call her out. She never did when it mattered.
Instead, she said softly, "You know… Soren doesn't leave like that for just anyone."
Elena swallowed.
She followed the line of riders until the gates closed behind them and the courtyard slowly emptied, the citadel settling back into uneasy stillness.
The absence hit harder than she expected.
When he was near, he filled space. When he was gone, he left an ache behind—sharp, unfamiliar, deeply inconvenient.
She pressed her palm to the glass.
"I used to think he was the danger," she said quietly.
Claire tilted her head. "And now?"
Elena exhaled, slow and shaky.
"Now I think… the danger is that there's more between us than either of us can afford."
Claire smiled—not teasing this time. Knowing.
"Welcome to the North," she said gently. "We specialize in inconvenient truths."
Elena kept watching the road long after it was empty.
And for the first time since she'd arrived in this world, she realized something that unsettled her more than fear ever had:
She didn't just feel safer when Soren was near.
She missed him when he was gone.