Elowen's Pov
I took my time with my hair, the way my mother had taught me, slow and deliberate. I brushed until the waves lay smooth and obedient, then pinned them back with care, leaving only a few loose curls to frame my face. There was comfort in the familiarity of it. In the ritual. In pretending, just for a little while, that I was still a daughter preparing for bed and not a wife learning how to survive a crown.
The red silk nightdress waited for me on the bed, luminous in the candlelight. I slipped into it and smoothed the fabric over my hips, aware of how it clung, how it whispered when I moved. I told myself it was only cloth. Only colour.
I climbed onto the bed and reached for one of the books resting on the night table.
The leather was worn, the pages well loved. I read a few lines. Then, a few more. The words blurred together, my mind refusing to stay still.
"This is useless," I thought.
The silence pressed in, heavy and watchful. Eventually, restlessness won.
I set the book aside and rose, wrapping a light robe around myself before slipping out of the chamber.
The corridor beyond was vast and hushed, lit by torches set deep into the stone walls. I walked without purpose at first, letting the castle reveal itself in fragments and arched ceilings.
Tapestries depicting victories that were not mine.
Faces of kings who had never needed to ask permission to exist.
I walked longer than I meant to.
Then I noticed the door.
It was only slightly open, a thin line of warm light spilling into the corridor. I slowed, breath catching when I heard it. Laughter. Soft. Feminine. Intimate.
I told myself to keep walking.
Instead, I stepped closer.
I peered through the opening before I could stop myself.
Sylvia lay sprawled across a grand bed in a well-lit chamber, her red silk nightdress a deeper shade than mine, cut in a way that seemed to belong more naturally on her body. She looked relaxed. At home. Beautiful in a way that felt effortless.
Prettier, a traitorous voice whispered.
Cassian sat beside her on the bed, close enough that their shoulders nearly touched. They were speaking quietly about something that had clearly amused him.
His mouth was not curved into a smile, but the sharp tension I had come to recognize was absent. His expression was open.
Unburdened. The dangerous aura that clung to him like a second skin was muted, as if she had reached into him and turned it down.
My chest tightened.
Jealousy bloomed hot and suddenly, followed quickly by disdain.
For him, her and myself. The words the maids had spoken earlier resurfaced, sharp, and uninvited.
Presence. Enjoys. Sylvia.
He leaned closer to her then, his body angling toward hers with an ease I had not seen directed at me. Not once. Not even in obligation.
I stepped back before they could see me, my heart pounding hard enough to make my ears ring. I turned and walked away quickly, the corridor blurring as I moved.
By the time I reached my chamber, my hands were shaking.
I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, breathing deeply, forcing the rush of feeling back into something manageable.
"So this is how it will be," I thought. "Shared vows. Separate hearts."
I crossed the room slowly and sat on the edge of the bed. The red silk pooled around me, suddenly feeling less like defiance and more like a challenge I had not asked for.
Frustration settled over me, heavy and suffocating. If vows could be taken and ignored so easily, if loyalty was merely a performance for halls and crowns, then perhaps I did not need to be the only one playing my part faithfully.
The thought surprised me with how calm it felt.
I lay back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling.
"If he can find comfort elsewhere," I thought quietly, "then perhaps I can, too."
I thought as I strode out of our chambers, shutting the tall royal doors behind me.