Present
The letter arrived without seal, but not without venom.
Elara unfolded it by the glow of candlelight. No signature. Just ink sharp as teeth:
"Your knight may not be yours for long."
She didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
The flames on the candelabra bent — as if bowing to the chill now gripping her spine.
"Cladus," she murmured, voice low. "What have you not told me?"
Behind her, the windows reflected only her silhouette — regal, poised, and trembling.
Just slightly.
---
A Dream (Her First Life)
A cell. Stone cold enough to bite.
Chains not on her wrists, but her name.
She sat on the floor, in a dress meant for nobles but dirtied by fear.
Footsteps.
She looked up.
It wasn't Auren.
It wasn't Cladus.
It was Serina.
"You shouldn't be here," Elara said. Her voice shook.
"And yet," Serina replied, eyes glittering, "here I am."
She knelt — not to comfort, but to gloat quietly.
"The empire will never remember this version of you. Broken. Alone."
"Auren will come."
"Auren," Serina echoed. "Still clinging to that, sister?"
She leaned close, so her breath hit Elara's cheek like frost.
"They chose me."
"They chose your lies."
"No," Serina said, straightening. "They chose the one who smiled better in silk."
She left.
And the door closed on silence.
---
Present:
Elara sat bolt upright in bed.
Drenched in sweat. Sheets twisted around her fists. The candle had died.
She never came to comfort me. She came to watch me break.
And he never came at all.
Outside her chamber, footsteps echoed — soft, measured.
Cladus.
She didn't rise to greet him.
But her voice slipped like a dagger through the dark:
"This time," she whispered, "I won't die waiting."