CADEN’S POV

The journey back to the palace was a blur of thought and memory. Now that I’d severed the engagement, the reality of what came next loomed before me. Elara and I had reconnected, yes, but the path forward remained uncertain.

I went straight to our chambers, no longer separate rooms connected by a rarely-used door, but truly ours again. The space was empty, no sign of Elara. These days, she was constantly coming and going between Verdana and diplomatic missions, always in motion, as though staying still might trap her.

I needed to ask her when she would finally take her position as true heir. The court was waiting, the people were waiting, and selfishly, I was waiting too. For stability, for certainty, for the future we might build together.

Finding our rooms empty, I made my way to my father’s chambers. Perhaps he would know where Elara had gone. As I approached, I heard soft sobbing from within. I knocked once, then entered without waiting for a response.

My mother sat alone by the window, her handkerchief pressed to her face. She looked up as I entered, quickly trying to compose herself.

“Mother?” I moved quickly to her side, alarm spreading through me. “What’s happened? Is Father—”

“Your father is fine,” she assured me, though her voice trembled. “He’s with the council.”

I knelt beside her chair. “Then why are you crying?”

“Oh, Caden,” she sighed, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “I’ve been trying to speak with Elara for days, but each time I see her, I can’t find my voice.”

“To speak with her about what?” I asked, though I suspected I knew.

“To ask her forgiveness,” my mother whispered. “For how I treated her when she first came to us. For not protecting her from your father’s schemes and the court’s cruelty.”

I smiled, taking her hand in mine. “Mother, you don’t need to worry. Elara has forgiven everyone.”

She looked at me with surprise and hope. “How can you be so certain?”

My mouth opened to reply, but before I could speak, the door burst open. Kaela stood in the doorway, her face ashen, chest heaving as though she’d run the entire length of the palace.

“Caden,” she gasped, gripping the doorframe. “Come quickly. Elara just fainted.”

Kaela’s words registered, turning my blood to ice and my legs to water. Yet somehow I was moving, faster than I’d ever moved before.

“Where?” The single word tore from my throat as I bolted from my father’s chambers, not waiting for anyone to follow. “Where is she?”

Kaela was already rushing down the corridor behind me. “The eastern drawing room! She was meeting with the ambassador’s wife when—”

I didn’t hear the rest. My mind narrowed to a single point of focus—Elara. Everything else fell away as I sprinted through the palace, taking corners so sharply I nearly collided with a pair of startled servants. My boots slid on the polished marble as I skidded to a halt at her chamber door, kicking it open without hesitation.

“Elara?” My voice echoed in the empty room, panic clawing higher in my chest.

The bed was made, untouched since morning. Her writing desk was organized with military precision, scrolls and correspondence neatly stacked. But no Elara.

“Damn it!” I slammed my fist against the doorframe, the pain barely registering.

I whirled around to find Kaela, my mother, and father all rushing toward me, my mother’s face ashen with worry.

“Where is she?” I demanded again, desperation making my voice crack.

Kaela pointed frantically down the grand staircase. “The main level—the eastern drawing room! I told you—”

I didn’t wait to hear more. Taking the stairs three at a time, I leapt the final section entirely, landing hard enough to send a shock of pain up my legs. I didn’t care. Nothing mattered except reaching her.

I burst into the drawing room, the heavy doors banging against the walls with enough force to make the crystal decanters rattle on the side table. And there she was—my Elara, sprawled on the Essenian carpet like a broken doll, her golden hair fanned around her too-pale face.

“Elara!” I dropped to my knees beside her, gathering her limp form into my arms. “Elara, can you hear me?”

She didn’t respond, didn’t so much as flutter an eyelash. Her skin was cool to the touch, but I could feel the faint pulse at her throat—too rapid, but there. She was alive.

“What happened?” I demanded of the room at large, suddenly aware of the ambassador’s wife hovering nearby, wringing her hands in distress.

“We were just talking,” the woman stammered, her accent thickening with nerves. “About the spring festival and the traditions of Verdana. She seemed perfectly fine one moment, and the next, she went so pale and simply… collapsed.”

“Get the royal physician,” I barked over my shoulder, not caring who followed the order as long as someone did. “Now!”