Page 13 of Lost Moon

There are no children playing in the streets, only ragged families with hollow eyes staring from dilapidated doorways as the grand carriage passes. The markets stand empty and crumbling, ruined by unfair taxes and systematic neglect rather than the changing seasons. It bears no resemblance to the kingdom that once thrived under the charity of Queen Aline. Sadness wells within her, paired with a deep regret that she was never allowed to alter this suffering, and now she will never receive the opportunity. Looking across the space, she notices Cael staring out his own window at the wasteland, his brow furrowed in a troubled frown.

A sigh escapes her, indifferent to whether the prince across from her hears it. She pulls away from the window, drawing the heavy velvet curtain closed to block out the view and warm the carriage’s interior. Not even her thick gown can shield her from the chill seeping into her bones.

Elara squeezes her eyes shut and leans back in her seat. Sleep calls to her, begging her to relax her taut muscles and rest, but she resists, terrified to be so vulnerable. As night closes in and the carriage darkens, however, she gives in.

The world drifts around her in a hazy blur until a coat is gently draped over her shoulders, easing the chill that has settled into her bones. A soft sigh escapes her lips, her body leaning into the protection of the heavy fabric. The scent clinging to the cloth, cedar touched by the trace of metal, tells her everything she needs to know. The last thing she remembers is the pressed flower from her mother resting in her hands after

The rhythm of the carriage carries her away as exhaustion finally wins.

VIII

WITHIN THESE DARK WALLS

E

The carriage is no longer moving.

The breeze in here is a tad warmer, the darkness peeks through Elara’s shut eyes, and a warm blanket is draped over her. The scent is far too familiar. Elara gasps and sits up, only to find herself on a bed inside a dark bedchamber.

The chamber rises around her with an enormous, unfamiliar grandeur. Sitting amid the dark, plush bedding, Elara grips the sheets tightly for a long moment, feeling incredibly small and out of place beneath the vast ceiling and its massive chandelier. Only the need to understand her surroundings finally strengthen her resolve to move. Pushing the thick blanket aside, she realizes the formal gown still envelops her frame.

She swings her legs over the edge of the bed, her bare feet pressing into the luxurious carpet below, though the deep chill of the hidden marble seeps through the fibers to send a shiver through her body.

There are three doors within the chamber. Stepping forward to explore, Elara opens the first one directly across from the bed and finds herself in a bathing chamber. A gray marble bathtub rests along the far side, while a wide sink stretches across the wall. Oils, unguent jars, and washes rest neatly upon the surface, some unmistakably her own, while others belong to a stranger.

Retreating from the space, she moves toward the second door near the window. It opens into a dressing chamber, far larger than her wardrobe back in Veyrenn. Elara steps further inside, surveying the dark, polished cupboards where black coats, tailored trousers, and silver accessories hang in precise order directly next to her few remaining gowns. She rubs the silken fabric of a coat between her fingers, noting the discipline revealed in the arrangement. These belong to Cael.

With a choked inhale, Elara drops the material and steps back, her heart pounding as the realization strikes her. This chamber does not belong to her alone. It is a shared space.

She feels as if she is the intruder.

Trembling, she presses her left hand to her chest. A sudden coldness weighs upon her fingers where the steel band bears his name, Cael Everhart, carved into the inner curve. An impulse to slip the band off and discard it flares up within her, but the desire is quickly smothered by the knowledge of the consequences. In Veyrenn, such defiance is punished upon the woman alone, even when the arrangement was never her choice.

She glances around the bedchamber, her brows furrowing. Her gaze lands on the black vanity filled with her cosmetic paints and perfumes. On the opposite wall rests another vanity belonging to the prince, darker and heavier, made of glass and black crystal.

Needing to occupy her mind, she decides to bathe. Turning back to the dressing chamber, she shifts through the drawers to locate her silk nightgown before walking into the bathing chamber. She closes the door and locks it, the soft click echoing in the enclosed space. Loosening the stays, she lets the heavy gown slip from her shoulders, exposing her skin to the chill air and raising a shiver across her frame.

The tub is filled with steaming water scented faintly with crushed lavender. She sinks into the bath, the warmth rising around her to wash away the grime of the journey. She stares at the band upon her finger, the metal gleaming beneath the thick steam that clouds the chamber.

“You are a mere title.”

Elara freezes, her hands pausing in the thick lather as she cleanses her hair, while her father’s final parting words echo through her mind. A shiver runs down her spine at the recollection of how callously he had brushed her aside during their farewell. Her hands drop into the water, rinsing away the soap to reveal the ring binding her finger. She turns her left hand, letting the cold metal catch the light through the gray haze of steam that clouds the bathing chamber.

How different the prince had seemed when he placed that band upon her finger. Not a single word had passed between them, yet she had received more respect in his gestures and the touch of his hand at the carriage door than she had ever known from her father.

Elara shakes her head, forcing the foolish thought into the shadows of her mind. It is childish to hope he will be different, for the world has shown her repeatedly that it will take every shimmer of joy and leave it to wither away. She refuses to allow hope to bloom within her chest. Not for him, and not for anyone.

“A mere title,” she whispers into the steam, her voice swallowed by the quiet space. She closes her eyes, letting the water mask her sorrow while she steels herself for the life she must endure.

The heat leaves her dazed. At last, she steps out and wraps a folded towel around her. The mirror has fogged over entirely, leaving only vague shapes reflected back. Leaning against the sink, she draws in a slow, shivering breath.

Drying her skin, she dresses in her silk nightgown and steps back into the bedchamber, leaving her damp hair to fall around her shoulders. Elara sinks onto the plush bed, relieved there is no attendant here to force an overwhelming night preparation upon her before sleep.

She spins the metal band around her finger, biting her lip as the memory of her father's harsh punishments looms over the simple act. Hesitantly, she removes the ring and places it on the small table beside her, where the candle casts a glow across its cool surface. Cael is not here, allowing her to relax into the mattress as her heart stills into a normal, steady rhythm. A profound relief descends down her spine as she lies back, tracing the dark ceiling with her eyes while the crystal chandelier scatters the remaining light in muted patterns.

Sleep eludes her. Tossing restlessly beneath the sheets, she finds no comfort until her limbs begin to ache from the constant shifting. A soft groan escapes her, muffled by the blankets. Frustrated, she throws the bedding aside and slides off the mattress.

The final door within the chamber leads to a round, spacious balcony. Elara throws it open, the cold night air stealing her breath as it hits her face and sends a sudden chill across her skin. Padding across the dark stone, she rests her forearms on the railing, her eyes drinking in the sight of her new home below.