Page 14 of Lost Moon

The air is remarkably clear, entirely free of the thick dust that permanently chokes the atmosphere of Veyrenn. High above, a vast canopy of sharp, brilliant stars reflects across the sky, unobstructed by haze. Below, the dark silhouettes of grand evergreen pines and manicured winter hedges border a gravel pathway that leads from the massive silver gates straight to the palace entrance.

Though the winter frost keeps the rest of the flora dormant, a few hardy blossoms still catch the moonlight, offering a subtle hint of color against the dark stone. The soothing melody of a running fountain rises from the center of the grounds, its water spilling into a wide basin. It is unlike anything in her homeland, where nothing is permitted to exist simply for the sake of beauty.

Her breath catches when she finds an entire area of red roses. Reminded of her mother, she wishes to rush down there and admire them up close, her fingers wrapping around the stone railings tightly.

The doorknob turns, and the bedchamber door creaks open. Whirling around, Elara grips the skirt of her nightdress, breath leaving her lungs in sharp gasps.

Cael steps inside, his eyes landing on hers across the bedchamber from the balcony. Elara freezes, her eyes wide. A brisk wind tears at her nightdress, the chill forcing her back inside the chamber. Shutting the balcony doors, she turns to face her new husband, trembling not only from the cold. They stand staring at each other for a silent moment, her frame shaking while he remains as still as a statue. Elara’s heart leaps into her throat when Cael moves, but he only enters the dressing chamber. Her gaze flies around the chamber, searching for an escape she knows she cannot find, her chest tightening with the fear of what this privacy might bring.

Breathing ceases altogether when Cael returns, carrying a thick blanket over one arm. Elara shrinks back as he approaches, her back hitting the cold glass of the balcony door. Without a single word, he offers her the fabric. Her brow furrows in confusion as she takes it, daring to look into his face. Cael only gives a sharp nod and leaves the chamber, shutting the heavy door behind him to grant her complete privacy.

Exhaling, Elara drops her head back against the glass. She clutches the blanket to her chest while her heart continues its wild rhythm, unsure how long she remains rooted to the spot. When the cold finally wins, she makes her way back to the bed, though it is a long while before sleep claims her for its own.

Before sleep can fully take her, dawn arrives.

Though her temples ache, she forces herself to sit up. A soft knock pierces the silence of the bedchamber. She freezes, expecting it to be Cael. Pulling the many layers of blankets to her chest, she calls, “Come in.”

The door opens, revealing the face of a woman who appears to be in her twenties, noticeably younger than Walker, peeking in with a gentle smile. “Good morning, Your Highness,” she says, entering the bedchamber. She wears a simple black dress that reaches below her knees, its long sleeves covering her arms, with a lighter gray buttoned vest keeping the fabric tailored to her frame. Her blonde hair rests in a neat braid, her face entirely free of wrinkles or signs of exhaustion.

Standing by Elara’s bed, she bows. “I am your maidservant, Annie Sterling. His Majesty has appointed me to oversee your household and ensure your absolute care within Riverath. I trust your journey was tolerable and I apologize for not being here last night,” her expression laces with guilt. “You were fast asleep, and it was late.”

Elara’s grip on the blankets loosens and she adjusts, sliding off the bed and giving Annie a small smile, though it aches to know Walker is no longer with her. “It is all right,” she says, pausing to pick at her nails for a moment. “The journey was sufficient, Annie.”

Annie smiles and nods. “Understandable, Your Highness. The journey must have been long, and you are undoubtedly exhausted.” She walks into the dressing chamber to select a morning gown, shaking the fabric loose before she returns. “Breakfast with the Everharts will begin in sixty minutes.”

Elara’s eyes widen, and she swallows twice before speaking. “Of course.”

Annie turns and makes her way into the dressing chamber, selecting one of Elara’s pink gowns featuring an off-shoulder neckline that flows into loose silk sleeves. Stitched glimmers and folded fabric form a subtle floral design across the bodice, complemented by a long skirt and matching light pink shoes. Returning to the main chamber, she lifts them for Elara’s approval. “Is this to your liking, Your Highness?” Her tone is sweet and professional, lacking the deep, comfortable warmth of Walker.

Elara nods and sits on the chair by the new vanity, only finding familiarity in her own things from the castle. “Yes.”

Annie sets the gown on the mattress and places the shoes beside the bed, folding the heavy blankets and arranging the pillows. Turning to Elara, Annie lifts the hairbrush and gently brushes her dark locks. Elara frowns at her reflection, hating the evidence of her sorrow still etched on her face. The muscles across her ribs still throb painfully from the restrictive structure of yesterday’s formal gown, making each breath shallow.

She wishes to take the brush and finish the task herself, yet she refrains, reluctant to appear harsh or prevent Annie from executing her duties.

“You are majestic, Your Highness,” Annie says with a warm smile, still brushing Elara’s hair. “I hope Riverath will be to your liking. It is truly amazing here.”

Elara relaxes, a quiet curiosity replacing her defensive guard. “What is amazing about it?”

Nodding, Annie focuses on brushing through Elara’s hair. “Riverath is a gentle place, Your Highness. The people are incredibly kind, and the valley becomes beautiful once the spring arrives. You will find that life moves with much more comfort here than what you may be accustomed to.”

Elara raises her eyebrows. Annie’s words seem genuine and she speaks warmly of her home, but Elara has never been one to believe someone just because their words are good. “That is wonderful,” she replies with a cautious smile, unwilling to dive too deeply into conversation with someone she will probably end up losing.

By the time her hair is finished, the pink gown is fitted comfortably around her frame, her shoes are slipped on, and a little perfume is misted onto her wrists and neck. Finally, her heavy crown is placed once again on her brow. While Annie takes her time returning the chambering jars to their rightful places, Elara turns and retrieves the steel ring from the table beside her bed.

She studies how the metal catches the morning sunlight streaming through the tall windows before forcing herself to slide the band onto her finger. With that same ringed hand, her fingers trail upward to touch the golden heart pendant resting against her collarbone.

“Enjoy your day, Your Highness.” Elara turns in time to see Annie bow. “I will return tonight,” Annie adds, heading for the door. She turns to leave, though when she opens the door, the sound of chatter and a mixture of strong smells fill the hall.

Elara turns and offers a nod at her kindness. She takes a deep breath, gathering the flowing fabric of her pink skirt, and forces herself to step past the threshold into the grand corridor.

If Elara thought the bedchamber was grand, what lies outside surpasses it. The walls and floors carry the same dark grandeur, polished and pristine. A long carpet stretches endlessly before her, deep black woven with muted gray floral patterns and bordered designs. A carpet stretches down the middle of the corridor, softening the pristine polish of the dark marble floors.

Elara’s shoes sink into it as she moves forward, the plush fibers muting the sound of her footsteps. Tall doors line the hall at even intervals, with stands holding living plants between them. Elara runs her fingers across the feathery leaves of a fern as she passes, relishing the texture of something so alive. Towering windows illuminate the corridor, and crystal chandeliers larger than any she has ever seen twinkle overhead.

Progress is slow as Elara navigates the labyrinth of unfamiliar corridors, the immense scale of the fortress quickly disorienting her. She descends a wide flight of stairs only to hit a dead end, forcing her to backtrack as frustration mounts within her chest. Her stomach growls with hunger, the physical discomfort sharpening her anxiety as the minutes slip away.

When she finally discovers the correct passageway, pairs of guards stationed at the intersections snap to attention, offering low, respectful bows. Maids carrying folded linens dip into polite curtsies, murmuring soft morning greetings to their new princess. Elara offers hesitant nods in return, her defenses thoroughly rattled by their unprompted respect as she hurries toward the dining hall.