Page 45 of Lost Moon

They arrive within the privacy of a small sitting chamber in the eastern wing, where a roaring fire crackles within the hearth to push back the winter chill. As they walk inside, Cael’s mind reels, but not with the confrontation they just left. He is accustomed to the domestic warfare of his family. What he cannot understand is why, whenever Elara is nearby, any negative emotion melts away.

His world is different when she is around, and he is not certain if that truth soothes or terrifies him.

He is not certain how they end up in the small sitting chamber in the east wing. He did not plan to take them anywhere in particular, but his feet cut a path to the sanctuary and Elara followed with hesitation. Cael swallows, runs his hand through his hair, then yanks on the lapels of his coat to smooth the fabric down. Elara looks up at him with expectant eyes, the light from the nearby hearth flickering across her face. Reaching out, he gestures to one of the plush armchairs by the fire, inviting her to rest.

Elara sits, and Cael pulls on a woven cord to summon a maid. Once the servant enters and receives his instructions for tea, she departs, leaving them alone. To his surprise, Elara is holding a small, vibrant green booklet like the one he lost, her posture nervous. “I purchased this in the market,” she says, holding it out to him as he steps in front of her chair. “You lost your other booklet, and I do not want you writing on your skin, so I obtained this for you.”

Cael’s mouth parts. He slowly raises his left arm as he reaches out to accept the gift. To touch the pristine surface of the deep forest-green leather, he uses his right hand to peel back the thick black glove from his left hand. The motion exposes his severely swollen knuckles and the jagged, raw cuts still caked with dark granary soot, the silver ring shining tight against his injured skin.

As his ruined fingers brush across the cool cover of the new booklet, the painful ringing from Queen Maereth’s loud voice fades from his mind. Profound comfort fills him at Elara’s gesture. She does not judge him for his silence. She might even accept it.

Cael cradles the vibrant green volume against his chest, the texture a soothing, protective weight against his wounds. Looking into her deep green eyes, he does not attempt to sign or reach for a script. He simply offers a single, slow incline of his head, feeling a crack in the invisible barrier that separates them.

Except he keeps his hand there, his finger nearly brushing against Elara. the feeling does not burn. Elara’s lips part, her gaze softening. Cael’s posture relaxes at the touch, grounding them both in a shared warmth before she draws her hand back to her dress.

“Is it alright if I can sit with you?” She asks, voice still low.

Cael inclines his head and scoots right by the other end of the bench, while Elara sits by the other one. Her head tilts downward, looking down at her fingers playing with the material of her dress

“Your mother… or Maereth was wrong,” Elara admits, her voice cutting the silence.

Cael turns his head, surprised by her sudden honesty.

“Everything she has said was not right. It is painful to bear such words from your own parent,” she continues. “What you did was right. Your entrance into the Council chamber and your sternness.” A pause, swallowing a chunk of emotions down her throat. “If I were you and had a parent who I cared deeply for, I will yell with shock and concern. Rushing around like I have gone mad.”

He remains still, listening to her attentively. Elara’s opening of her words and admitting some of her relatable struggles ease something in Cael. it is evident both of them struggle with their family. Put on a show only for their title. Perhaps misunderstood too.

As the afternoon shadows grow longer, the distant sound of heavy boots echoing near the top of the palace stairs indicates that a guard or a servant is approaching to look for them. Hearing the disturbance, Cael quickly slips the small green volume deep inside the secret inner pocket of his structured vest, hiding it from the rest of the palace. He looks up and locks his eyes onto Elara’s, sharing a knowing glance. They step inside together, their distance growing closer that their brush constantly brushes against each others, though neither of them creates distance.

He looks at her one last time, the hidden gift and his ruined hand turning into a boundary that the rest of the court can never reach.

XIX

DUTY OF A PRINCESS

E

Elara checks on the winter camellias.

Studying the frozen soil intently, she waits as if patience alone can encourage the first signs of green to emerge. Witnessing no significant change, she turns toward the scattered lenten roses, their colors providing the solitary accompaniment to the garden. No gardener appears, no Cael, no Kaera, and no watchful court stares down from the high terraces. Now provides the opportunity to speak with her mother, an intimacy denied to her since her arrival.

Bringing her hands together and intertwining her fingers in a tight, protective grip, Elara presses her lips against her thumbs. She closes her eyes, letting a sharp, freezing breath fill her chest before she whispers into the quiet space. “Mother, I miss you.”

Her voice breaks on the final word, the sound thin and fragile against the vastness of the courtyard. She swallows hard, forcing her throat to stabilize as she touches the cold gold links of the necklace resting against her collarbone. The metal is freezing against her skin, an icy, physical anchor to a memory that refuses to fade. She opens her eyes to look into the deep center of a pale winter blossom, its fragile layers catching the early morning light.

“I have not forgotten about you,” she murmurs, her knuckles straining against each other as her grip tightens. “Your necklace and this grand garden grant me with little colors remind me of you every passing second. But I am afraid, Mother. I do not know how to be a princess here. The duties I must fulfill... I am afraid I will be judged by the advisors simply for asking how to fulfill them.”

She exhales, a pale cloud of mist flowering in the winter air before dissipating. Her thoughts drift to the previous night. A small smile softening the corners of her lips. “Kaera… she is an amazing princess. An amazing person. She is bright just as you were, confident and gentle. She is the only person who reminds me of good in this stone fortress. Now that Mistress Walker is not here with me, and despite me having a new maid assigned to my chambers, I find myself trusting Kaera and King Raelith more than I thought I would.”

Cael appears in her head. The sudden memory of his silhouette standing before her in the forest mist pauses her prayer entirely, his intense storm-grey eyes flashing behind her eyelids. She shakes her head to clear the vision, her heartbeat quickening.

“Cael, my husband, he is… confusing,” she admits to the silent petals, her shoulders losing their tension as her body eases. “He has not harmed me in any manner once. He brought me a wonderful dress, offered me his coat, and he accompanies and helps me at all times before I even think to ask.” A pause interrupts the soft prayer, before she murmurs, “Better than father could ever be. I am only ever grateful to be away from him.”

Elara recalls Cael’s poems and the fact that they are directed to another woman. Her limbs falter, her balance nearly giving way. She stands up, her fingers uncurling as she lets her hands drop to her sides, staring into the purple tint of the lenten roses. She realizes now why she stands out here in the freezing dirt. She is not throwing a generic prayer out to the heavens or the grand history of the realm. This world has treated her like a political pawn, a piece of Veyrenn currency traded to protect a border.

She is praying to her mother because her mother is the only piece of absolute, uncorrupted goodness she ever possessed. She wants to move on from her grief, to find an internal solace rooted in her mother's memory, rather than spending her days stranded in this palace waiting for the petals of her own life to fade.

She returns to the palace to focus on what the world will bring.