Page 79 of Lost Moon

Her brown hair spreads across the pillows and bedsheets, her eyes closed under the dim light of the hearth. The redness across her cheeks remains. No matter how many times Cael wipes her tears, they grow to stain her skin and the corners of her eyes. The sight is infuriating to him, fracturing his composure in ways he has never felt prior to this night.

Even when Maereth slashed the leather belt across his back, leaving marks that bled and ached for months, that physical torment pales in comparison to the pain of witnessing Elara break in his arms inside these walls.

He tried his best to confess only an atom of his feelings toward her. He tried his best to distract her momentarily from the pain he saw through her eyes, but it was impossible. The desire he holds for her happiness leaves him hollow when he cannot grant it.

Cael blames himself, and knows it is his fault for not being there. For being consumed in his private chamber amidst the market chaos and the growing cruelty of his stepmother. Though he wonders if her words were true. Did her parents really sell her away for wealth and power?

Knuckles turning white as he clenches his fists, he rises to his feet and exits the bedchamber, his anger growing with every step. He hates that it has to be his stepmother harming Elara. His heart sinks with fear and his mind races on how he can have all of this stop and make sure nothing gets to his father and Kaera.

It is impossible.

Cael stands, wincing at the sudden pain in his right calf. Looking down, he recalls the untreated injury from the attack. The blood remains, dried and unwiped. He had assumed the ache would fade, though it only intensifies. Forcing the discomfort aside, he exits the chamber and makes his way to his parents’ quarters, pressing his ear against the thick wood to catch any voice of the woman he despises.

Hearing only the movement of blankets, the ragged breathing of King Raelith, and a static silence, he turns around to make his way down the stairs. He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes a drop of metallic blood. He does not panic or spit it out. His bite becomes more severe, nearly tearing the inside of his mouth when he finds Queen Maereth in the dining chamber, sipping tea.

She does not say anything or glance his way, and the deliberate dismissal only fuels the fire burning within him. He marches forward to stand directly across the table from her, his eyes wide and red-rimmed. When he ensures her gaze is locked onto his, he raises his arms to sign with rigid, violent movements.

I will not allow you to get near Elara, he signs, I will not tolerate the harassment and the burden you have laid upon a princess who never asked for this cage. He intakes a breath, his teeth stained with red. I will make sure she remains with me at all times, and I will secure extra vanguards to keep you away from her. You carry the title of a queen. You might as well act like one.

He stands in front of the woman he could never face without flinching, forcing down the ancient terror that demands he keep a safe distance from her. No upcoming rumors or palace whispers will make him hesitate to protect his bride.

“How dare you speak to me like that?” Queen Maereth shouts, standing to her feet. The cup of tea sits forgotten, her knuckles turning white against her fine porcelain saucer. “You come into this hall with blood on your hands and dare to lecture me on my duties? You are an ungrateful, silent curse upon this house!”

Cael slams his palms against the wood, letting the force sting his scarred hands. He forces his arms back up, continuing to sign with a wild speed that shatters her composure. Elara is innocent. She is not the architect of your misery, and if you hurl another insult at her, I will strip the remaining authority you hold over the high council myself.

“You dare speak to the queen this way!” Maereth’s fingers curl into fists. The knights and guards along the wall exchange nervous glances, but they say nothing, staying out of the dispute. She glances at them, lowering her voice to disguise her words so only Cael will know the meaning. “Have you forgotten the lessons I taught you in your youth?”

Visions of his stepmother beating his back until he bled flash across Cael’s mind, but he lifts his chin. Everyone in the palace understands his language. The knights in the hall will know the secret he finally exposes to them, and he no longer cares who learns the truth.

You mean the years you took a belt to my back? Cael signs, his movements sharp. No, I have not forgotten. I still have the scars to remind me every day. He cuts through her shouting by lifting his arms back into the space. I will not allow you to treat Elara the same way. I command the vanguards now. Say another word against her, and I will remove your signet ring and bar you from all future council meetings.

His stepmother's eyes dart around the hall, tracking the men who watch the conversation with furrowed brows. They witness the confession of what she did to his childhood frame. “You dare accuse me of such malice? Your queen? You forget your place. You may be crown prince, but I still hold far more power than you.”

Cael exhales, his hands slicing through the air. Not for much longer. I let you escape consequences for the sake of my father and the kingdom, but I am done trying to keep the peace with your presence. That complacency died the moment you targeted my wife. If you even speak to her again, I will follow through on my promise to strip you of your authority.

He does not give her another chance to respond. Whirling around, he moves to leave.

“This is not over, Cael.” The queen’s voice drops into a low register. The sound sends chills down Cael’s spine, but he does not turn back.

Cael passes the silent, wide-eyed vanguards stationed along the perimeter, unbothered by the public exposure of his past. The only matter of importance is that a permanent boundary has been drawn.

He climbs the grand stone staircase with a quickening pace, the quiet of the upper corridors swallowing the echo of his footsteps. Pushing the door open, he steps back into the sanctuary where Elara remains seated on the edge of the mattress. Her tired eyes lift to meet his and the volatile storm that had consumed him all morning finally begins to fade.

Cael pauses his steps, studying the returning heaviness beneath her eyes and the red fading from her cheeks. He can tell she has not slept, but instead of focusing on the thick second volume of the sign language book in her lap, he drops to his knees to meet her gaze.

I am sorry for the cruelty you endured, Cael signs, his movements gentle while he searches her face. My stepmother speaks with malice, but her words regarding your presence are false. I will remain close to your side from this moment onward. She will not threaten your peace again.

Elara’s fingers tighten against the cover of the book. “Thank you, Cael,” she whispers. “It is not your fault. I do not expect an apology from you. I think I should be the one apologizing. Your stepmother insults you because of me. She attempts to hurt you and Kaera because of my presence here.”

Cael shakes his head, moving closer to her. No, do not say that. Her behavior has matched this pattern for years. Because she is my stepmother, I should know how to handle her actions. Except I do not. I have never stood against her. He holds her gaze, his expression softening. Not until now.

Elara wipes a tear with her finger to check its descent. She takes a breath to stabilize her frame, looking down at the heavy binding in her lap. “I do not want to remain blind to what passes between you anymore. I want to understand your thoughts when she targets us. I want to learn the lines of this text. I have studied some sentences, but Mister Elias tells me your signs are different. Your movements are full, direct, and I want to learn that meaning.”

Cael remains still, his expression unreadable. Taking a step forward, and then another, he brings his finger to gently guide Elara’s chin to anchor her gaze on his. She does not react. Her eyes do not widen. Her lips do not part. Her cheeks do not redden like he usually witnesses, when he finds himself wanting to adore her further.

He pulls his finger away and signs. Sleep. You need it.

The tip of her nose and cheeks redden with something she is holding back. Shaking her head, Elara finally speaks again. “No. I cannot sleep. Though I want to make use of my time. I do not have the strength to leave this bedchamber, so I want to learn your language.” She inclines her head, as if she is reassuring herself that she truly means her words. “I need your help.”