Arin's hand snapped back from Auren's as if burned. A sudden chill swept through the warm night, colder than any autumn wind. The princess. Elyra. Her voice, soft as falling snow, carried the weight of a thousand unspoken accusations.
Arin dipped into a quick, clumsy curtsy, a village habit that felt awkward and out of place in the formal gardens. "Your Highness," she murmured, her gaze darting from Elyra's perfectly coiffed copper hair to her emerald eyes, which held a chilling stillness.
Elyra's eyes, however, didn't move from Arin's face. She lifted a delicate hand, adorned with rings that gleamed even in the dim light, and tilted her head. It was a subtle gesture, yet it commanded silence more effectively than any shouted order.
"No need for such deference, commoner," Elyra said, her voice still impossibly soft, yet edged with something sharp. "Not when you've already made yourself so... familiar."
Arin felt a hot flush creep up her neck. Familiar? She'd met the prince barely an hour ago. This was ridiculous. The nobles and their dramatic assumptions.
Before Arin could formulate a biting retort, the sound of hurried footsteps scuffed on the gravel path behind them. A young maid, breathless and pale, rushed towards them.
"Lady Arin!" the maid panted, curtsying quickly, her eyes wide with urgency. "Prince Caldan demands your presence. Immediately. In his private chambers."
Arin felt a jolt. Caldan. Now? After his cold, furious departure from the courtyard. A shiver, not entirely of fear, traced its way down her spine. This was it. The reckoning.
"Of course," Arin said, her voice surprisingly steady. She met Elyra's unwavering gaze, offering a slight, sardonic tilt of her head. "It seems my 'familiarity' extends to more than just casual garden chats. If you'll excuse me, Your Highness. Duty calls."
She didn't wait for a response, turning on her heel and following the maid, her boots crunching on the gravel. She could feel Elyra's gaze, a cold, unwavering weight on her back, even as she walked away.
Let her stare. Arin thought, a defiant spark igniting in her chest. Let them all stare. They've seen a commoner talk back to princes, call out their filth, and walk away with her head still on her shoulders. That's a better story than any of their silk-lined lies.
The maid led her quickly through dimly lit corridors, past hushed doorways and the distant murmur of court life. Arin's mind raced. Caldan. What did he want? Was it about the duel? Had he already heard? He'd seen her talking to Auren. Had that enraged him? Good. Let him be angry. It meant he was paying attention.
A prince who heals in a blink. The thought slammed into her again. Her bravado felt thin now, like old cloth. What had she done? Challenged Roen to a duel at dawn. She was fast, yes, but against dragon blood? It was a dance with death, and she'd walked onto the floor barefoot.
She glanced down at her own calloused hands. No shimmering healing here. Just the permanent marks of a life lived by wits and grit. She could run. Caldan had even suggested it. But where? Back to a life of mud and scraping by? She had tasted something else here. Danger, yes, but also a strange, exhilarating game.
No. I don't run. The stubborn core of her refused to yield. I face it. I always have.
The maid stopped before a heavy, unadorned oak door. "His Highness is within, Lady Arin." She curtsied and scurried away, clearly eager to be anywhere else.
Arin took a deep breath, the scent of expensive incense and something faintly metallic, like old blood, clinging to the air around the door. Here we go. She lifted her hand and rapped sharply on the heavy wood.
Elyra watched the commoner girl disappear into the dark archway, a knot of cold fury tightening in her stomach. Arin. So quick, so bold. A viper dressed in peasant's cloth. Her hands trembled, imperceptibly.
"You bleed for her?" Elyra's voice was soft, too soft, a whisper of ice on stone. She turned her gaze to Auren, who stood awkwardly, his injured hand still slightly outstretched.
Auren blinked, as if waking from a dream. "What—Elyra, no. I—"
"You bleed for her," she cut him off, her voice gaining a dangerous edge, though it never truly rose above a controlled murmur. "You protect her, and you hold her hand like she's something precious. And I'm expected to pretend I didn't see it."
She saw the familiar cloud darken Auren's face. The way his jaw tightened. The exhaustion. "I don't even know her!" he retorted, his voice strained. "I met her today! She was being threatened by Roen, and I—"
"—And you threw your body in front of hers like a knight from a bard's tale," Elyra finished, stepping closer, her gaze pinning him. The air around them grew heavy, thick with unspoken grievances. "Like I've never seen you do for me."
His golden eyes, usually so warm for her, hardened. "Don't twist this! You weren't in danger! Roen was ready to kill her over some petty insult. I acted on instinct."
"And where was that instinct," Elyra countered, a bitter laugh escaping her lips, "when I stood alone in front of the court last week and they laughed behind my back? When Lady Valesa called me the 'Barren Rose' and you said nothing?"
Auren flinched, running a hand through his blonde hair. He turned away, then back again, his expression a tangled mess of shame and anger. "That is not the same, Elyra. You think I wanted to stand there like that? You think I don't carry shame for every time I stayed quiet to keep the peace you begged me to help maintain?"
"I begged for dignity, not silence," she whispered, her eyes glinting in the faint moonlight. A fragile, invisible barrier rose between them, built from years of unspoken resentments.
A beat. Heavy. The fountain's murmur seemed louder, mocking them.
"You think I'm in love with her?" Auren asked, his voice low now, bitter.
Elyra's gaze slid from his face to his still-mending hand. The wound was already a faint line, barely visible. The magic of their blood. A gift denied to her in the most crucial way. "I think you looked at her like you forgot I was waiting."
He stepped closer then, heat rising behind his words, his voice sharp. "You want honesty? I'm angry. I'm tired. I just fought my own cousin to stop something cruel, and instead of asking me if I'm hurt, or why, you accuse me of betrayal? Over a girl I barely spoke to?"
"You touched her like she mattered," Elyra said, through clenched teeth, her control fraying. The unfairness of it all burned. The whispers, the empty cradle in her rooms, the crushing weight of her family's expectations. All of it pressed down on her, and he—he stood here, bleeding for a commoner he barely knew.
"Because she does!" Auren's voice was sharp now, piercing the quiet night. "She mattered in that moment. Because she was human. Just like you, Elyra. Just like me. And I didn't realize that would be a crime in your eyes."
A tense silence descended. Elyra blinked quickly, forcing back the burning behind her eyes. She wouldn't cry. Not here. Not in front of him. She had wept enough tears to fill the caldera.
"I won't apologize for being decent," Auren said, his voice quiet, furious, distant. "Not tonight. Not to you."
He turned. Started walking away, his shoulders stiff, his silhouette fading into the palace shadows.
He stopped just before the archway, his voice a low, cutting remark without turning. "You know, I thought maybe we were starting to trust each other. But I guess that only holds when I'm bleeding for you."
And then he was gone—swallowed by the shadows of the corridor, leaving Elyra alone in the scented garden.
Her breath was shallow, ragged. Her fists clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms. The lingering scent of jasmine mingled with the faint, metallic tang of blood and the bitter, acrid scent of smoke that always seemed to cling to the palace.
She stood there, unmoving, a statue of frozen grace, watching the empty archway. The wind shifted, rustling the leaves. Her world, meticulously constructed from duty and fragile hopes, felt as if it had just cracked. And the thought, cold and stark, echoed in her mind: I am alone.