Chapter 11:
A Gift and a Secret
The palace library was a sanctuary of silence, its towering shelves heavy with the weight of Eldoria's history. Alaric stood among them, the scent of leather and ink grounding him as he scanned the titles. His fingers traced a slim volume of poetry, its cover embossed with vines, a book he'd loved as a boy for its tales of love and rebellion. It was a reckless choice, but after the festival—after Elara's trembling voice in the storeroom, warning him to be careful—he wanted to give her something real, something that said he saw her, not just as a maid but as a woman with a mind and a heart.
He'd spent the morning dodging Lysandra's icy glances and his father's pointed questions about the festival rumors. Lord Cassian's whispers had spread like wildfire, painting Alaric as a prince too frivolous for the throne, and Elara as a scheming servant. The court's scrutiny was suffocating, but Alaric couldn't stay away from her, not when every thought led back to their dance, her warmth, her words about the commoners' lives.
He wrapped the book in plain cloth, tying it with a simple cord, and slipped it into his cloak. Finding Elara was trickier now; the servants' quarters were watched, Cassian's allies lurking like hawks. He waited until dusk, when the palace settled into a lull before dinner, and headed to the lower halls where the maids prepared linens for the next day's feast.
Elara was there, folding tablecloths in a small chamber lit by a single lantern. Her auburn hair was pinned loosely, a strand falling across her cheek as she worked. She looked up as he entered, her hazel eyes widening with alarm. "Your Highness," she said, curtsying quickly. "You can't keep coming here. It's not safe."
"I know," Alaric said, closing the door softly behind him. "But I needed to see you." He pulled the book from his cloak and held it out. "For you. A thank you… for the note, for opening my eyes."
Elara stared at the package, her hands stilling on the linens. "A book?" Her voice was a mix of surprise and wariness. "Why?"
"Because you're more than they see," he said, his voice low, earnest. "You speak of stories, of the people's hopes. I thought you'd like this one. It's poetry—about freedom, love, things that matter."
She hesitated, then took the book, her fingers brushing his as she unwrapped it. Her eyes softened as she traced the cover, a flicker of wonder breaking through her guard. "I taught myself to read," she said quietly, almost to herself. "After… everything. Books were my escape."
The confession hung between them, a glimpse into her past that made Alaric's chest tighten. "After what?" he asked, stepping closer. "Elara, who are you, really?"
Her gaze snapped up, fear flashing in her eyes. "Just a maid," she said, too quickly. "That's all you need to know." But her voice trembled, and he saw the weight of secrets she carried, secrets that made her warning about Cassian all the more dangerous.
"You're not just a maid," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "Not to me. I don't care what the court thinks, or my father, or—"
"You should care," she cut in, her tone sharp. "You're the crown prince, Alaric. Your choices ripple outward. If Cassian uses me to hurt you, it's not just me who suffers—it's Eldoria, Valoria, the peace you're fighting for."
Her words echoed Lysandra's warnings, but they hit harder coming from her, laced with a fear that wasn't just for herself. He wanted to argue, to tell her he'd protect her, but the truth of her words stopped him. "I won't let him hurt you," he said instead, his voice fierce. "I promise."
She shook her head, clutching the book to her chest. "Promises don't change the world we live in. Thank you for this, truly, but… please, stay away. For both our sakes."
Before he could respond, she slipped past him, her footsteps fading down the hall. Alaric stood alone, the lantern's flicker casting shadows that felt like the walls closing in. The book had been a gesture, a bridge, but her fear had reminded him of the chasm between them—prince and maid, duty and desire.
As he returned to the upper halls, he didn't see the figure lingering in the shadows—Lord Cassian, his eyes glinting with malice, a smile curling his lips. The prince's gift had been noted, another thread in the web Cassian was weaving, one that would soon ensnare them all.