Chapter 14:
A Blade in the Shadows
The palace kitchens were a hive of clatter and steam, with maids and cooks preparing for a state dinner to appease the Valorian envoys. Elara stood at a wooden table, peeling apples with a small knife, her hands steady despite the turmoil in her heart. The poetry book Alaric had given her was hidden beneath her cot, its words a dangerous comfort she'd read late into the night. His words in the garden—You matter—echoed in her mind, a promise she wanted to believe but couldn't afford to trust.
She'd barely slept, haunted by the risk of their meeting and the truth she'd almost confessed: that she was the daughter of Lord Torren, a noble executed for treason years ago, her title stripped, her life reduced to servitude to survive. If the court knew, she'd be branded a traitor's heir, cast out or worse. Alaric's attention was a beacon in her shadowed world, but it was also a spotlight, drawing eyes she couldn't afford.
A shadow fell over her table, and she looked up to find Lord Cassian, his lean frame draped in a black cloak, his smile sharp as a blade. The other maids faded to the edges of the kitchen, sensing trouble. "Elara, isn't it?" he said, his voice smooth but laced with menace. "The prince's favorite maid."
Her grip tightened on the knife, but she kept her expression neutral. "I'm just a servant, my lord," she said, focusing on the apple. "Nothing more."
Cassian leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Don't play coy. I saw you with him in the garden last night. A book, secret meetings—bold for a maid with a past like yours, Lady Elara Torren."
Her heart stopped, the knife slipping and nicking her finger. Blood welled, but she barely felt it, her eyes locked on Cassian's. He knew. "You're mistaken," she said, her voice steady despite the panic clawing at her. "I'm no lady."
"Oh, but you are," he said, his smile widening. "Or were, before your father's rebellion failed. I've done my research, girl. One word to the king, and you're finished. Unless…" He paused, savoring her fear. "You help me. Spy on Alaric, report his every move. I need leverage to ensure he falls, and you'll provide it."
Elara's mind raced. Spy on Alaric? Betray the man who'd looked at her like she was more than a shadow? "I won't," she said, her voice low but firm. "I'd rather face the king than betray him."
Cassian's eyes narrowed, but his smile didn't falter. "Brave words. But bravery won't save you when I tell the court who you are. Think carefully, Elara. You have until tomorrow night to decide." He turned, his cloak sweeping as he left, leaving her trembling, the apple forgotten.
Across the palace, Alaric stood in the council chamber, enduring another grueling meeting with the Valorian envoys. Lysandra sat beside him, her composure flawless as she negotiated grain quotas, but her earlier words—Distance yourself from her—hung like a blade over his head. He'd promised to stay away from Elara, but the garden meeting had only deepened his need to see her, to protect her from Cassian's schemes.
As the meeting ended, Lysandra lingered, her gaze piercing. "You're still distracted," she said, her voice low. "I meant what I said, Alaric. End this, whatever it is, or I'll take steps to protect our alliance. Don't force my hand."
Her threat was clear, and Alaric nodded, his throat tight. "I understand," he said, but his mind was already racing to Elara. He couldn't stay away, not when Cassian's rumors were circling, not when she was in danger because of him.
That night, he found her in the servants' corridor, carrying a tray of polished silver. Her face was pale, her eyes shadowed, and he knew something was wrong. "Elara," he said, stepping into her path. "What's happened?"
She flinched, glancing around. "Not here," she whispered, leading him to a shadowed alcove. "Cassian knows who I am," she said, her voice barely audible. "He's threatening to expose me unless I spy on you. I refused, but… Alaric, he'll destroy me."
Rage surged through him, hot and sharp. "He won't touch you," he said, his voice fierce. "I'll deal with Cassian. I swear it."
Her eyes glistened, fear and something softer warring in them. "You can't fight him without proof. And if he tells the king about me—about us—it's over. For both of us."
"Then we'll find proof," Alaric said, his hand brushing hers, a reckless touch that sent a spark through him. "I won't let you face this alone."
She pulled back, clutching the tray like a shield. "You're making it worse," she said, her voice breaking. "Every time you're near me, it's another rope around my neck. Please, Alaric, stop."
But as she turned away, he saw the poetry book tucked into her apron, its corner peeking out, and he knew she hadn't let go of him either. The line between them was drawn, but neither could stay on their side—and Cassian was waiting to exploit it.