The First Loss: Vaelor x Elora (Rogue X Ara Book 3)

Epilogue

Fear won that day in Ravaryn and finally snuffed out Elora’s light.

After the funeral, Alivia begged Elora to stay, but she didn’t. She couldn’t.

“I just need time,” Elora had said, her voice as hollow as her insides.

She walked out of the castle barefoot, in a strange silver silk gown she refused to remove, and for a reason not even she could explain, she took Evander with her, agreeing to his marriage proposal. They wed quickly, and that “time” she asked for turned to months, years blurring into decades.

The memories of everyone she once loved—Godrick, Alivia, Emma, Vaelor, everyone—all died on Elora’s lips, as she never spoke their names again. Not to Evander, not to Ara, not to anyone. The only person from her past who made it to her present was Evander.

With the death of Vaelor came the death of her optimism, the death of her hope.

Where once stood Elora Stirling, the carefree adopted princess turned secret captive of Vaelor Wrynwood, now stood Elora Starrin, the quiet, tightly sealed wife of General Evander.

Ara’s safety became her sole concern, and Elora refused to be in contact with anyone who had ever seen Vaelor.

She couldn’t bring herself to, as she was laced with a deep-rooted fear they’d recognize him in their daughter. She swore to herself no one would ever know, save for Alden, Ewan, and Iaso—not even Evander or Alivia. The woman who once trusted the world now trusted no one because fear had consumed her. It swallowed her whole, and she allowed it.

Evander hadn’t understood why they needed to move away upon her return, or why she wouldn’t speak of their childhood any longer, but he respected her wishes. All he’d ever wanted was to marry her, and he made the sacrifice to have her as a wife—even if she was an entirely different person than the one he’d known just a year ago.

After eight long months of near silence, he stopped asking questions entirely. Elora never gave any answers, and then, Ara was born. His one and only daughter wrapped him around her finger, and he never once questioned the speed at which Elora fell pregnant, aloud or otherwise.

Alivia and Elora never spoke again, neither reaching out to the other. The two who were once inseparable missed everything of importance—their weddings, one of love and the other of necessity, the births of their daughters, a mere year apart. When the news of Godrick’s abdication reached them, Elora considered reaching out to Alivia, sending a short letter or a simple flower or even an apple pie, but she didn’t, and then she never had the chance.

When Alivia’s daughter, also named Alivia but known as Livvy, was only seven years old, her mother, Alivia Stirling, was murdered. Godrick disappeared not long after, and it was suspected he was killed too—for money or greed or perhaps he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps Adonis came back for him, for both of them, but it was never proven. Their deaths were never investigated.

They all fell through the cracks of time and faded into the background of greater things such as the rising tension with Ravaryn and the talk of war on the horizon—later becoming the Ten Year War.

Each death was another nail in the coffin that held Elora’s heart, and she dealt with each agonizing moment in silence behind a brave, unwavering mask.

While Ara was carefully shielded from their past, Evander knew her former family, and he knew the pain their deaths caused her, but they never spoke of it. There were no shared looks or kind words or sympathy. She would never allow it, even if Evander had wanted to.

However, by Ara’s eighth birthday, Adonis had called Evander back to the Capitol to be his general and sunken his grimy claws so deep into Evander’s mind that he never even considered offering his condolences.

His mind had been warped into a strategic war zone, leaving only enough room for King Adon, Auryna, and his armies. Evander Starrin, the kind man and loving father, was killed long before his body ever was.

Livvy never learned of her family’s long royal history; she never discovered she was nearly the crown princess, next in line to rule after her mother. She, like many others, was lost to tragedy—forgotten and thrown to the wolves, the most prominent wolf being her own father. Lyren lost himself to drink in the grief of his wife’s death and twisted into the cold, cruel beast Livvy knew and hated.

As for Elora…

Her only light was Ara. With eyes so gray, they matched the stormy sky, Elora took solace in them—her sole tether to Vaelor—but Ara would never know his eyes, never know his face.

It seemed fate had decided that since Elora couldn’t remember her father’s face, neither would Ara.

For nearly twenty-seven years, she never dared to speak Vaelor’s name aloud. He was a secret she would take to her grave for the safety of their daughter, to keep her from Adrastus, from anyone who would seek to harm her.

For twenty-seven long years, Elora Wrynwood hid beneath Elora Starrin as one of the Goddess’ most valiant soldiers—braver than many, more selfless than most, more determined than all.

She was prepared to sacrifice everything, and she did.

While the peaceful realm she once viewed through beautiful, rose-tinted glasses fell around her, rebuilding itself on the blood and bones of its people, Elora was orphaned once again, left with nothing but her daughter, her dreams long turned to ash, and the silent memories of an epic love.