CHAPTER SIXTEEN
IRIS
The moonlight spilled through the window, pale and cold against the floor. I leaned against the frame, my forehead resting lightly on the glass. The castle was silent at this hour. Even the guards’ footsteps had faded from the corridor.
It was well past midnight. I hadn’t joined my father for dinner, and he hadn’t sent for me. No tray. No servant knocking softly at the door. Nothing. He hadn’t cared whether I ate or starved.
My fists curled at my sides. The thought stung more than I wanted to admit.
All night, my mind had been turning over the same thing, the marriage, the threats, and William. How I would tell him the truth. What he would think when he learned who I really was. Would he look at me differently? Would he stop looking at me at all?
The thought made my chest feel tight again, but before I could lose myself in it, a low growl sounded beneath the fabric of my nightgown.
I froze, then let out a quiet sigh. My stomach. Of course.
I tried to ignore it, folding my arms across my chest, but the growl came again, louder this time. I closed my eyes for a moment, defeated.
“Fine,” I muttered softly to myself.
Pushing away from the window, I slipped into my slippers and pulled a light pink shawl around my shoulders. The fire had long died out, leaving the air cool against my skin. I cracked open the door and glanced down the hall.
Empty.
The corridor stretched quiet and still, lit only by a few weak torches. Their flames flickered low, brushing the walls with faint orange light. I walked slowly at first, my footsteps soft against the stone, careful not to wake the guards that sometimes patrolled this side of the castle.
The air smelled faintly of wax and smoke. My shadow moved beside me, long and thin. I turned down the last passage toward the kitchens, where the smell of bread and herbs still lingered from the evening meal.
The door creaked softly as I pushed it open. Inside, the warmth was faint but there. A few coals glowed in the hearth, and the tables were cleared, everything neat and still.
No servants. No guards. Just the hush of the night.
I stepped inside, my fingers brushing the edge of one table as I passed. The wood felt cool beneath my touch. A half loaf of bread sat on a tray, forgotten. I reached for it, more out of habit than hunger.
The air shifted.
It wasn’t loud, just the faintest sound at first, leather against
stone. Slow, deliberate steps. Heavy enough to belong to armor.
My breath caught. My hand froze mid-reach. The quiet suddenly felt too deep, like the room itself was holding its breath with me.
“Elara?”
The sound of my false name broke the silence. His voice was low, steady, unmistakable.
My pulse stumbled. I turned slowly toward the sound.
He stood near the edge of the shadows, his armor catching what little light there was. His helm was still on, the metal dull in the fire’s glow, but I didn’t need to see his face. I knew that stance. That voice. That stillness.
William.
My chest tightened. The room felt smaller all at once. I tried to steady my breathing, to sound calm even as my pulse thudded hard in my throat. “What are you doing here?”
He stepped closer, the metal of his boots soft against the stone. His voice came even beneath the helm. “The captain ordered me to patrol the kitchens tonight. Make sure everything’s in order.” He paused, his head tilting slightly. “And you? What are you doing in the castle this late?”
My throat went dry. “Oh, I—uh—sleep here,” I said quickly. “In the barracks. With the other healers. Yeah.”
The words tumbled out far too fast. Saints, it was such a terrible lie. I could almost hear Raven groaning in my head.
I forced a smile, hoping he wouldn’t notice how nervous I sounded. “I came here to find something to eat. The captain said it was alright.”
He shifted slightly, the faint sound of armor moving breaking the quiet. “The captain said that?”
“Yes,” I said, nodding too quickly. “He... he knows how much I work.”
There was a moment of silence. I could feel his eyes on me through the narrow slit of his helm. The longer it went on, the warmer my cheeks felt.
Finally, he spoke. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”
My breath caught. “What?”
He took a step closer, his tone softer now. “You start talking too fast when you’re hiding something.”
I stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or run. “I’m not hiding anything,” I managed.
“Right,” he said, the faintest hint of a smile in his voice. “Then I suppose I should let you eat before you faint from all the honest work.”
The corner of my mouth lifted despite myself. “Maybe you should.”
He reached past me, grabbed a small loaf from the counter, and held it out. “Here.”
I hesitated before taking it, my fingers brushing the cool edge of
his gauntlet. “Thank you.”
He nodded once. “You’re welcome.”
I took a small bite, the bread soft and faintly sweet on my tongue. The silence pressed around us, gentle but full.
When I looked up, really looked at him, my breath caught. The firelight flickered against his armor, catching in the lines of his shoulders and the curve of his jaw beneath the helm. His presence filled the room in a quiet way, steady and certain.
And all I could think about was the lie between us.
He had been nothing but kind. Patient. Trusting. And I had met that with half-truths and fear.
The thought stung.
I set the loaf down on the counter and drew a slow breath. “William,” I said, barely above a whisper.
He turned slightly toward me. “Yes?”
My throat tightened. “I—I um…”
The words refused to come. My heart began to pound harder, each beat loud enough that I was sure he could hear it. My palms felt damp. I tried again, but my voice faltered, caught somewhere between my chest and my throat.
He tilted his head. “Elara?”
I couldn’t do it. Not here. Not like this. The truth felt too heavy, too dangerous. I could already see the look that might cross his face once he knew who I really was. A knight’s loyalty belonged
to the crown, and the crown was my father.
I looked down at my hands, my breath unsteady. “Um… nothing,” I said quietly. “It’s nothing.”
He watched me for a moment, and though I couldn’t see his expression beneath the helm, I felt the weight of his gaze. Then he gave a short nod. “Alright.”
The tension settled again, softer now but still charged with everything left unsaid. I picked up the loaf, pretending to eat, even though my stomach had knotted tight.
Tomorrow, I told myself. I’ll tell him tomorrow. He deserves to know.
But even as I whispered it in my head, I wasn’t sure I would.