CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
WILLIAM
The night was quiet save for the hum of the torches above the front towers. My shift had ended, yet my thoughts refused to rest.
Elara. Or rather, Princess Iris.
The name felt heavy on my tongue, like a truth I had never asked to taste. I had stood there for hours, staring into the dark, but every time I tried to push her from my mind, she returned. The memory of her voice. Her smile. The way she looked at me when she lied.
My stomach twisted. I clenched my jaw, trying to force the thought away. The sweet, soft-spoken healer I thought I knew had been a lie from the start. I had opened up to her, let her in, and all the while she had been the one person in this kingdom I was sworn to protect above all else.
The sound of footsteps pulled me from my thoughts. Another guard approached, nodding to signal the change of shift. I gave a brief nod in return and stepped aside, barely trusting my voice to speak.
The corridor was still when I walked back toward the barracks. My boots echoed against the stone floor, slow and heavy. The air felt thicker the farther I went, as if the castle itself was watching. My anger burned low and steady, but beneath it, something worse
lingered. Hurt.
Every step hurt more than it should have.
I had cared for her. Not the princess. Not the heir to the throne. Just her. The girl who laughed by the river. The one who read from an old book and looked at me like I was something more than a knight.
Now I couldn’t tell which parts of her were real.
When I reached the end of the corridor, the barrack doors came into view. I was too lost in thought to notice anything at first, too caught in the ache of what I had just learned. Then I stopped.
She was there.
At first, I thought the light was playing tricks on me. But then she moved slowly, and the torchlight caught her face.
Princess Iris.
The title felt strange even in my head. It didn’t fit her the way Elara did. But she stood in front of the door, pale in the torchlight, her long white gown brushing the stone floor. Her hair was loose and slightly tangled, and her cheeks were streaked with what looked like dried tears.
For a long moment, neither of us moved. I couldn’t. My pulse quickened, and my chest tightened with something I couldn’t name. The part of me that still ached for her fought the part that wanted to turn away.
“William,” she said quietly. Her voice was soft, broken at the
edges.
Hearing it again did something to me. It shouldn’t have, but it did. I looked at her, but the words wouldn’t come. The anger that had felt clear hours ago was tangled now, dulled by the sight of her.
She took a hesitant step closer, her fingers twisting in the fabric
of her gown. “Please,” she said. “Just listen to me.”
Her eyes were red and tired, but there was something in them. Something that looked too much like hurt. It made it hard to look away.
I drew in a slow breath, steadying myself. “You shouldn’t be here, Princess.”
She flinched at the word. “Don’t call me that. Not when it’s just
us.”
My jaw tightened. “That’s who you are, isn’t it?”
Her lips parted, as if she wanted to argue, but she didn’t. The silence stretched between us, filled only by the sound of the torches crackling along the wall.
For a heartbeat, it felt like the river again. Quiet. Heavy. Uncertain.
Then she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “I had to come. I couldn’t let it end like that.”
I looked down at her. The torchlight caught the tears on her cheeks, turning them to glass.
Part of me thought I should feel glad to see her like this. She had lied, after all. She had taken the truth and turned it into something I could never trust again. If anyone else had done it, I would have wanted them to feel the same pain they caused.
But that part of me didn’t exist. Not when it came to her.
She lifted her eyes to mine, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry, William. I care about you. I like you. That’s why I lied. I was afraid you’d look at me differently. But that’s no excuse for what I’ve done. Please, forgive me.”
The sound of her voice, small and desperate, pulled something sharp inside my chest. I wanted to believe her. Saints, I wanted to. But I couldn’t. Not yet.
I took a slow breath, my hands curling at my sides. “You lied to
me,” I said quietly. “Every time we met. Every word you said came from a life you hid.”
She swallowed hard, her tears falling faster now. “I know. And I hate myself for it.”
I looked away, my jaw tight. “You made me think I knew you. You made me believe I met someone I genuinely cared about. You made me believe everything was real.”
“It was,” she said quickly. “It still is.”
I shook my head. “You don’t get to say that. Not after keeping the truth from me.”
Her lip trembled, but she said nothing. The silence that followed
felt cold, heavy.
I drew a slow breath, steadying the anger that still burned beneath my ribs. I wanted it to stay. It was easier to hold onto anger than everything else. The hurt, the disbelief, the way her voice still clung to my name like it meant something.
I kept my tone level. “You’re the princess of Elarion. I’m a knight sworn to serve your father. Whatever this was between us, it ends here.”
The words came out quieter than I intended, but they cut all the same.
Her eyes widened. She took a step toward me. “William, please—”
“Go,” I said, barely above a whisper.
For a heartbeat, she didn’t move. Her breathing hitched, and I saw the way her hands tightened at her sides as if she wanted to reach for me but didn’t dare.
Then, slowly, she turned.
Her gown swept across the stone, soft and silent, like the ghost of something I had already lost.
When she disappeared down the corridor, the quiet returned, heavier than before. I stood there, every muscle in my body tense, my hands trembling despite how tightly I clenched them.
It should have been easier to breathe without her. It should have felt cleaner, simpler, knowing I’d done what was right.
It didn’t.
The anger still burned, but beneath it there was something worse. An ache that refused to leave