Chapter 9
Chapter Eight – Elara
I thought sleep would be impossible.
The memory of Kieran's betrayal, the cold press of the blade, Hades's voice in the darkness—
it should have been enough to keep my eyes wide open until morning.
And yet...
When I woke, pale gold light streamed through the tall windows, warming the stone walls of my chamber. My body felt lighter, as if some invisible weight had been lifted in the night. The strange part wasn't the rest itself—it was how deep it had been. Safe. Like nothing could touch me.
I pushed the covers back and sat up, blinking at the sight on the chair beside the bed.
A dress.
It was the richest navy blue I had ever seen, deep as twilight, the fabric shimmering faintly in the morning light.
Silver embroidery curled in delicate patterns along the hem and bodice.
I hesitated, fingers brushing the sleeve.
The material was smooth, impossibly fine. I'd never worn anything like it.
Was it a gift? A command?
Part of me wanted to reject it—just to prove I could. But in the end, I slipped it on, the fabric cool against my skin, settling perfectly to my shape as though it had been made for me.
When I stepped into the hall, the palace seemed different in daylight. Shadows still clung to the corners, but the morning sun softened the edges.
I kept my steps light, cautious. Every so often, I'd catch the faint echo of voices from behind closed doors, or the distant sound of boots on stone. No one stopped me. No one told me where I could or couldn't go.
I turned down a long corridor lined with tall, arched windows, following it until it opened into a vast chamber.
My breath caught.
Books.
Hundreds—no, thousands—of them. Shelves stretching so high they nearly brushed the vaulted ceiling. A spiral staircase wound upward to a second tier lined in still more shelves. Sunlight poured through a circular skylight above, dust motes drifting lazily in the golden beams.
The scent of old paper and polished wood wrapped around me, warm and familiar in a way I didn't expect.
I stepped inside, the quiet pressing close around me. My fingers trailed along the spines of books older than anything I'd ever seen. Some were bound in cracked leather, their titles in languages I didn't know. Others gleamed with gold leaf, their covers smooth and untouched.
For a moment, I almost forgot where I was—or who might find me here.
And then I heard footsteps.
They were unhurried, steady, coming from somewhere behind me. I froze, hand still resting on the spine of a book, heart thudding as I waited to see who would appear from between the shelves.