Chapter 10
Elara
Elara had never been much of a flirt, but like any skill, she figured she could learn it.
For her education in mastering the art of playful banter and charming smiles, she turned to her most faithful allies—books.
The worn leather of the tomes pressed against her chest offered a familiar comfort.
Several days after the disaster of a council meeting, she was browsing the shelves of the palace’s immodest library for her favorite romance novels.
A chill permeated the air around the shelves.
They no longer held the cozy scent of aged paper and binding glue, instead smelling faintly of dust and neglect.
The servants had turned their attention to preparing for the tournament and the ball celebrating her engagement.
With the last manual stacked on top of the teetering tower in her arms, a sudden, sharp pain tugged at her heartstrings.
Once, she had dared hope she might fall in love.
In the distant future, when she was ready, she would have become engaged of her own accord.
Even with a politically motivated marriage, she would have chosen her partner and at least gotten to know him first. Under more conventional circumstances, she would have been able to ask her mother for advice and support, or giggle with Thalia as she mocked her awkward attempts at flirting over breakfast. But that might never happen now.
Elara shoved those thoughts into a corner at the back of her mind, instead doubling down on her efforts to seduce Caelan and somehow convince him to help her with her magic.
He was clearly attracted to her. Despite his poor behavior, he’d promised to protect her family and saved her from embarrassment at the council meeting.
Now that he knew about her secret essence affinity, maybe he could teach her how to control her power. Manipulating him was her best shot at concealing her ability and finding her family—while she figured out a way to end their engagement with minimal political backlash.
The latest novel to find a home in her stack was one of Thalia’s favorites. Her fingers skimmed its spine. For the dozenth time since the invasion, the weight of the last few days’ worth of events washed over her. A surge of emotions threatened to consume her.
Tears streamed down her face as she sank to her knees, abandoning her pile of books and becoming a puddle on the floor. Alone, she wept for all that she was about to risk, to lose. If she failed, she would give up her own future, her own happiness, to save them.
Light crept through the windows as the sun rose, shooting gem-colored rays across the floor in front of her. Her tears fell onto the mosaic tile, shimmering like little diamonds themselves.
How could something born from such grief look so beautiful? she wondered.
“You look beautiful when you cry,” a familiar voice murmured nearby.
Elara raised her head slowly to find Caelan leaning against one of the many large bookcases, arms folded, watching her.
What’s he doing here?
She rose shakily to her feet, and he stepped toward her, offering his arm to steady her. She took it, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. Elara wasn’t sure if she imagined it, but a tiny jolt of electricity buzzed up her arm where his skin brushed against hers.
Thump. The top book of her nearby precarious pile toppled to the ground. Both she and Caelan stooped to retrieve it at the same moment, resulting in their foreheads colliding.
“Ow!” She rubbed her hand against her head.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, raking a hand through his hair and gathering up the books for her. “Doing some light reading?” he asked, gesturing to the stacks of books and her little table in the nearby alcove.
She nodded and headed over to the nook where she had been . . . researching. He followed her and acted the gentleman as he pulled her chair out for her before settling into the seat across from her. His eyes traced a couple of the titles, and though he smirked, he didn’t comment on them.
Despite her better judgement, Elara didn’t ask him to leave.
Loud sniffles escaped from her, but she resisted the urge to wipe her nose with her forearm—a habit her mother loathed.
She watched Caelan, the silence between them heavy.
A shimmer at his hip caught her eye, the bronze stag on the ornate pommel of his sword winking at her.
“Admiring my sword? Or contemplating killing me with it?” he asked with a mischievous grin.
“Perhaps a little of both,” she said. “Why do you even need a sword?”
“It’s important for a captain to be well-rounded,” he said, patting the hilt of his weapon.
Too bad Father didn’t feel the same about his daughters, or I might actually know how to protect myself.
“What brings you to the library?” she asked. If she showed an interest in him, maybe he’d warm to her.
“I wanted to see you,” he said simply. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “My men told me you were in here.” He pointed with his chin to the guard positioned in front of a nearby shelf.
Elara had grown so used to her new escorts that she had forgotten Silas was there.
“I didn’t think that you might be having a, uh, private moment.” Caelan cleared his throat before continuing. “So, you like to read?”
Why is he acting so interested in me? “Yes, I do. And you?” No matter, I’ll take it.
“Absolutely,” he replied. “History mostly. A little alchemy.” He shrugged. “I like to learn.” He smiled broadly, but when she said nothing, the brightness in his eyes dimmed. “I . . . I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s been a tiresome day, and I don’t really know what to say to you.”
Elara took a deep breath before responding. “ ‘I’m sorry’ is a decent start.”
Caelan nodded, eyes shining and lips dipping into a frown. “I am sorry about your family, Elara. Look, I want us to make the best of this situation. We’re going to be married. We can at least get to know each other . . .”
There, she thought. I can use that.
“How can we make the best of this when I don’t trust you? And what makes you think you can trust me?” she asked, keeping her tone light, while leaning back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest.
Caelan rolled his eyes. “How many noble couples in this court do you think actually trust each other?” He grinned at her, and his eyebrow arched. “Besides, the only thing that matters is how fantastic we look together.”
Elara couldn’t resist smiling at that. Still, she threw a ball of crumpled-up parchment at him. It found its mark, striking him square in the face before landing on the table in front of him. The look of surprise on his face, a mixture of disbelief and glee, was immensely satisfying.
“That’s the spirit.” He chuckled. “You should know,” he began, serious once more, “I didn’t know what my father had planned for your family.
I was told that we were coming here to introduce me to the council and bargain for this .
. . arrangement.” He gestured to her and then to himself.
“If I had known what he was really planning”—he shuddered ever so slightly—“I never would have agreed to come with him.”
“Then why did you help him?” Elara asked.
Caelan’s eyes flashed to Silas still lurking nearby.
What are you so afraid of? she thought. His father—likely using spies to monitor their behavior—scared him enough to make him cautious with his words.
“My father is a powerful man. We’ll all be better off once he gets what he wants.” His eyes grew darker.
“A royal wedding?” she asked.
“As a start. You and your family will be safer once we wed and my father has gained the political standing afforded him by this alliance,” he said.
Elara nodded—she’d suspected as much. Violent men often got what they wanted in this court. “It would have been simpler for him to just kill us all.”
Caelan balked at that, the blood draining from his face. He looked toward the ground, suddenly seeming to find the tile pattern more interesting than their current conversation.
“I’m glad he didn’t,” he whispered to the floor. He looked up at her from under his full lashes. Desire burned in that gaze, causing Elara’s stomach to fill with butterflies. Butterflies with blades for wings.
“So . . . we get to know each other?” she asked, leaning forward a bit too far, ensuring her cleavage was on display.
He nodded.
Now is as good a time as any. Elara took a deep breath. “I need your help, Caelan.”
“Anything.” His eyes sparkled.
She glanced at Silas, who had busied himself with a book. “Teach me to hide my magic. We both know it’s dangerous, and I feel so helpless,” she admitted.
He leaned forward. “You are not as helpless as you think,” he pointed out. “The way you fought back that night . . . And the council? I’ve never seen anyone look at your father—or mine—the way they looked at you.”
She snorted. “Even after you had to drag me out of the meeting?”
His brow furrowed. “No one even noticed. All the courtiers were chattering about the heiress of Serendith coming into her own power. They adore you.”
Only on the surface. “It won’t take long for them to realize how misplaced their faith in me is, especially with the realm in your father’s hands,” she insisted.
“I need you to help me with”—Elara ran her hand over the edge of a blank piece of parchment—“this.” She felt the irritating sting of the paper slicing at the sensitive flesh between her thumb and index finger.
Blood swelled to the surface. She held her hand out for Caelan to see the skin knit back together seamlessly.
Caelan’s gaze flitted between her hand and face, his lips slightly parted.
“It’s happening faster than before,” she whispered. “I won’t be able to hide it for much longer without your help. I need to learn more about it. Maybe how to control it? If your father finds out—”
Lord Stormrider’s lust for power could drive him to turn the rest of the court against her family. Liar, Caelan had called her. The courtiers would kill for far less.
“He won’t find out,” Caelan said. “And if he does, I’ll protect you. I swear it.” He placed his hand over hers, intertwining their fingers and squeezing her palm gently. “You’re my responsibility now, Elara. Mine. I’ll help you.”
Elara was speechless at his declaration. She didn’t want to belong to any man, but . . .
His. Her heart raced. Maybe it’s a trick, to get me to let my guard down.
After staring at her for another moment, he offered her a small smile. “Are you looking forward to the tournament?”
“What do you think?” she asked, grimacing.
He laughed, the sound rich and easy. “If nothing else, it’ll give you a chance to see your handsome new tutor in action.”
She couldn’t help the smile that stretched across her face. Maybe you’ll get hit with a stray arrow.
“Well,” he said, “I shall leave you to your reading. We can start working on this”—he kissed her hand where she had sliced it—“after the tournament.”
With that, he stood up, gave her a quick bow, and walked away, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the stone pillars holding up the library’s ceiling.
Elara wiped her hand on her skirt. If he can teach me how to harness my new ability, I can stay safe. I can get him to trust me. All I have to do is play along.