Chapter 31
Elara
Sera was reading by the fireplace in Caelan’s chamber when Elara came in to take over. She looked up from her book, and Caelan stirred, sitting up in the lavish bed.
“Thank the stars you’re awake. How are you feeling?” Elara sat on the edge of his bed, caressing his cheek. The heat of his skin was an inferno against her hand. She procured more of Ursa’s potion and forced him to drink it.
“Like I want a rematch.” He smiled half-heartedly, sputtering from the bitter-smelling liquid.
Elara’s nose wrinkled. “Not funny. What was that?” she asked. “Why was he so enraged? And how did he find out about the baby?”
“Should I . . . ?” Sera got up from her chair and gestured to the door.
“No, please stay,” Elara said. Though the vision of the wedding night left Elara wary, a rapport had blossomed between them over the last few weeks, and Elara sensed Sera possessed valuable information, despite her lingering doubts.
Sera nodded but cast a quick nervous glance at Caelan.
If they were to become genuine friends, Elara supposed it was time for them to be open with each other, even if that meant her making the first move to earn Sera’s trust.
Caelan cleared his throat. “Elara,” he began.
“I don’t know how he found out. My father was upset that you and I had consummated our relationship prior to the wedding night.
And that we lost the child . . . He is likely worried that you won’t be able to conceive an heir.
” His words were simple, logical, but they cut at her like knives.
“Who does he think he is?” she hissed. “I am the future queen of Serendith—not some pawn in his schemes and certainly not some broodmare!” She marched over to the stained glass window, the panes of red mimicking the haze that covered her vision.
Leaning against the windowsill, she turned to face them.
“He has no right to take my life from me—nor my throne. Certainly not my future children.”
Sera stood and placed a supportive hand on her shoulder. “No. He doesn’t.”
“We have to stop him,” Caelan agreed. He and Sera shared another look, and the raw fear in their eyes transformed into grim determination.
“How?” Elara asked. “He may not have the right, but he certainly has the power. My family is gone, my father’s forces are scattered, my home is a prison.
” Her gaze fell upon Caelan. He already knew this, but it felt different voicing it, especially to the one she loved.
To the ones whose efforts had made her pain possible.
Caelan, a deep sadness clouding his eyes, replied, “Yes, but he is a madman. The move he made on the throne wasn’t based on sound political strategy.”
Sera nodded. “Lord Stormrider spoke to his inner circle about a prophecy. It suggested that your firstborn child would be a Serathi. That power has been absent for generations, and he desperately wants it for his bloodline.” Another look at Caelan, who nodded solemnly.
Elara’s eyes narrowed. What aren’t they telling me?
Caelan shifted in his bed, fidgeting with the velvet blanket, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say next. “Elara, my father is planning on killing you after our firstborn child is weaned.”
With a sharp inhale, Elara squeezed the nearby starched curtain so hard that the metal rod above rattled. A searing pain shot through her tongue as she bit it, the metallic tang of blood filling her mouth. She’d anticipated something like this, but hearing the truth weighed on her.
Elara blinked, gathering herself. “What exactly did the prophecy say about the child?”
Sera thought a moment, then said, “The child would be conceived under the Cygnet Moon. That’s why he’s waited so long for the wedding.”
Elara nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I, too, have received a prophecy. A seer at the festival told me about one who would be ‘born under the Cygnet Moon.’ Could they be about the same child?” She placed her hand on Caelan’s.
“Our child? But ‘born’ and ‘conceived’ aren’t the same .
. . and why does your father care so much about having a Serathi in his bloodline?
Don’t you have enough power as Moiren?” The questions flowed out of her as her mind processed the overwhelming information.
Realization dawned on Caelan’s features. “What if the prophecies aren’t about a child? What if they’re about you?”
“How? I wasn’t born—or conceived—under the Cygnet Moon.”
“How can you be certain?” Caelan asked.
Elara’s brows rose. Since the Cygnet Moon hadn’t been celebrated or documented in decades—she and Lysandra had scoured the library to be sure—there was no way to be sure that she wasn’t the child of the prophecy.
“But Elara isn’t a Serathi,” Sera said.
Caelan looked at Elara, a question in his eyes. She nodded. Tell her.
“Yes, she is,” he corrected.
Elara expected Sera to be shocked, or even hurt. Instead, a broad smile crossed her face.
“That,” Sera said, beaming, “we can work with.”
“We have to put a team together,” Sera said.
She took a sip of her steaming beverage, much darker than common teas, from a gilded porcelain cup.
Caelan sat across from her at the little round table under the window.
Elara paced the length of her room, as anxious as Sera was calm.
Caelan nodded and continued scribbling notes in his journal.
It was worn, the pages yellowed, and wrapped in musty leather.
Elara had seen him making notes of their training plans and progress before.
She had also caught him doodling in it once or twice.
This time, strategy filled their minds and those weathered pages.
“We need more allies in the palace. Not the courtiers or the magi. Is there anyone who knows the truth?” Elara asked.
Sera glanced at Caelan. “I might be able to refresh some memories.”
“Iris? Kaz? Jalin?” Elara asked.
Sera nodded. “I can start with them, if you’d like.”
Elara pinched the bridge of her nose, then nodded. “Caelan, what about your men? How many are loyal to you and not your father?”
He tapped his pen to his lips. “I have half a dozen men who will stand by me. The rest are too afraid of him.”
“And there’s still no chance of recovering my father’s forces?” Elara asked, her voice thick with hope.
“No, they were sent to the Stormspire Mountains on false orders. By now they are snowed in and stranded up there. Besides, it would take too long to get missives to them and have them travel back in time for the wedding.”
The wedding, Elara thought. “That’s it! The wedding. Do you think we could attack then? With such a small force, we need a public scene to distract him. What better than the wedding?”
Sera rose, determination blazing in her eyes. “It has to be me. I’m the only one who can get close enough to him. I can trap him, blind him like I did with your family, long enough for Caelan and his men to capture him.”
“Let’s beat him at his own game. Once and for all,” Caelan said.
Elara beamed at him. At Sera. Her life was now ruled by prophecy—perhaps it always had been—but she’d been freed in another way. Now that her heart belonged to Caelan—along with her family and her kingdom—love like she’d never known before filled her with hope.