Chapter 37
Caelan
After Sera stole Elara away to look at wedding dresses, Caelan made his way back inside the glorious warmth of the palace.
Taking off his cloak, he shook the snow from his damp hair.
He ran a hand over his stubbled chin. So much work to be done.
He undid the top buttons of his shirt and tugged the scratchy collar away from his neck.
Court life, with its suffocating etiquette and endless obligations, didn’t suit him.
Not like it suited Elara. This was her birthright, a skill set nurtured in her from the start.
Caelan had been raised to fight with swords, not wit—and certainly not with fancy silver butter knives.
Sure, he knew he had his own charms, but he was thankful that he and Elara seemed a well-matched pair for ruling.
He ignored the chill that ran down his spine at the thought of becoming king and continued his journey through the winding alabaster halls until he reached his destination. As he descended the dank stone staircase that led beneath the palace, a musty smell filled his nostrils.
“Sir,” Silas said, standing at attention at the bottom of the stairs.
Caelan offered him a quick nod. “Report?”
“Your men have been briefed on their positions. Patrols begin tonight. Any gaps will be identified and addressed,” he said.
“Good. Thank you, my friend.” Caelan placed a hand on the man’s shining pauldron. “Any other news?”
Silas stretched his arms overhead and rolled out his neck, relaxing. “Lorian is complaining about her post.”
“Why? Where did you station her?” Caelan asked.
“Undercover in the laundry room.” A crooked smile spread across Silas’s bearded face.
Caelan chuckled, picturing the capable swordswoman, who was twice his age, wearing a bonnet and scrubbing sheets.
While she might not enjoy it, Caelan had to admit it was a genius assignment for her.
He’d give her a nice gift after all of this was over to make amends.
“You know she’s going to make you pay for that later, right? ”
“I’m counting on it, sir.” Silas waggled his eyebrows. Elara’s second guard had been flirting, unsuccessfully, with Lorian for years, though Caelan was certain the two of them were enamored with each other.
Scanning the dungeons, now empty thanks to Sera’s previous brainwashing efforts, Caelan asked. “So, why did you want to meet down here?”
“I needed to show you this.” Silas gestured for Caelan to follow him, grabbing a glowing torch from its sconce in the stone wall.
With every step and every empty cell they passed, his heartbeat quickened, matching the infuriating drip, drip, drip against ancient stone.
The hair on the back of his neck and arms stood on end.
Every cell in his body screamed at him. Trap.
But Silas was one of the few people in the world that Caelan trusted with his life.
The grizzled guard had helped patch Caelan up countless times and had even helped him avoid the worst of his father’s wrath as a boy.
Which was why he’d entrusted Elara’s life to Silas.
“Here,” Silas said, stopping. In the flickering torchlight, Caelan peered into an open cell.
His heart sank. The bars between this cell and its neighbor had been removed, doubling its size.
If a prison cell could be considered comfortable, this one came close, with an ornate bed, a small table with two plush chairs, and a copper washtub.
Even a cast-iron stove provided a makeshift hearth, its faint scent of woodsmoke hanging in the air.
It was a cage fit for a princess.
“It can’t be. You think it’s for her?” Caelan’s voice was gravel.
Silas nodded solemnly. “Yes. It’s for Elara. It seems your father wishes to confine her after the wedding.”
“Why? Why would he need to keep her down here?” Caelan’s ears and neck burned red-hot with the rage bubbling up inside him. “She’s enough of a prisoner as it stands. And people will start asking questions if she suddenly disappears.”
“Why does your father do anything, if not for power?” Silas asked.
A wave of understanding washed over him. “He’s afraid of her.” All the blood drained from Caelan’s face. “He knows that I’ve grown too attached, that she is too difficult to control.”
“And the council has concluded its meetings. With winter setting in, most of the magi at court will retire to their own manors after the wedding. The remaining visitors will journey back home before it’s too dangerous for travel. As for the rest . . .”
“Sera,” Caelan finished. “She can create an illusion of Elara whenever my father needs it. If he decides not to let her out of the cage to play.”
The wedding was truly their only chance to put a stop to his father—he’d thought they’d have more time to recover in case things went wrong. But with Elara imprisoned after . . . Failure is not an option. His hands shook.
“Come on, let’s get out of this horrid place.” As the two men marched down the hall and started climbing up the stairs, Caelan cleared his throat. “How is she?”
“She likes Felix better than me,” Silas said.
Caelan nudged him with his shoulder. “Of course she does. From what I’ve seen, you never talk to her.”
“I’m not there to talk, remember?” He gave Caelan a pointed look.
Caelan sighed. “And I suppose I should thank you for that too, my friend.” He rubbed at the tension plaguing the back of his neck. “Does she suspect anything?”
“She’s smart. Observant. And the shifter that follows her around is a little spy. But no, I don’t have any reason to believe that she knows the truth,” Silas said.
“Good.” Caelan breathed a sigh of relief, and the heavy burden on his shoulders felt slightly lighter.
“When are you going to tell her?” Silas asked.
“I don’t know.” The lies gnawed at him. He’d struggled for months under their oppressive weight, each day a heavier burden than the last.
“Sir, it’s the right thing to do,” Silas said, narrowing his eyes.
“I know. Just not right now.” I’m not ready.
Silas stared at him, his expression a mixture of disbelief and suspicion. “Caelan, you need to tell her. You should have told her ages ago.”
“How do you honestly think she’ll react to the news that her family has been dead since the night of the invasion?” Caelan snapped.
“I don’t know,” Silas whispered, deflating.
“It would destroy her. Let’s earn our freedom first, then figure out how to pick up the pieces after.
If she doesn’t trust me, then our entire plan falls apart.
” Caelan’s heart hammered against his ribs with such force that he stopped walking, sinking to a seat on the stairs, back scraping against the cold stone.
Trust wasn’t the only issue. It was about the bittersweet ache of love lost. “I can’t lose her, Silas,” he whispered.
A hole had formed in his heart the day his mother died, and it had just begun to fill, thanks to Elara.
He felt the ghost of his mother’s expectations, a constant reminder of his failings, a shadow made darker by his current circumstances.
But perhaps with Elara, there’d be an opportunity for redemption, a glimmer of hope in the darkness.
I can’t lose her too, he thought, listening to the soft echo of rustling feathers in the eaves of the corridor.
Exhausted from the day of silly politics and his father’s scheming, Caelan flung open the heavy oak door to his chambers, the sound echoing in the stillness, and kicked off his mud-caked boots.
“Long day?” Elara’s voice floated to him from the bed.
Propped up by a mountain of pillows, she paused her reading, slipping a worn bookmark between the pages as she gazed at him.
Her silky black hair was loose, cascading over her shoulders.
Mischief danced in her sparkling blue eyes as a playful smile lifted the corners of her lips, a single dimple appearing on her left cheek.
“Indeed. My wedding planning ‘training’ was particularly brutal.” He melted as she yawned, stretching her arms overhead with languid grace.
He shed his shirt and trousers, the smooth coolness of the sheets a welcome contrast to his warm skin as he collapsed into bed.
With a sigh of contentment, Elara nestled against him, her vanilla scent captivating his senses as his arm enveloped her.
If only we could stay like this forever, he thought.
“You seem to have emerged unscathed,” she said as she traced her fingertips over the smooth skin of his bare chest, tickling him.
“I had a brave defender to guide me through the fray.” He pressed his lips to her forehead before burying his nose in her hair.
“Caelan . . .” She said his name like a caress, and her hot breath tickled his neck. Her back arched slightly. He wanted the softness of her body against his—her mouth and tongue and teeth on his bare skin.
“Have all the other preparations been made?” she asked, and he knew she was no longer talking about the wedding decorations.
“You’ve coordinated a beautiful battleground for us.” He scoffed. At the concern that flashed across her features, he added, “Don’t fret, Princess. It won’t come to that.”
I can’t let it come to that.
“We’ve done all we can at this point. Now there’s nothing left but to wait and pray that the stars are on our side,” she said.
Caelan envisioned her beautiful face, tear-streaked and etched with worry, locked away behind the rusty iron bars of the cage he’d visited.
A fist clenched around his heart. Silas was right.
She deserves to know the truth. His fingers traced the silken strands of her hair, the caress a balm to his troubled mind, as he gently touched her cheek.
She looked so serene that he couldn’t stand to rob her of her temporary peace.
One more night, he promised himself. Then I’ll tell her everything.