Chapter 39
Caelan
Days passed, and Elara still hadn’t spoken to him.
Not in any meaningful way, at least. Caelan, listless and dejected, wandered the halls of the palace, busying himself with routine tasks.
He tiptoed around an apology, and Elara kept their conversations pointed, focusing on finalizing details for the wedding.
A wedding that might not even happen now—not in earnest, he thought.
The now-famous royal couple still linked arms in public and dined together.
As far as the rest of Serendith was concerned, they were happy and in love.
Keeping up the charade—and it was once again a charade—was harder this time, knowing what it was like to be loved by Elara.
Elara sat at the head of the breakfast table, book in hand, distractedly spooning porridge into her mouth.
Caelan sat across from her, pretending to be interested in a piece of bacon.
The table stretched between them, the steam wafting off the spread of biscuits and meats highlighting the chill in the air.
“Good morning,” he said, the greeting stiff and awkward.
Elara’s response was clipped and frigid, like all the others over the last few days. “Good day to you as well,” she said, not bothering to look up from her book. She sipped from her steaming mug.
“Elara, please,” Caelan said, the sound of desperation in his voice grating on him.
“We can’t keep going on like this.” He gestured toward her and then to himself, demonstrating the physical distance between them.
That space didn’t even come close to matching the emotional distance in their relationship.
Elara marked her page, closed her book, and set it down on the table with care.
She studied Caelan for the first time in almost a week, her eyes searching his face.
He ran a hand over his disheveled hair and rubbed his unshaven jaw.
He tugged self-consciously at his jacket, his fingertips sore from the nails being chewed halfway down to the quicks.
“Tell me why,” she demanded.
Caelan blinked at her. He’d tried to explain himself countless times, each attempt met with the same cutting rejection from Elara.
“I was going to tell you.” He raised his hands out in front of himself at her glare. “I was. Lysandra must have overheard me talking to Silas about it the night before you found out.” He rubbed the back of his head.
“You mean the man you’ve had spying on me?” she asked, shaking her head. Caelan flinched. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I’m sorry. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he said.
“No, you don’t.” Elara folded her arms across her chest, eyeing her book like it was an escape hatch.
“But you deserve an explanation.” Caelan’s voice faltered, his faith in himself shaken.
He’d convinced himself that he was doing the right thing, protecting her.
But it was the same flawed logic echoing his father’s beliefs—a twisted attempt to prove that the ends justified the means.
The burning shame crept over him, making his face flush.
A bitter taste filled his mouth as he acknowledged the truth he’d known all along: He wasn’t worthy of her love.
Caelan looked across the table at Elara, realizing he was out of options. No more secrets. He braced himself and shared a tale that only one other person in the world knew.
“I—” He looked at her blankly, his words caught in his throat. He cleared it and started again. “I lost my mother when I was seven years old. She was the person I loved most in the world. She was warm and selfless. Beautiful. My father adored her, and we were happy together.”
Elara’s expression was unreadable, a blank slate giving away nothing of her inner thoughts.
“She grew sick suddenly,” he continued. “She stopped eating, lost weight, and slept all the time. Her mind . . . She wasn’t herself.
” Caelan shuddered. “The physicians thought it was poison. My father was relentless in his pursuit of the culprit. He suspected everyone—our allies, our enemies, our household staff. He didn’t sleep for months.
It drove him near madness, watching her suffer. ”
Caelan paused, drinking cool water from his crystal goblet.
His hand was shaking as he placed it back on the table, and he silently cursed himself.
Elara’s eyes had softened—she knew the madness his father was capable of firsthand—so he kept going.
“Eventually, there was no one left for him to blame and torment. Except me.”
A flicker of pain and sympathy shone in her eyes. Brow furrowed and head tilted, a silent question formed in her expression: Did he hurt you like he hurt me?
So much worse, my love, he thought. His fingers traced the scars on the back of his opposite hand, one of many abuses. “I have been afraid of that man ever since. I am ashamed to say it, but that is the truth. I did not have the strength to defy him, not until I met you.
“When my father told me about his plan—driven by that wretched prophecy about our child—I didn’t know what else to do but follow his orders.
You have to understand, Elara, I was raised to hate your family.
But when I saw you, really saw you, covered in dirt and then defending a servant, I realized you might be different.
Then you healed, and I thought you were a liar. I was so confused and ashamed . . .”
“How? How did they die?” she whispered.
“My father slit their throats himself, the night you agreed to marry me.” A fresh wave of nausea washed over him as she avoided his gaze. “Sera told me that they were still blinded—just in a peaceful darkness. They didn’t suffer.”
Elara was silent for a few moments, gazing down at her silverware. “Was it real?” she finally asked. “Us?”
“Yes,” he said. “Elara, I came into this situation thinking you would be greedy and privileged. Then I met you and you asked for my help. You were so genuine and curious. I knew you were different from what I first thought. You were never my enemy, Elara, and I hope you can see that I am not yours either.”
Tears pooled in her sapphire eyes, and Caelan hoped they were tears of relief as one slid down her cheek. He longed to close the agonizing distance between them and wipe it away—to wipe away all her pain.
“Why did you keep lying to me, then?” she asked. “You know what it’s like to lose a mother. You knew what they meant to me, Caelan. Everything I have been fighting for was a lie.”
“I didn’t know how important it was to tell you the truth. You were already in such a terrible situation, and I didn’t want to take away your hope,” he said. I know what it’s like to lose all hope.
Elara’s face went pale, her mouth turning down in a frown. She squared her shoulders and leaned back, farther away from him. “Thank you for telling me about your past. I’m sorry about your mother.” Her tone was even, almost clinical.
No. “Please, Elara, you must understand. I grew up in a world where lies were the only way to stay safe, to keep those I care about safe. I am still learning. Please give us another chance.”
His vision was blurry behind tears of his own. His shaky hands were now balled into fists. I can’t lose her too.
“I’m not ready, Caelan,” she whispered.
Caelan’s heart sank as they both rose from the table and she glided away, the silk of her train dragging on the floor behind her, whispering against the polished floor. As the last of the fabric slipped through the doorway, the searing pain of loss shot through him, bringing him to his knees.