24. Elena
Acouple of days later, I stand before the mirror and smooth my palms down the front of my dress for the third time.
The silk whispers under my touch, cool and expensive and utterly incapable of quieting my thoughts.
The woods… the woods still live behind my eyes.
Alexei’s body, face down, motionless, has carved itself into my memory with brutal precision.
At night, it replays with variations, my mind cruel enough to invent new endings.
The first night, I woke up screaming, my voice ripping itself from my chest as dream after dream found a different way to kill him before abandoning him to the heat.
Only Alexei brings me back.
His warmth. His voice, low and steady in my ear. His arms pulling me against a solid, living chest until my shaking slows and the ghosts retreat. For a moment, it’s enough.
But only for a moment.
His eyes search my face like he knows where to look for cracks. “What happened?”
I shrug in the warmth of his embrace, reaching for anything that will keep my hands busy. “Nothing. A bad dream. With everything going on, it’s not exactly surprising.”
His gaze lingers, heavy, unconvinced.“…right,” he says after a pause.
He holds me tighter to him.
I don’t believe for a second that he actually does.
Even awake, the vision stalks me. It coils through my thoughts while I dress, while I walk, while I smile for my staff, friends, and people who don’t know how close I am to unraveling.
Inanna came back to me. After swearing she wouldn’t. She had to know. She had to have seen was waiting for him. This terror has to be her way of warning me. Of giving me a chance to change it.
She told me I have the power to make decisions that shape the world.
Then I will shape it around him.
The bedroom door opens.
I look up as soon as Alexei steps inside.
The breath leaves me like I’ve been struck.
He’s dressed in a three-piece suit, cut so precisely it borders on indecency—dress pants hugging powerful thighs, a buttoned vest that hints at the hard planes beneath, a jacket tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders. A dark gray tie finishes it all, the color deep and dangerous as him.
A warrior king that is all mine. There are days when that truth still feels unreal.
Through the mirror, his gaze drops, slow and unhurried, tracing the length of me before climbing back up. When our eyes meet in the reflection, heat blooms low in my chest. Cobalt blue, sharp and burning, holds me there.
I smooth my dress again, suddenly aware of every inch of myself. Navy silk crepe de chine, dotted subtly, pleated at the bodice, buttons lining the shoulder like quiet declarations. The belt cinches my waist, the structured shoulders giving me height, authority. Armor, softened by elegance.
“You look gorgeous,” he murmurs as he moves closer, each step achingly slow.
I turn from the mirror, my pulse skipping as the fabric of his jacket catches the light. “You’re not exactly hard to look at yourself.”
He closes the distance and pulls me into him, the embrace possessive and warm, familiar enough to steady me. My arms lock around him automatically, clinging.
His lips brush my forehead, gentle, reverent. A private moment carved out of everything waiting beyond this room.
Then he pulls back.
His eyes search my face, sharp and knowing. I still am. He sees everything, the faint shadows beneath my eyes, the tension I haven’t managed to smooth away.
“You’re not sleeping.”
I keep my back to him, my fingers gliding over the fabric to give myself something to do. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” he argues, closer now. Softer, but firmer too. “I’ve let you push me away for too long. You’re shaking, you barely eat, and you look at me like—” He cuts himself off, exhales. “Talk to me, Elena. Please. Let me help.”
I swallow, grip tightening in the fabric. “You are helping. Being here with me helps. That’s enough.”
I turn. My hands slide up his chest, over the firm lines beneath the fabric, up to his shoulders. I don’t look at his eyes.
“It’s not,” he pushes, and there’s something in his voice that makes my chest ache. “Not if you’re falling apart right in front of me.”
The silence presses in. This is one time I know he won’t try to speak to make me feel better. The only way out is to lean on him and share my deepest fears.
But his hand finds mine where it rests on his chest, covering it, squeezing gently. “Ever since we got back,” he says, voice careful, “since you spoke with Zoe… something’s been off.” He pauses. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”
Not a command. Not a demand.
A plea.
My throat tightens. I can’t tell him. Not yet. Not until I know how to stop it.
I close my eyes. “I’m scared,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
“Scared that someone is going to get hurt, and I can’t stop it.
” My voice wavers with each word spoken.
I let out a shaky breath. “And I have this power, this chance to change things…but what if I choose wrong? What if I make one move and it… makes it worse?”
The last bit of space between us disappears.
His arms come around me, pulling me back against him, solid and warm and here. His lips press to the side of my head, steady, grounding.
“You’re going to do what you know is right,” he murmurs. “I’m sure of that.”
I shake my head against him, but he only holds me tighter.
“And whatever happens,” he adds, voice low but unbreakable, “we’ll deal with it. Together. No matter what.” He lifts my hand, turns it palm-up, and presses a kiss to the center of it; soft, grounding. “We’ll win, Elena. And I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I meet his gaze. “And you?”
For a moment, something unreadable flickers across his face. Then his jaw sets. “Nothing will stop me from being with you. Nothing.” He hesitates. “If you’re unsure about today… we don’t have to go.”
I shake my head, resolve snapping into place. “We’re going. I won’t be intimidated into hiding. Our people deserve to see us. Traditions matter.”
A smile curves his mouth. “That’s the Elena I know.” His thumb brushes my jaw. “It’s why you’re a remarkable queen.”
I catch the lapels of his jacket, straightening them needlessly. “Your courage,” I say softly, “your strength, your devotion to our people, to me, that’s what makes you the greatest king Zurdonia has ever had.”
He leans in slowly, stopping shy of my lips. I tilt my chin up, breath catching, need humming under my skin as his breath mingles with mine.
“I’ve only ever had one weakness,” he murmurs.
My teeth catch my lower lip. “What’s that?”
His lips graze mine, barely there. “You.”
Then he kisses me, firm, deep, claiming. I melt into him, arms sliding around his neck, holding him like I might need to anchor him to this world.
When he pulls back, I don’t let go. “So,” I say quietly, “I’m a weakness.”
He smiles. “Not the way you think. There’s nothing you could ever ask of me that I wouldn’t give.”
The woods flash in my mind. All the blood and the stillness of his body.
My heart seizes. I force my face smooth, my muscles to unclench. “Then I’ll settle for you breathing,” I say lightly. “Forever and ever.”
“Deal.”
He kisses me again.
A knock breaks the moment.
We part reluctantly as Lance peeks in. “Transportation is ready, Your Majesties.”
I release Alexei, but not before swiping my thumb across his lips, fixing the smudge I left behind.
I step back, straighten my spine, and offer him a smile. “Showtime.”
The vehicle doors open, and Alexei steps out first, already scanning, already calculating. He turns back to me, one hand firm around mine as he helps me down onto the stone drive.
“Braydon,” I say, blinking against the light. “I thought I told you to stay with Hannah. Take some time off.”
Alexei leans in as he releases my hand, his mouth brushing my ear. “I’ll be right back. I want to check in with Lance before we head inside.”
I nod, watching him go, watching the way heads turn even at the private gate. Beyond the partitioned fencing, photographers cluster like birds on a wire, lenses raised, hoping for even a sliver of him. Of us.
Braydon laughs softly beside me. “She kicked me out.”
I glance at him, surprised.
“She told me to stop hovering and go protect her family,” he adds, shaking his head with fond resignation.
A smile tugs at my mouth. “How is she? And don’t give me a polished answer. I know what she tells me.” I hesitate. “She’s carrying a lot. I worry she’s holding back.”
Braydon’s expression shifts; subtle, thoughtful. “She’s not,” he says. “She blames herself. For not stopping Oksana. For not seeing Wendell coming.”
My eyes widen. “That’s ridiculous.”
He laughs at my reaction. “I told her the same thing. But you and I both know once Hannah decides something is her fault…” He shrugs.
“We don’t make this easy for you,” I murmur.
“No,” Braydon agrees quietly. “But we wouldn’t have it any other way. Him included.” He tips his chin toward where Alexei stands with Lance, deep in conversation.
The sound of hooves cuts through the moment, sharp, rhythmic. Horses pass nearby, handlers guiding them from the stables toward the arena. Muscles ripple beneath glossy coats, breath steaming faintly in the cool air. Power restrained. But waiting.
Alexei returns moments later, slipping seamlessly back to my side. “Ready?”
I nod, and he squeezes my hand once before Lance and Braydon move ahead, clearing our path.
Alexei angles subtly toward a more discreet entrance, but I slow us, turning instead toward the public who have approached the barricades.
He looks at me, questioning.
“We walk,” I say quietly.
Understanding settles in his eyes.
We do.
I loop my arm through his, and together we move along the barrier. I wave. I smile. I meet eyes. Some faces hold awe, others relief, and a few raw emotions. Hands press to chests as cameras click while we pass. A child waves both arms wildly, and I laugh, waving back until his grin splits his face.
If fear is creeping through Zurdonia, then let them see us standing. Let them see we are not hiding.