She never felt closer to home. And yet so far away.
Less than a week until the wedding.
Less than a week before she could never return to Eynalloreagain—at least, not as a revered leader. She would be an outsider, henceforth. A traitor, even.
The gardens were silent; the thunder that had been booming overhead had passed, and Elora relished the peaceful quiet as she paced down the white-pebble paths, a hand pressed thoughtfully to her mouth. She didn’t know why she cared so much. It had been a long time since she’d been a revered anything. They had likely replaced her by now, probably hardly ever thought a second about her. She would fade into distant memory, the same way all their former leaders and rulers had.
And yet, Elora couldn’t draw her thoughts anywhere else.
It felt like a puzzle that needed to be solved, only she knew she’d already solved it. This was the answer to her problems. Marry the most powerful prince—soon to be king—in all the lands and never again be someone’s prisoner.
Prisoner.
That word though. It could mean so many different things. And although she had gained some of her freedoms back, although Queen Signe allowed her to roam the castle at her leisure unless she was called upon, Elora knew better than to presume herself a free woman. Despite Prince Leighton’s insistence otherwise, she worried that a marriage to the King of Irongate wouldn’t be much different. Already, he had his stipulations. The ultimatums that sounded like promises of freedom but were just more chains in disguise.
Elora wasn’t sure how long she’d been out there. The cursed sky made it look as though it were the middle of the day, and yet she knew dinner would be announced shortly.
Soon, someone would come looking for her.
She didn’t like when they found her out here. It felt like too personal of a detail for them to glean, something that could be ripped away, should they feel the need to punish her. Still, shedidn’t want to go back into the castle either. She wanted to wait outside until the moon rose in the sky, and she could gaze upon the stars and see what she could find.
But who knew how long that would take.
And the risk was too high to wait.
Elora began weaving her way back toward the castle, admiring the magnificent blooms around her, her hands plastered together at the crook of her waist. Even though she was shackled and her touch of death bound inside her, she wouldn’t dare risk bringing decay upon this place, for those consequences would be dire.
As Elora approached one of the fountains nearest the castle’s front entrance, the sun promptly fell. The moon rose high, casting the burbling waters into darkness. Were this the Ghostlight Gulf of Eynallore’s shores, those waters would be glowing the brightest shade of blue now.
She halted, gazing longingly and imagining herself elsewhere for just a moment longer.
Then the front castle doors burst wide.
Elora’s heart floundered. She pressed herself behind the fountain, instincts telling her to hide from whoever had come out to retrieve her. They couldn’t find her here. Couldn’t be trusted to know this intimate truth about her, that despite the death magic in her blood, she found beauty and serenity in the calmness of plants. That there was nowhere she felt safer than surrounded by them.
But once the initial panic wore off, her sense returned. Hiding would serve no purpose but to condemn her. They’d think she was running. Or worse, perhaps trying to sabotage the gardens that the groundskeepers worked so hard to preserve. For what motive? It wouldn’t matter. She was the villain in their eyes. Always would be.
Elora smoothed the creases on her silver gown and steppedaround the fountain. A sobbing princess came running into view, her hands clutching something bloodied to her chest. Elora watched as the girl plopped down on the fountain’s edge across from her. She didn’t have to see the bloodied corpse to know what it was; that was the grim aftermath of the Skogaran magic.
They called Elora’s magic dark, but she had seen the queen’s sacrifices, she’d heard the countless arguments volleyed between Micah and her specifically, begging for her to stop. But Queen Signe heeded him none. Continued her gory display of power.
It made Elora sick.
Of course, she could never let on to that. Every time she’d been faced with it, she steeled herself with the cold resolve she had adapted during her time as a prisoner to the Caelorans.
She did the same now, ready to march past the weeping princess without a word and head to the safe confines of her bedchamber. What did it matter to her that the queen had slain another animal? There would be dozens if not hundreds more where that came from. It was better to shut it out now and save herself the misery, and the naïve princess would do well to do the same—not that she would be the one to advise it though.
But then Queen Signe’s charge echoed in her mind:Befriend the girl, make her feel welcomed, and encourage her to use her magic to bring an end to this forsaken curse.
Cursed sky, Elora didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to have to speak to a Caeloran and risk them spitting in her face. At least if she tried and the girl stormed away from her, she would be able to report back to the queen that it was of no use. Maybe then she’d be off the hook.
Rolling her eyes, Elora rounded the fountain and stood before the lost-and-found princess.
“Not how I expected to find a long-lost princess celebrating her first full day in a life of luxury.” It was the best attempt Elora could do at friendly humor, but Princess Kestrel seemed unfazed by it. She merely sniffled, her face still angled down toward the mangled creature in her hands. There was a knife in Kestrel’s grasp, but the blade was clean. Not a speck of blood on it. And Elora didn’t need to ask to know who was responsible for the demise of this creature.
Elora cursed herself again. Of course this wasn’t the time for humor, so she shifted tactics.
“I take it the queen showed you her perverse version of magic?”
