The ships had returned.
Not to cheers. Not to parades.
But to a cold, calculating court still reeling from Serina's sabotage.
And yet, Elara stood taller than before.
Because she had lost…
but she had survived.
And someone had helped her do it.
Not Auren. Not fully.
But Cladus.
Always Cladus.
---
That night, in the quiet behind her war chamber, she found him—alone, sharpening his blade.
He didn't look up as she approached. But he said,
"You shouldn't be here."
"You say that a lot," she said softly.
"And yet you never leave."
He paused. Then resumed the motion. Slow. Precise.
"Because I was sworn to you."
She stepped closer.
"Was that all?"
A beat.
"Is that what you want it to be?"
---
Elara stared at him. The firelight flickered across his jaw—so tense, so unreadable.
"Cladus. When you found those ships… when you said 'not every ally fights in the open'…"
"I wasn't talking about Auren," he said.
"Then who?"
His eyes finally met hers.
"You."
Her breath caught.
"Me?"
"You're the only one who's still playing fair, Elara. Even now."
"And every day you do… it makes me want to stop hiding."
She stepped closer again—closer than a Queen should ever stand to her Knight.
Their breaths mingled. The silence between them became a hum. Not tension. Not danger.
Just something that might become more.
"What would you be," she asked, "if you weren't my shield?"
Cladus looked down at her, voice like smoke and restraint.
"Yours."
---
But he didn't touch her.
He didn't have to.
Because when he turned to leave, Elara reached out—
—and this time she touched him.
Just a hand. On his wrist.
But it lingered.
"Stay."
A whisper. A command. A wish.
And he did.
Not as her Knight.
But as the man he never let himself be.