The palace slept.
Or pretended to.
But in the west wing—where laughter once echoed like gold on marble—
There was only silence now.
And a door.
Slightly ajar.
Elara stood before it. Map still in her hand. Doubt still in her heart.
"If you're lying again," she said, "I'll make sure your last laugh is a quiet one."
No reply.
So she pushed the door open.
And inside—
She didn't find the prince.
She found Auren.
On the floor.
Back against the wall.
His coat undone, his boots kicked off, his eyes wide and… empty.
---
"He taught me to dance," Auren said softly.
"Not on floors. On strings."
"He taught me to sing." "Lullabies made of silence and pretty lies."
"He taught me to survive."
"But only as someone else."
Elara didn't move.
She had never seen him like this. Not even in the court's cruelest games.
"Maelric?" she asked.
Auren smiled.
Not the usual one.
"He used to call me Little Mirror," he said.
"Because I only existed to reflect who he wanted me to be."
"And who was that?"
He looked up at her.
No jokes.
"The perfect prince." "The perfect spy." "The perfect weapon."
"But not a person."
---
Outside, thunder cracked.
A storm finally, finally brewing.
And Elara… sat beside him.
"You lied to me," she said. "You used me. I should hate you."
"You do," Auren said quickly. "I hope you do. Hate's better than pity."
"Then why help me?" she asked. "Why save the ships?"
Auren closed his eyes.
And whispered:
"Because I want one thing left in this world…" "…that wasn't touched by him."
And for a moment—
Just one—
Elara didn't speak as queen.
She spoke as Elara.
"You saved me, didn't you?" "Back then. The day I was meant to fall."
Auren blinked.
"I thought you'd forgotten."
"No," she whispered. "I just buried it. Like everything else."
---
Somewhere in the shadows of the hall, Cladus stood.
He watched.
He waited.
And when Elara rose, silent and slow, Cladus approached.
He didn't speak.
Didn't press.
Just offered Auren a hand.
A knight's hand.
Not of friendship.
But of truce.
Auren looked at it like it might turn to ash.
Then—
He took it.
---
Meanwhile, Serina stood by the fireplace.
Watching Maelric swirl his wine.
"He's slipping," she said.
"Cracking open like the egg you always promised he'd be."
"Perfect," Maelric replied. "Now he's useful again."