Not a metaphorical storm—though there were plenty of those—but a real one. Thunder cracked the sky open like bone. Rain lashed the palace windows in sheets. Lightning lit the halls in stuttering flashes of white.
Elara stood at the window of Kael's chamber, her reflection a ghost in the glass. She hadn't slept. Couldn't. Not after what he'd done. Not after what he'd said.
Her council. Her voice. Her body.
All taken.
All silenced.
And yet she still stood.
She pressed her palm to the cold glass, watching the storm rage. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled. A warning. Or a reckoning.
Behind her, the door creaked open.
She didn't turn.
She didn't need to.
She knew his footsteps.
---
Kael entered without a word.
He didn't look at her.
He didn't apologize.
He simply walked to the hearth, poured himself a glass of wine, and drank.
Elara turned slowly.
"You gave him everything," she said.
Kael didn't respond.
"You gave Dorian my council. My work. My voice."
Still silence.
"You gave him me."
Kael's jaw tightened. "You're still queen."
"No," she said. "I'm your broodmare. Your political pawn. Your silence."
Kael turned to her then, eyes dark. "You're my wife."
"And what does that mean to you?" she demanded. "Obedience? Availability? A warm body and a closed mouth?"
Kael stepped forward. "It means you are mine."
Elara's breath caught.
Not from fear.
From fury.
"I am not yours," she said. "I am not anyone's."
Kael's voice dropped. "You were never meant to rule."
"And you were never meant to feel," she snapped. "But here we are."
---
The words hung between them, sharp and dangerous.
Kael's eyes flickered.
For a moment, just a moment, Elara saw something break in him. A crack in the armor. A flicker of pain.
Then it was gone.
He turned away.
"You will attend the royal banquet tomorrow," he said. "You will smile. You will wear the emeralds. And you will not speak of the council again."
Elara's voice was ice. "And if I refuse?"
Kael looked over his shoulder.
"Then I will remind you," he said, "what happens to queens who forget their place."
---
That night, Elara returned to her journal.
But she didn't write.
She stared at the blank page, the quill trembling in her hand.
She had written this world.
She had created Kael.
She had given him his strength. His cruelty. His crown.
But she had never written this.
This betrayal.
This ache.
This love.
Because that's what it was, wasn't it?
Even now.
Even after everything.
She loved him.
Madly. Stupidly. Completely.
And it was killing her.
---
The next day, the palace was buzzing with preparations for the banquet.
Elara escaped to the garden.
She needed air.
She needed silence.
The garden was drenched from the storm, its paths slick with rain and petals scattered like fallen crowns. Elara walked slowly, her emerald gown heavy with damp, her thoughts heavier still.
She had come here for silence.
But silence was a luxury she no longer owned.
A voice slithered through the air behind her.
"Well, well. The queen walks alone."
Elara turned.
Prince Dorian stood beneath the arch of the moon gate, his cloak dry, his boots spotless. He looked untouched by the storm, untouched by consequence.
His smile was sharp. Predatory.
"I thought you might be here," he said, stepping closer. "You always come here when you're wounded."
Elara's spine straightened. "I'm not wounded."
"Oh, but you are," Dorian said. "I can smell it on you. The betrayal. The humiliation. The heartbreak."
She didn't respond.
He circled her slowly, like a vulture.
"Kael is a fool," he said. "He doesn't know what he has. Or maybe he does, and he simply doesn't care."
Elara's jaw clenched.
Dorian leaned in. "You gave him everything. And he gave you nothing."
She stepped back. "What do you want?"
Dorian's smile widened. "To remind you what you've lost."
Elara's voice was cold. "I haven't lost. Not yet."
"Oh, but you have," he whispered. "Your council. Your voice. Your place. All gone. And soon, your heart."
She turned to leave.
He caught her wrist.
His grip was firm. Not painful. But possessive.
"You could have had me," he said. "You still could."
Elara yanked her hand free. "I would rather burn." She would never agree to being with him cause she already knew the fate that awaits her if she would pick him.
Dorian's eyes gleamed. "Then I'll be the one to light the match."
---
Elara returned to her chamber shaken.
Not by Dorian's words.
But by the truth in them.
She had lost so much.
And she was losing more.
She sat at her desk, staring at the scroll Kael had signed—the one that gave Dorian control of the Civic Council.
She traced the seal with her fingertip.
It felt like a brand.
She didn't cry.
She didn't scream.
She simply sat.
And planned.
---