The tension that had simmered in the war council finally boiled over in the private corridors of the palace. No sooner had the heavy doors of the Ministry closed than Eliosa intercepted Draven. Her face, usually a mask of serene divinity, was contorted with a fury she could no longer suppress.
"Why are you supporting her now?" she demanded, her voice trembling as she cornered him near the tall arched windows. "You sat there and nodded along to her every word! You are handing the keys of this Empire to a woman who rules from the dark!"
Draven stopped, his exhaustion weighing on him like lead. He looked at Eliosa, and for the first time, her golden hair and white robes felt blinding and irritating rather than comforting.
"I am not 'supporting' her, Eliosa," Draven said, his voice flat. "I am supporting the survival of the Emberclaw. I cannot neglect what is good for the Empire simply because I hate the woman providing the information. If I constantly defy her without proper reasoning, it will backfire on me. The King and the Council are not blind; they would see my petty jealousy as a weakness."
"Is that all it is? Logic?" Eliosa stepped closer, her eyes welling with tears of frustration. "You've changed, Draven. You don't love me like you did before. I have been studying the scriptures day and night! I have walked through the mud of the slums to do charity work, all to keep our image perfect... and you haven't acknowledged a single thing I've done!"
Draven let out a harsh, dry laugh that lacked any humor. He thought of Regina—of Iris—standing in the courtroom with a veil over her face and the weight of a forbidden forest on her shoulders. He thought of how she hadn't begged, hadn't cried, and hadn't once asked for his approval.
"You are being childish, Eliosa," Draven snapped, the words cutting through her sobbing. "You want praise for doing what is expected of your position. Meanwhile, Iris is handling abandonment, exile, and the burden of a sovereign with absolute calmness. She hasn't uttered a single complaint, while you scream at me for not noticing your charity work."
Eliosa flinched as if he had struck her. "You're comparing me... to her?"
"I'm comparing your temperaments," Draven said, turning his back on her. "And right now, the comparison does not favor you. I have an empire to run. Don't seek me out again until you've found your composure."
He walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hall, leaving Eliosa standing in the shadows of the corridor. The silence that followed was suffocating. She felt hollow, heartbroken, and discarded—ironically, the very way Iris must have felt months ago.
She stood there for a long time, her hands clenched so tightly her nails drew blood from her palms. Her world was crumbling, and the Prince she had manipulated into her arms was slipping through her fingers like sand.
"It is a heavy burden, isn't it?" a voice whispered from the gloom behind her. "To be the Light in a world that is suddenly falling in love with the Dark."
Eliosa spun around, gasping. Standing in the shadows of the pillar was a man she recognized—a figure who moved in circles even the King avoided.
He offered a slow, predatory smile that promised the one thing Eliosa needed most: a way to tear the veil off the Shadow Queen.