Chapter Five: Vows in the Shadows
Elara watched as Clara disappeared into the castle with Isabelle. The soft patter of the child's footsteps faded, leaving the garden eerily silent. She sighed, brushing a hand against the petals of a nearby flower. The morning had been pleasant, but it hadn't lasted long enough.
As she turned to head back inside, she nearly collided with someone. A tall figure loomed before her, and she stepped back, startled.
"Apologies," the man said, his voice smooth yet detached.
Elara looked up and immediately recognized him. It was Hector, the King's second son. He shared Draven's striking features but carried himself with a certain haughty indifference. His sharp gaze swept over her, assessing her with a curiosity she couldn't decipher.
"You're Elara," he said, not as a question but a statement.
"And you must be Prince Hector," she replied, offering a polite nod.
He smirked faintly, his hands clasped behind his back. "You don't look like someone who belongs in this castle. Too… fragile."
Elara bristled but kept her expression composed. "Appearances can be deceiving, Your Highness."
Hector chuckled lightly, the sound devoid of warmth. "Perhaps. But I wonder if you have the strength to survive here. Draven's world is… unforgiving."
Before she could respond, he stepped aside, gesturing toward the castle. "The King has summoned you. Don't keep him waiting."
---
The throne room was vast and imposing, its high arches casting elongated shadows across the marble floor. Elara felt dwarfed by its sheer size as she stepped forward, her footsteps echoing in the silence.
King Aldric sat upon his throne, his cold gaze fixed on her. He looked every bit the powerful monarch, but his expression carried an edge of disdain that made her stomach twist.
"Your Majesty," Elara said, curtsying deeply.
The King's eyes narrowed slightly, his disapproval evident. "So, this is the human my son has married." His voice was low, almost a growl.
"Yes, Your Majesty," she replied, her voice steady despite the unease creeping through her.
"You do not belong here," he said bluntly. "This is not your world. You are weak, vulnerable. A liability."
Elara's heart pounded, but she refused to let his words shake her resolve. "I may not be from this world, Your Majesty, but I will do everything in my power to honor this marriage and support Draven."
The King's lips curled into a faint sneer. "Draven. He is a fool to think this union will earn him my favor. He was born of weakness, and no amount of effort will change that."
His words stung more than she expected, but they only strengthened her determination. Bowing her head, she said firmly, "With respect, Your Majesty, I do not believe Draven is weak. And I intend to stand by him, no matter what."
The King's gaze lingered on her for a moment before he dismissed her with a wave of his hand.
---
The garden was a welcome refuge from the tension of the throne room. Elara found herself drawn to the swing beneath the large oak tree, its chains creaking softly as it swayed in the breeze.
She sat down, her hands gripping the cool metal chains, and let her thoughts drift. Memories of her past life surfaced—her father, Adrian, a man who had preferred the company of whores to the dignity of his wife; her mother, a quiet, patient woman who had borne her pain in silence; her brother, Henry, who had been sent away to be raised as the future heir, leaving them little opportunity to bond.
Elara's life as a human princess had been far from ideal, yet it had shaped her into the woman she was. But now, thrust into this new and unfamiliar world, she felt like a pawn in a game she didn't understand.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching. She looked up to see Draven standing nearby, his crimson eyes soft in the evening light.
"You seemed deep in thought," he said, his voice low.
Elara managed a small smile. "Just thinking about everything. This place. My life before."
Draven stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "Would you like some help?"
She tilted her head in confusion, and he gestured toward the swing.
"I can push it for you," he offered.
Elara hesitated but nodded. "Alright."
Draven moved behind her, his hands lightly gripping the chains as he pushed gently. The swing swayed back and forth, the motion soothing.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Elara allowed herself to relax, the weight of her thoughts momentarily lifting as the cool evening air brushed against her skin.
As they continued in silence, she glanced back at him, her voice soft. "Thank you, Draven."
He didn't respond immediately, his eyes focused on the swing. But when he finally spoke, his words carried a quiet sincerity.
"You don't have to thank me, Elara."
In that moment, the distance between them seemed to shrink, and for the first time, Elara felt the faintest glimmer of hope for their unlikely union.
The swing creaked softly in the stillness of the garden as Elara leaned into the motion. Draven's presence behind her was steady and calm, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions she had been sensing with since her arrival.
"How long were you with the King today?" she asked quietly, breaking the silence.
Draven paused mid-push, then resumed. "Long enough to hear the same insults I've heard my whole life."
Elara turned slightly to look at him, her expression questioning.
"I shouldn't have asked," she murmured, guilt tingeing her voice.
"It's fine." He sighed, stepping to the side of the swing so they could see each other. "It's not as though I expected him to change. He's hated me for as long as I can remember. Why stop now?"
Elara frowned, her hands tightening on the chains. "I met with him earlier. He… he didn't hide his disdain for you."
Draven's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Of course not. He never does."
She studied him for a moment, noticing the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched. "I don't understand how you've endured it for so long," she admitted. "But I see the strength it takes."
Draven's gaze softened slightly as he looked at her. "You don't need to worry about me. I'm used to it."
"But you shouldn't have to be," she said, her voice firm. "You're not weak, Draven, no matter what he says. And I won't let him or anyone else make you feel like you are."
Her words seemed to catch him off guard, his crimson eyes searching hers for a moment before he looked away.
"Elara," he began, his tone hesitant.
"Yes?"
He hesitated, then shook his head. "Nothing. Let's just leave it for tonight."
Elara nodded, sensing his reluctance to dive deeper into the conversation. "Alright. But you should know, I'm not going anywhere. I'll stand by you, whether you like it or not."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Stubborn," he muttered under his breath.
She laughed softly. "I've been called worse."
---
As the evening deepened, they walked together back toward the castle. The halls were quiet, the faint glow of lanterns casting warm shadows on the walls.
When they reached the corridor leading to their chambers, Draven stopped, his expression thoughtful.
"Elara," he said, his voice low.
She turned to face him, her brow raised.
"About earlier," he continued, his hand brushing the back of his neck. "With the King… thank you for what you said."
Her eyes softened. "You don't need to thank me. I meant every word."
Draven nodded, his gaze meeting hers briefly before he looked away. "Still. It mattered."
---
Draven and Elara walked back toward the castle in silence, the soft crunch of gravel beneath their feet the only sound between them. As they entered the castle's grand hall, Draven paused and glanced at her.
"You've been outside all day," he said, his tone even. "You must be hungry."
Elara blinked, caught off guard by his sudden consideration. "I suppose I could eat," she admitted, though she hadn't realized her hunger until he mentioned it.
Draven turned to one of the nearby attendants. "Prepare lunch in the dining hall. Something light," he commanded.
The attendant nodded and scurried off, leaving the two of them standing in the vast space.
"This way," Draven said, gesturing for her to follow.
They entered a smaller dining room, far less formal than the grand hall where the feast had been held. The space was cozy, with soft sunlight filtering in through the tall windows. Elara found it oddly comforting.
Draven pulled out a chair for her, and she sat, watching as he took the seat across from her.
The meal was served swiftly—fresh bread, a platter of roasted vegetables, and a fragrant stew. The simplicity of it surprised her, considering the extravagance of the feast the previous night.
They ate in silence at first, the tension from the day lingering in the air.
"Did the King summon you for anything important?" she asked cautiously, breaking the quiet.
Draven's hand paused over his spoon, and he glanced up at her. "The King never summons me for anything important," he replied, his tone laced with bitterness.
Elara frowned but didn't press further. She could sense the weight of his frustrations and didn't want to prod too much.
"Have you always been so stubborn?" he asked suddenly, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
She tilted her head. "What makes you say that?"
"The way you handled Clara and the Crown Prince earlier," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Most would have folded under their words."
Elara straightened her posture. "I've dealt with worse," she said quietly, a shadow crossing her face.
Draven's smirk faded, replaced by a curious but restrained expression. "You've been through much, haven't you?"
She nodded but didn't elaborate. Instead, she pushed a stray crumb around her plate with her fork. "I suppose life prepares us in strange ways," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Draven studied her for a moment, as if trying to unravel the thoughts behind her words. "I'll admit," he said finally, "I didn't think you'd adapt so quickly. This place... it's not kind to outsiders."
"Neither am I," she said with a faint smile, though her tone was dry.
His lips twitched in amusement. "Fair enough."