Elara stood in the middle of the room, her gaze drifting slowly over the large bed that dominated the center, the soft flicker of candlelight reflecting off the opulent decorations that adorned the walls and furniture. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her nightgown, the fabric light and delicate against her skin, yet it felt as though it weighed her down. She remained motionless, her thoughts spinning, as though waiting for an inevitable judgment she couldn't escape.
Her senses seemed heightened by the strange stillness of the room—the faint scent of lavender and cedarwood mingling in the air, the soft, rich fragrance of the tapestries, and the lingering warmth of the fire. Yet despite the calming aromas, Elara's heart pounded, uncertainty flooding her thoughts. What will happen now?
Before she could allow herself to sink further into her anxieties, the door to the bathing chambers creaked open, interrupting the heavy silence. King Theron stepped, freshly bathed and clothed in a robe .
As he stepped forward, his dark eyes met hers. She quickly turned her eyes downward, her body instinctively moving to bow before him, though her mind felt miles away. Her movements were hesitant, awkward, and as her head dipped, she felt the weight of her uncertainty settle heavily on her shoulders.
"Your Majesty," she whispered, the words barely escaping her lips. She felt small in this moment, utterly exposed beneath the weight of his gaze, unsure of what was to come.
The King's movements were stiff as he made his way to the couches by the patio, the room heavy with silence. "You do not have to bow to me behind closed doors," he spoke, his voice tight, almost strained, as though the words themselves were foreign to him.
Elara, who had been standing a few steps away, nodded quietly, though she knew he was aware of her discomfort. She couldn't help but follow him as he walked towards the couches, each step carrying an unseen weight. As she neared him, the King suddenly tensed, his posture shifting as though startled. It was as if her presence had alarmed him in a way that surprised them both.
"Oh, my apologies, Your Majesty," Elara quickly murmured, her instinct to bow again kicking in, but she paused, realizing how unnecessary it was. Her heart pounded as she straightened, wishing she could blend into the walls.
The King, his eyes widening slightly, gave a small wave of his hand. "Don't mind it. It's no worries. You just frightened me," he said, though his voice lacked the usual warmth of familiarity. It was cold, distant. "Have a seat," he added, gesturing to the chair beside him. "I'll pour us a drink."
She hesitated for only a moment before sitting down, her eyes following his every move. She watched as he stood beside the drink stand, pouring something amber-colored into two glasses. The sound of liquid filling the glasses broke the silence, but it did nothing to ease the tension that stretched between them.
As the King placed the drink beside her, he took a seat on the opposite end of the room, far enough away to make the space between them feel vast, almost unbearable. Elara's silver eyes flickered to the window, where the moonlight bathed the sky in soft hues, her fingers absently playing with the delicate bracelet on her wrist.
She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, something unspoken hanging in the air like a fog. Why was he distancing himself so much? She wasn't sure whether to be grateful or hurt by his behavior. Deities, she should be happy. At least the Stranger isn't touching her anymore... Yet, something about his withdrawal left her feeling colder, more alone than ever.
Taking a sip of her drink to distract herself, she set the glass down with a soft clink. The burn from the alcohol didn't reach her nerves, which were too frazzled. She turned her gaze toward him, longing for a real conversation. Maybe this is the moment.
"May—"
At the same time, he spoke too, his voice cutting through hers with the same intent. Both of them froze mid-sentence, and for a brief moment, there was nothing but the sharp sound of their silence. Elara managed to pull her lips into a faint, almost painful smile, but the King's dry chuckle filled the air, hollow and awkward.
"You were saying?" Elara asked gently, her voice softer now, a little tentative as she glanced at him, hoping he would say what he wanted to say .
"Is the drink too strong for your liking?" King Theron asked, while Elara's gaze shifted to the glass in her hand, and she hesitated, unsure of what to say. "No—maybe a little bit," she murmured, her words tinged with nervousness. What should have come off as endearing or shy didn't quite reach the King as she intended. Instead, he seemed to grow more distant, his eyes narrowing as a realization hit him—a possible fallout from everything they had planned .
"Oh, no worries," the King said quickly, a slight unease creeping into his tone. "I can have Morgana get the maids to prepare a cup of tea for you."
But Elara immediately shook her head, her smile faltering as she said, "No more tea, please. I've had too many for my liking throughout the day."
The King paused, clearly puzzled, but his expression softened, and he smiled wider, almost warmly. "But tea was your favorite drink in the whole wide world, my love. You would even drink it when the sun was out bright and high in the sky. You'd claim that sweating doesn't mean death."
Elara forced a laugh, though it came out more nervous than natural. Tea was my favorite? She couldn't help but wonder where these memories came from—memories that didn't quite feel like her own.
"Besides tea," she began carefully, her voice betraying a subtle curiosity, "what other things did I enjoy?"
The King fell into a brief silence, his brow furrowing as if he were trying to piece together her past from the scattered fragments he'd held onto. "Dogs," he said first, almost thoughtfully, "wolves, flowers, books, rides to the capital city… tea parties," he added with a soft chuckle, and Elara couldn't help but smile faintly at the irony. "Dinner parties, parades... and many more things that I could mention, but I think you'd rather I stop here."
As she listened, Elara realized just how much he seemed to know about her, even though she barely knew herself. Yet, she didn't quite understand how he could be speaking so freely, and why it felt like some of these memories belonged to someone else entirely.
"What you hated," the King continued, his tone shifting to a more serious note, "were undisciplined children and people—those who didn't understand what the words 'thank you' and 'please' meant. You despised disloyal disciples... You hated—"
He abruptly stopped, his gaze locking onto hers. There was a shift in his eyes, a sudden recognition as if he had just realized something crucial. His voice faltered, and the last few words fell off. "And many more," he finished quietly, his eyes lingering on her with an intensity she hadn't expected.
Elara felt a strange tension in the air, but she couldn't place why. Her heart beat a little faster, but she forced herself to stay calm, though she was beginning to realize just how much he knew about her—and how little she remembered about herself.
"And did I despise being sick around you and the children?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper, but it cut through the air like a quiet revelation.
At her words, King Theron's eyes shifted sharply to her, his gaze now intense and filled with something unspoken. She could see the storm of emotions running through him, the vulnerability that flickered beneath his controlled exterior. He didn't answer immediately, but instead, his eyes seemed to search her face, as if trying to piece together how she could possibly know something so personal, something so buried.
"Who told you that?" he asked, his voice low, almost accusatory, as if she was never menat to ask that question .