She felt like a cheater.
Cheating on who, with who? The question gnawed at her like a relentless beast, twisting her mind into knots. Elara felt as if she were in a box—an invisible, suffocating container—with unseen hands packaging her tightly, forcing her into a mold she didn't understand. Who would help her? Who could she rush to?
Her feet carried her up the staircase in hurried steps, her mind whirling with too many thoughts to unravel. The cold air of the dungeons clung to her skin, but the confusion and guilt pumping through her veins made it easy to ignore.
Back in the cell, Darius watched her retreating figure, the ghost of a smirk still lingering on his face. His smirk disappeared , ready to turn back to his quiet solitude, but something caught his attention. He looked over his shoulder toward the open-spaced window at the top of the dungeon wall.
There, perched like a silent judge, was a white owl. Its piercing bottle green eyes locked onto his, unblinking and full of accusation. Darius held its gaze, his blue eyes narrowing into a heated, silent exchange. It was as if an entire argument passed between them in a matter of seconds. Finally, the owl spread its majestic wings and flew off into the night, leaving Darius to his thoughts.
On the other side, Elara emerged from the shadows of the lower staircases and stopped dead in her tracks. The prisoners were no longer frozen.
The silence that had once enveloped the dungeon was now replaced with chaos—hollering voices echoing through the stone halls. Men clanged against the bars of their cells, their words crude and wild.
"Oh there , there , my Queen!"
"Hey there, beauty, come closer!"
"The Queen herself, huh? Fancy visiting us lowlifes?"
The jeering and catcalling made her heart pound in a mix of confusion and panic. The commotion didn't go unnoticed. The guards stationed near the entrance turned sharply toward the noise, their eyes widening in disbelief when they saw her standing among the prisoners.
"Your Majesty, what are you doing here?" one of them stammered, his face pale as though he were seeing a ghost.
The second guard, the one who had seen her approach earlier but dismissed it as a trick of his mind, now looked utterly baffled. His confusion deepened as he took in the scene—the prisoners hollering, the Queen standing there, and his own unanswered questions of how she had slipped past them.
Elara stood frozen in place, her lips slightly parted as she tried to come up with an explanation. But no words came. She was just as flabbergasted as they were.
---
Her head flew back, her hair sweeping forward and veiling her face. The stinging force of the slap reverberated through the air, but Elara made no move to steady herself, no reaction to clutch her cheek in pain. She simply stood there, motionless, as Theron's furious voice erupted like a thunderstorm in the room.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?!! THERON!" The Queen Mother's voice cut through his outburst like a blade as she swept into the room, Evelyn trailing closely behind her.
But Theron didn't spare his mother even a glance. Instead, he whirled toward the guard standing by the door, his head hung low, trembling under the King's wrath.
"You're saying you saw her coming, but you weren't smart enough to call me? WHY would you even allow her into the dungeons at night?" Theron barked, his rage echoing in the chamber.
His attention snapped back to Elara, his hand raised once more, anger burning in his gaze. "WHAT WERE YOU GOING TO DO THERE?"
The second strike never came. Morgana, swift and unwavering, intercepted his hand, gripping his wrist with surprising strength. "That is enough, Your Majesty," she said firmly, her voice sharp as steel.
Evelyn and the Queen Mother rushed forward, placing themselves between the King and the Queen.
"Your Majesty, calm down," Ralf intervened, his voice steady yet commanding. The elder man, positioned himself beside Morgana, helping to contain Theron's volatile temper.
Theron jerked his wrist free but froze when he turned to Elara again. She wasn't cowering or crying. She wasn't pleading or protesting.
She was staring at him.
The icy intensity of her gaze made his chest tighten, and for a fleeting moment, he felt the chill of something unfamiliar—fear. He fought to maintain his composure, his jaw clenching as the Queen Mother stepped forward, her voice heavy with authority.
"Theron!" she snapped, her tone scolding and unyielding. "What is all this about?!"
Before the King could reply, the room erupted into further chaos as Lyric, Given, and Leroy burst through the doors, their faces etched with confusion and alarm.
"Grandma, what's going o—" Lyric began, but the Queen Mother raised her hand, silencing her.
"Leave us, Lyric. You too, Evelyn," she said calmly, though her voice left no room for argument.
"But—" Evelyn protested, but her grandmother cut her off with a single word: "Now."
Given and Evelyn exchanged uneasy glances but obeyed, leaving the room reluctantly. The door closed behind them, leaving only the King, Queen, Queen Mother, Ralf, and Morgana.
The Queen Mother turned her sharp gaze to her son. "What insolent behavior is this?" she demanded, her words laced with disappointment.
But before anyone could say more, Elara moved. She picked up her dress, her movements measured and deliberate.
With her head held high, she strode toward the door, her regal presence striking even in the tense atmosphere. She left the room without a word, leaving the royalties stunned in her wake.
Theron, for all his anger and authority, shuddered. He had witnessed something in her in that moment—an anger, a resolve—that made him question the power he thought he held.