The journey to Ashford was long and silent, stretching across desolate lands where the wind carried whispers of forgotten battles. Elara kept her gaze fixed on the horizon, watching the fading light of day give way to a cold, shadowed night. The stars above seemed distant, like the fragments of her former life. They no longer held the same sense of wonder or promise they once had. Now, they only reminded her of everything she had lost.
Dorian, ever watchful, rode beside her, his presence a steady reassurance—if not a comfort. His silence spoke volumes, as it always did. He had been with her through her darkest hours, loyal to a fault, though she often wondered if he truly understood what it cost her to keep walking this path. Even now, as they neared Ashford, she could feel the weight of her decision pressing on her chest.
"Are you ready for this?" Dorian asked after what seemed like an eternity, his voice low, almost drowned out by the wind.
Elara did not immediately respond. Instead, she spurred her horse forward, the rhythmic sound of hooves beating against the earth echoing in the night. The air felt heavy with unspoken words, as if the kingdom itself was holding its breath, waiting for the moment she would arrive.
She had never truly left this place. Even after her death, even after the years of wandering through a world of shadows, Ashford had remained etched in her mind. She had been raised within these walls—taught in the royal halls, loved by a prince who had later become her executioner. The memory of his touch, once tender, now haunted her. But it was not just the love that tormented her—it was the betrayal that followed.
"I've been ready for a long time," Elara finally replied, her voice cold, devoid of the warmth she once carried. "But I don't think anything can prepare me for seeing him again."
Dorian did not press her further. Instead, he gave a single nod, his expression unreadable. He understood. Kaelen's name was spoken with reverence in the kingdom, but to Elara, it was a curse. Every whispered prayer to his name felt like a knife twisting deeper into the wound that had never healed.
The road grew steeper as they approached the valley that led to Ashford's gates. The first signs of the kingdom's watchtowers rose from the mist, like sentinels guarding the entrance to a place both familiar and foreign. Elara felt a surge of emotions—rage, grief, guilt—and the faintest hint of doubt. She shook her head, banishing it. There was no room for doubt in her heart. Not anymore.
"We should enter before dawn," Dorian suggested, his voice cutting through the quiet tension that had settled between them. "We don't want to attract attention."
Elara nodded, her jaw tightening. It had been years since she had last set foot here, but the memories were vivid, alive in her mind. She could still see the lavish balls held in the castle's grand hall, the soft glow of candlelight, the sound of laughter. She had once believed she was part of something beautiful. Now, all she saw was a kingdom built on lies, a kingdom in ruins.
They approached the outer gates, where two guards stood vigilant. The familiar sight of the guards, clad in golden armor, made Elara's stomach twist. They did not recognize her, of course—no one would. She had changed too much. Her hair was darker now, her face sharpened by time and magic. The gods had seen fit to give her strength, but they had also taken her innocence.
Dorian dismounted first, his movements graceful despite his size. He approached the guards with the ease of someone who had spent years navigating the political landscape of Ashford's court. He spoke softly, words that Elara could not hear, though she knew he was likely making some excuse for their presence. His skill in diplomacy had always been his greatest asset.
After a tense moment, the guards nodded and stepped aside, allowing them to pass.
"The path is clear," Dorian said, as they rode through the gates into Ashford's inner courtyard. "For now."
Elara's heart pounded in her chest. Her gaze swept over the stone walls, the towering spires that seemed to stretch forever into the sky. The castle loomed ahead, its silhouette barely visible in the faint light of the rising moon. But even through the darkness, she could feel its presence, like a weight on her shoulders.
This was it. The moment she had been preparing for.
They dismounted in the shadows of the castle's outer courtyard, the stone underfoot cold and unyielding. The sounds of the night—chirping insects, the rustling of leaves—felt distant, as if she were no longer part of the world she had once known. It had all slipped away from her, piece by piece, until nothing remained but the mission.
Dorian glanced toward the castle entrance, his expression cautious. "We should wait for the right moment. If we act too quickly—"
"I won't wait," Elara interrupted, her voice hard. "I've waited long enough."
She walked toward the castle with purpose, her every step calculated, as if the very ground beneath her feet had betrayed her in the past. Each breath she took was deliberate, filled with the heavy weight of what she was about to do. Kaelen was inside. And for the first time in years, she could feel his presence in the very air around her.
The guards at the castle doors stood watch, their postures rigid, their eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of trouble. But as Elara approached, they did not move. They did not speak. Her presence—strange, dark, and foreign—was enough to stop them in their tracks.
She didn't wait for an invitation. She walked past them without a word, Dorian following close behind. The castle's interior was just as grand as she remembered—tapestries hanging from the stone walls, gilded furniture, polished marble floors. It felt like a dream, like a distant memory from a life she had once lived. But it was not a dream. It was a nightmare.
The halls were quiet, too quiet for a castle that should have been alive with the sounds of the court. Elara's boots echoed in the silence as she moved deeper into the heart of the castle, her senses on high alert. She had once walked these halls with ease, knowing every hidden passage, every dark corner. Now, the place seemed foreign to her.
"Where is he?" Elara whispered, her voice barely audible in the vast emptiness.
Dorian motioned ahead, and Elara followed his lead. They passed through the grand hallway and came to the doors of the throne room. Elara's pulse quickened, her heart racing. She could feel the weight of Kaelen's gaze on her, even though he was not yet in sight.
The door to the throne room opened with a creak, revealing the imposing figure sitting upon the throne. Kaelen.
He looked just as she remembered, and yet he was different. His once youthful face was now hardened, his eyes colder, sharper. The man who had once been her lover was now a king, his regal presence a stark contrast to the man she had known. But despite the years and the distance, his eyes found hers instantly, recognition flickering in the depths of his gaze.
"Elara…" Kaelen breathed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and regret.
She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. The silence between them spoke louder than any words ever could.
The air in the room shifted, thick with the tension of a thousand unspoken emotions. The past hung heavy between them—love, betrayal, and a vengeance long overdue.
And now, finally, the time had come.