Elara's knees threatened to buckle, but she willed herself to stand tall. She wouldn't give Ryan Calderon the satisfaction of seeing her break.
He knew.
Somehow, he knew.
That the blood of a dead kingdom—the blood of a fallen line—ran through her veins.
Elara forced herself to breathe. "You're mistaken."
Ryan didn't blink. He watched her with that same piercing, unshakable calm, as if he had already calculated every possible way this conversation could end.
And somehow, he had already won.
His voice was smooth, deliberate. "Am I?"
Elara clenched her fists. "I'm no one."
Ryan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The candlelight cast shadows along his sharp jawline, emphasizing the cold amusement in his storm-gray eyes. "You expect me to believe that?"
She held his gaze, refusing to waver. "I don't care what you believe."
Ryan studied her for a long moment. Then, without a word, he stood.
Elara tensed.
He stepped closer, each measured footfall echoing against the marble floors. The moment he reached her, he raised a hand—slow, calculated.
She didn't flinch, even as his fingers brushed against her wrist.
Elara's breath caught as she realized what he was doing.
He was feeling her pulse.
Slowly, Ryan's gaze lifted back to hers, and there was something unreadable in his eyes. "Your heart is steady," he mused. "I expected you to be more afraid."
Elara swallowed. "I've had worse things to fear."
Ryan smirked. "Is that so?"
He let go of her wrist, but not before his thumb grazed the raw skin where the shackles had been. He studied the bruises with a flicker of something—something like curiosity.
Then he turned away, stepping back toward his throne. "Tell me, Elara," he said, as if they were discussing the weather. "What do you know of the kingdom of Aurenne?"
The name sent a spike of ice through her chest.
Aurenne.
The kingdom that had been burned from history.
The kingdom that had once been hers.
She forced her expression into something neutral. "Nothing."
Ryan chuckled softly. "Lies again."
Elara lifted her chin. "If you already have all the answers, why ask me?"
Ryan's eyes darkened, and for the first time since she'd met him, his amusement faded.
"Because," he said, voice low, "I need to know if you even remember what you are."
A flicker of unease curled in Elara's stomach. "And what do you think I am?"
Ryan stepped closer again, but this time, there was no mockery in his gaze.
This time, his words felt like a blade against her throat.
"The last living heir of a kingdom I destroyed."
Silence fell between them.
The words wrapped around Elara like a noose, suffocating, undeniable.
Her blood roared in her ears.
Her fingers twitched at her sides, as if reaching for a weapon she didn't have.
Ryan knew.
He knew everything.
Elara's mind spun, searching for an escape, a way out, but there was none.
Not against him.
Not when he was the very reason her kingdom had been reduced to ashes.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she forced out.
Ryan let out a slow exhale, almost as if he were disappointed. "Still pretending?"
She met his gaze head-on. "I am not pretending. I am no one. Just a girl trying to survive."
Ryan studied her for a long, heavy moment. Then, to her shock, he laughed.
It wasn't a kind laugh.
It was dark, sharp, edged with something she couldn't quite place.
"You're not just anything, Elara," he said, shaking his head. "You are the last ghost of a forgotten throne."
Elara's pulse pounded, but she kept her face blank. "So what now? You kill me like you did my people?"
Ryan didn't answer immediately. He simply watched her, his expression unreadable.
Then, with a quiet, almost thoughtful voice, he said, "If I wanted you dead, you wouldn't be standing here."
Elara exhaled shakily. She hated that he was right.
But that left one question.
"If you won't kill me," she said carefully, "then what do you want?"
Ryan was quiet for a moment. Then he stepped even closer, until they were only a breath apart.
"I want to know why you survived."
Elara stilled.
His words sent a ripple of confusion through her.
Why she survived?
What did he mean?
Ryan's eyes locked onto hers, sharp as steel. "You shouldn't exist. Not after what happened. Not after what I did."
Elara's stomach twisted.
She had spent her entire life running from the ghosts of her past, burying memories she had no desire to unearth.
But Ryan Calderon—the man responsible for it all—was looking at her like she was the ghost.
A living contradiction.
An impossible truth.
And she had no idea why.
Elara forced herself to swallow the storm brewing inside her. "I survived because I ran."
Ryan tilted his head. "Is that what you believe?"
She clenched her jaw. "It's the truth."
His gaze flickered with something unreadable. "We'll see."
With that, he turned away, dismissing her as if she were nothing more than an afterthought.
"Get some rest," he said, already walking back to his throne. "You'll need it."
Elara frowned. "For what?"
Ryan sat down, leaning back against the carved wood. His smirk was back, but this time, there was something almost hungry in his expression.
"For the answers you will give me."
Elara's blood ran cold.
She had spent her whole life running.
But Ryan Calderon had no intention of letting her escape.
And for the first time—she wasn't sure she wanted to.
---