Kaelen’s POV

Her voice hit me like a blade between the ribs.

Where were you last night?

A few words. No inflection. No tremor. Just flat, surgical precision, as if she were asking about the weather.

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

My mind lurched backward. This morning. The room at the inn. Waking with my skull splitting open, my thoughts scattered like shattered glass. Seraphine’s bare shoulder. The sheets pooled at her waist. Marks—bruises, bites—scattered across her collarbone. My own shirt crumpled on the floor.

And nothing. No memory of how I got there. No memory of touching her. Just the damning evidence and a void where the night should have been.

I couldn’t tell Elara that.

I couldn’t tell her any of it.

"There was—" My throat closed. "Imperial business," I forced the words through, desperate to cover up my absence yesterday and last night. "A complex border situation."

Elara didn’t blink.

"A border situation," she repeated. Toneless.

"Yes." I stepped further into the room. My legs felt unsteady. "I had to handle it personally. In person."

The lie tasted like ash on my tongue. I kept going anyway because the alternative was the truth, and the truth would destroy everything.

"It ran late. Through the night. I should have sent word. I’m sorry."

She looked at me. Straight at me. Those ice-blue eyes, clear as winter sky, held nothing I could read. No anger. No hurt. No accusation.

Nothing.

"Okay," she said.

That was it. One word. She didn’t ask which border. Didn’t ask which commander. Didn’t demand details or proof or any of the things I’d braced myself for.

Just: Okay.

The silence that followed was worse than any scream.

I stood in the middle of our sitting room, still half-reaching for her, and she sat on that sofa like a statue carved from pale marble. Her hands were folded in her lap. Her spine was perfectly straight. She looked at me without looking at me—through me, past me, as if I’d already become a ghost.

I wanted her to yell. Wanted her to throw something. Wanted the explosion, the fury, the tears. Anything but this hollow, mechanical stillness.

"Elara—"

The front doors burst open downstairs. Small feet thundered across the foyer. Lyra’s voice rang through the house like a bell.

"Mother! Mother, we’re home!"

Elara rose from the sofa. Smoothly. Instantly. As if a switch had been flipped. The coldness in her face vanished, replaced by warmth so seamless it terrified me.

She moved past me toward the hallway. Her sleeve brushed my arm. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t acknowledge the contact at all.

I followed.

Lyra was already halfway up the stairs, her silver hair flying behind her. Valerius trailed at the bottom, slower, his dark gold eyes sweeping the scene with an awareness no child his age should possess.

"My little darling." Elara knelt and caught Lyra in her arms. Pulled her close. Pressed her lips to the crown of her head. "How was your day? Tell me everything."

"Mother! We learned the ancient Elvish alphabet today! Miss Cordelia said my letters were the neatest in the whole class!" Lyra bounced on her toes, face flushed with pride. "And—and—Maya shared her honey biscuits at break time. She said her grandmother makes them with real clover honey."

"Did she?" Elara smoothed Lyra’s hair back. Her smile was perfect. Warm. Reached her eyes. "That sounds wonderful. Were they good?"

"So good. Can we make some? Can we?"

"We’ll see about that." Elara’s gaze lifted to Valerius, who had reached the top of the stairs. "And you, my little warrior? How was your day?"

Valerius shrugged one shoulder. His eyes flicked to me—brief, assessing—then back to his mother. "Had a history test."

"How did it go?"

"Fine. It was okay."

Elara nodded. Didn’t push. She stood, one hand resting on Lyra’s shoulder, and said, "Let’s get you both something to eat before dinner. Lyra, would you like apple slices?"

"With jam!"

"With jam."

"Extra jam?"

A pause. Then: "Extra jam."

Lyra squealed. I watched Elara guide them down the corridor toward the kitchen, her hand on Lyra’s back, her voice soft and steady. She didn’t look back at me. Not once.

I stood alone at the top of the stairs.

---

Dinner was a performance.

We sat at the long table in the family dining room—not the formal hall, just the smaller one with the enchanted candles that Lyra liked because they changed color. Servants moved silently between us, placing dishes, refilling goblets. Roast fowl. Root vegetables glazed with honey. Fresh bread. Lyra’s favorites.

We fell into our usual routine, coordinating smoothly in tending to the children. I poured water for Valerius and buttered extra bread for Lyra, while Elara cut Lyra’s meat into small pieces and reminded Valerius to eat his greens. She was attentive. Present. Every inch the devoted mother.

She didn’t touch me. Didn’t look at me. Not once.

I passed her the salt. Our fingers didn’t brush. She took it without acknowledgment, setting it beside her plate before continuing her conversation with Lyra about the Elvish alphabet.

"Which letter was your favorite?" Elara asked.

"The one that looks like a tree! Miss Cordelia said it means ’life.’ Or maybe ’light.’ I forget."

"Both are beautiful meanings."

I tried to catch Elara’s eye across the table. Failed. Her gaze moved from Lyra to Valerius to her plate to the servants. Never to me. I might as well have been one of the enchanted candles. Decorative. Irrelevant.

My chest was tight. Every breath felt earned.

Valerius ate in silence. He watched us both with those unsettling golden eyes—saw more than he should. At one point he looked directly at me, his fork paused midway to his mouth, and something flickered across his young face. Recognition. Understanding. Then he looked away and said nothing.

By eight o’clock, the meal ended. Servants cleared the dishes. Lyra yawned—a huge, theatrical yawn that crinkled her whole face.

"Bedtime," Elara said. Gentle but firm.

"But Mother—"

"It’s time, darling."

Lyra slid from her chair and padded around the table. She reached up and tugged Elara’s sleeve.

"Mother, will you do my bath tonight? Not Father?"

The words landed like stones in still water.

I looked at Lyra. Then at Elara.

"Of course, my little darling," Elara said. She took Lyra’s hand. "Let’s go."

They disappeared together. I heard their footsteps on the stairs. Lyra’s chatter. The distant sound of water running. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

Half an hour. That’s how long I sat in the dining room. Alone. The enchanted candles shifted from amber to rose to pale blue. I didn’t move. Didn’t eat the last piece of bread on my plate. Just sat with the silence and the growing dread coiling tighter in my stomach.

When Elara returned, she stood in the doorway. Her sleeves were damp at the wrists. Her face was composed. Unreadable.

"Story time," she said.

I stood. "I’ll do it. It’s my night."

Every Friday. The same routine. I read stories to my little princess on this night. Had done so since she was old enough to ask for them. It was ours—mine and my daughter’s. A small, sacred thing.

Elara tilted her head. Looked at me for the first time since I’d walked through the door.

"You’ve had a long night," she said, her voice perfectly even. "I will tell her the story."

She walked right past me toward the stairs, not looking back once, forcing me to swallow my protest and concede.