Kael
He shouldn't have watched her.
He'd told himself to leave her be, to give her space, to let her breathe in this new place without his looming presence. But the moment the chamber door had closed behind him, Kael had circled around through the servant corridors, ascending one floor above.
There, behind the veil of a carved stone grate in the hall, he watched from the shadows.
She didn't eat.
She didn't dress.
She didn't speak.
She only stood in the center of the room, looking like she had just escaped one storm and walked straight into another. Her eyes—gods, her eyes—they weren't soft the way he remembered them from the courtyard. They were burning. Wounded. Alive.
When she stepped into the bath, he turned away—he wasn't a man who needed to steal what would never be given—but he heard the quiet sobs. The kind that came from deep inside the soul. The kind that bent even the strongest to their knees.
He rested his gloved hand against the cold stone.
Kael had seen battlefields soaked in blood, had slain men twice his size, broken the spines of beasts in the frozen north. But that sound… that trembling cry from a girl who hadn't cried when she was bound and dragged through the gates…
That sound pierced him deeper than any blade ever had.
He left before she saw him. Guilt gnawed at him as he returned to the long, dim corridor above her chambers. He didn't know how long he paced there, silent as a ghost. Long enough for the candles in the sconces to burn low.
Then… movement.
He saw her again. Elira—barefoot, wearing a long white nightgown that clung to her damp skin. Her golden hair spilled over her shoulders in waves, loose and gleaming in the low firelight. She opened the door quietly, as though afraid the walls might accuse her.
But she didn't flee.
She wandered.
Kael stayed in the shadows, silent and unseen.
She moved down the corridor with her hand brushing the stone, as if grounding herself. She passed the portraits of his ancestors, pausing at one—the last Lady of Blackthorn Keep. A woman with eyes like his, cold and unreadable.
Elira tilted her head, her lips barely parted. She was curious. Not frightened. Not yet.
She turned down a hallway that hadn't been walked in years. The tapestries lining it were faded, the windows arched and open to the night air. Moonlight spilled in, painting her in silver.
Kael exhaled quietly, his breath fogging the air.
She didn't belong here.
But gods help him… she fit here.
Something about the way she moved—hesitant yet defiant—called to the part of him that had long been buried beneath blood and command. She wasn't trembling now. She was searching.
For answers.
For escape.
For power, perhaps.
He should've stopped her. Should've warned her not to go too deep into the east wing. Should've told her that not every door in this castle stayed locked out of protection. But he didn't.
He wanted to see where her courage would take her.
So he followed.
She should not have come this far.
Kael's silent steps brought him around the next curve of the corridor, just in time to see her reach the old double doors at the end. They were carved with intricate spirals and bound in iron. No lock, no sigil, no obvious sign of danger. But they were old. Older than the castle itself. Older than him.
And they should've remained untouched.
He saw her hesitate—her hand hovered just above the handle. Something in her expression changed. Not fear. Not even curiosity. It was instinct, the way a wolf senses a storm before it breaks.
Elira gripped the handle.
Kael moved.
One step, then another. He crossed the space between them in silence. Her fingers curled around the iron, and just as she began to pull—
His hand shot out, covering hers.
She gasped.
Her entire body froze, shoulders locking, eyes going wide. He was directly behind her now, close enough to smell the hint of rose oil in her damp hair. Her breath hitched.
"I said rest," Kael murmured, voice low, rough, barely more than a breath against her ear.
She tried to pull her hand away, but he didn't let go. Not yet.
Her voice was quiet, but tight. "What's in there?"
"Nothing meant for you," he said.
"That doesn't answer the question."
His grip tightened a fraction—not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind her who he was. What he was. "You don't want answers from doors like this."
She turned her head slightly, enough to glimpse him from the corner of her eye. Her lashes were wet still, cheeks pale from crying. But her gaze—gods, it held a fire he didn't expect.
"You're afraid of what I'll see?" she asked.
He didn't blink. "I'm afraid of what it will show you."
The silence between them stretched, taut as a wire. The old door loomed before them, untouched again.
Then, slowly, he let go of her hand.
Elira stepped back, just enough to put air between them, but not enough to run. She looked at the door again, then at him. "You watch me," she said, quietly.
"I protect what's mine."
"I'm not yours."
He tilted his head slightly. "Then what are you doing wandering my halls, barefoot in the dark?"
"I don't sleep well in cages," she said, voice cold now. Distant. "Even when they come with silk sheets and warm baths."
That struck something deep in him. Something ugly. Something true.
Kael stepped away, giving her room to breathe, and the hallway seemed to inhale with her. "Return to your chamber, Elira. This wing is forbidden for a reason."
Her eyes lingered on the door, then on him. He couldn't tell if she was tempted to defy him… or if she wanted him to explain why she shouldn't.
She said nothing more. Just turned and walked away, the hem of her nightgown trailing behind her like ghostlight.
He waited until she disappeared around the corner before he finally exhaled.
Then Kael looked to the door.
His jaw clenched.
She'd been seconds away from opening it.
And the truth locked behind it… would have broken her.