Silence
The honeymoon was over.
Not that it had ever truly begun.
On the morning of the tenth day, Elara was moved to her own chamber.
It was a quiet affair—no ceremony, no announcement. Just Valeria arriving with a team of attendants, her voice clipped and efficient.
"Her Majesty will now reside in the Queen's Wing," she said, as if Elara were a piece of furniture being relocated.
The Queen's Wing was beautiful. Gilded ceilings, velvet drapes, a private garden with moonflowers that bloomed only at night. But it was also distant—physically and emotionally—from the King's quarters. A symbolic separation. A quiet declaration.
The honeymoon suite, with its untouched bed and mocking opulence, was behind her now.
She hadn't seen Kael since the day of their wedding.
Elara's days became a pattern of ceremonial duties and quiet solitude.
She presided over charity meetings, reviewed petitions, and attended court functions where her presence was ornamental. She smiled when required, nodded when expected, and spoke only when spoken to.
Her nights were lonelier.
The Queen's chamber was vast, with a fireplace that crackled softly and a bed too large for one. She often sat by the window, watching the stars blink into existence, wondering if Kael ever looked up at the same sky.
Valeria remained her constant shadow—efficient, unreadable, always watching.
---
On the seventh day,of her being moved to the Queen chamber. Kael returned from the northern territories.
Elara was informed not by him, but by a servant who bowed and whispered, "His Majesty has arrived."
She saw him next at a council meeting.
He entered in full regalia, his presence commanding. The room fell silent. Elara sat at the far end of the table, her hands folded, her face composed.
Kael's eyes met hers briefly.
No nod.
No smile.
Just recognition.
She was the Queen. He was the King. And between them stretched a chasm of silence.
---
The discussion was about trade routes and border tensions.
Elara listened, absorbing every detail. When a minister proposed a tariff that would hurt the lower city merchants, she spoke.
"Wouldn't that disproportionately affect the working class?" she asked.
The room paused.
Kael turned to her. "You've been studying."
"I've been listening," she replied.
A flicker of something passed through his eyes—surprise, perhaps. Or respect.
The minister stammered, adjusted the proposal, and the meeting continued.
Elara remained composed, but inside, something stirred.
She had spoken.
She had been heard.
---
That evening, Elara walked through the palace gardens alone.
The moon hung low, casting silver light on the roses. She paused by the fountain, trailing her fingers through the water.
Footsteps approached.
She turned.
Kael stood there, hands behind his back, his expression unreadable.
"Your chambers are satisfactory?" he asked.
"They're quiet," she replied.
He nodded. "You've adapted well."
"I had no choice."
Kael looked away. "I didn't mean for it to be like this."
Elara's voice was steady. "Did you mean for it to be anything?"
Silence that all it was, she was always confused when he was nice to her cause the next day or minutes he could be mean.
Then Kael said, "I meant for it to be duty."
She nodded. "Then we are both fulfilling our roles."
---
The Library Again
Elara returned to the library the next day.
She climbed the ladder again, reaching for a book titled The Art of Royal Influence. It was dry, political, full of strategies for queens to navigate court politics without overstepping.
She read it cover to cover.
Then she wrote in her journal:
> I am not here to be loved. I am here to endure. But if I must endure, I will do so with purpose.
She began drafting proposals—ideas for education reform, healthcare for the lower city, and cultural preservation. She didn't submit them. Not yet. But she was preparing.
---
The Letter from Home
Another letter arrived.
This one from her sister, Aurelia.
> Dearest Lyria,
> We saw the royal procession. You looked radiant. Cassian insists you're secretly a sorceress. Father sends his pride. Mother sends her prayers. I send my heart.
> Are you happy? Are you safe? Do they treat you well?
> Write back soon. The garden misses you. So do I.
> —Aurelia
Elara read it twice.
She didn't cry.
She folded it carefully and placed it in her drawer.
She would write back. But not yet.
---
Two days later, Valeria entered her solar with a rare flicker of emotion.
"His Majesty requests your presence for dinner."
Elara blinked. "Dinner?"
Valeria nodded. "In the private dining hall."
Elara dressed in a gown of deep emerald, her hair braided with silver threads. She entered the hall with measured grace.
Kael was already seated.
He rose as she entered.
"You look well," he said.
"So do you."
They dined in silence at first—venison, roasted vegetables, spiced wine. Then Kael spoke.
"I've read your proposals."
Elara paused. "You had access?"
"I asked Valeria to collect anything you wrote."
Elara's jaw tightened. "You spy on me."
"I observe," he corrected.
She set down her fork. "And what did you think?"
Kael met her gaze. "They're… insightful."
She waited.
He continued, "I've approved the education initiative. The rest are under review."
Elara's breath caught.
"You're serious?"
Kael nodded. "You see things I don't. That's valuable."
She didn't smile.
But something inside her shifted.
Over the next week, Kael began to appear more often.
He invited her to council meetings.
He asked her opinion on foreign policy.
He walked with her through the gardens, sometimes in silence, sometimes in conversation.
But he never touched her.
Never kissed her.
Never entered her chamber.
Their marriage remained a contract.
But their partnership… was beginning.
--
One evening, Elara overheard two maids whispering.
"They say the Queen is changing things."
"She's clever. The King listens to her."
"She's dangerous."
Elara walked past them without comment.
But inside, she smiled.
She was no longer invisible.
She was becoming inevitable.
---
That night, Elara stood at her window.
The stars blinked above.
The city lights twinkled below.
She was alone.
But not powerless.
She whispered to herself:
> "I will not be forgotten. I will not be silenced. I will rise."
And somewhere in the palace, Kael sat in his study, reading her words.
Not knowing who had written him.
Not knowing she had crafted his soul.
But beginning, perhaps, to see her.
---