Elara returned to the fields three days later.
She told herself it was an accident—that her feet had simply carried her down the familiar path without thought. Yet her heart beat too quickly for lies. This time, she wore a cloak, its hood drawn low, as if fabric alone could hide her identity from the world.
The fields buzzed with activity. Morning light shimmered across wheat stalks, and the air smelled of earth and effort. Elara lingered near the edge again, her gaze searching without permission.
She found Luca bent over a broken plow.
Relief washed through her, quickly followed by fear. She watched him for several minutes before he noticed her presence. When he did, his body stiffened.
"You shouldn't be here," he said, standing upright.
"I know," Elara replied. "I tried to stay away."
"Then why didn't you?"
She had no answer. Instead, she asked, "Does the land ever feel endless to you?"
Luca frowned slightly. "Endless?" He looked around. "It feels heavy. Like it owns us."
Elara swallowed. "My father says land is power."
Luca's lips curved into a humorless smile. "That's because he doesn't carry it on his back."
The words stung, though she knew they were true. "I didn't come to argue," she said softly. "I came to understand."
"Understanding is dangerous," Luca replied. "Especially for people like us."
"Like us?" she echoed.
He met her gaze, eyes dark and steady. "You know what I mean."
They stood apart, a careful distance between silk and soil. Elara felt the weight of unseen eyes, though no one nearby seemed to notice them.
"What do you want from me?" Luca asked at last.
"I don't know," she admitted. "I only know that I keep thinking about you."
The honesty surprised them both.
Luca looked away, jaw tightening. "That's a mistake."
"Why?" she asked.
"Because I'm not allowed to be thought about by someone like you."
Elara stepped closer. "Who decided that?"
"The world did," he said. "Long before either of us had a say."
A voice echoed from the far end of the field—an overseer calling for Luca. He flinched.
"If they see us talking like this…" he began.
"I'll leave," Elara said quickly. "But please—just tell me one thing."
He hesitated.
"Do you think about me too?"
Silence stretched painfully. Then Luca nodded once.
"Yes," he said. "And that's why you must stop coming here."
She wanted to argue, to insist that she could choose her own path. But the fear in his eyes stopped her. Not fear of her—but of what knowing her could cost him.
"I understand," she whispered.
She turned and walked away before her resolve shattered.
---
That evening, Elara's mother summoned her to the parlor. The fire crackled, casting long shadows across velvet furniture.
"Elara," Lady Montclair said gently, "your father has been approached by the Ardent family."
Elara's chest tightened. "For what purpose?"
"Marriage," her mother said plainly. "Their son is well-educated, wealthy, and respectable."
Respectable. The word felt like a prison.
"I'm not ready," Elara said.
"You will never feel ready," her mother replied. "But duty does not wait for feelings."
Later that night, Elara stood at her window, staring toward the distant fields. Somewhere beyond the darkness, Luca slept—unaware of the cage slowly closing around her.
---
Luca, meanwhile, argued with his father in their small home.
"You spoke to her?" his father demanded.
"I didn't seek her out," Luca said. "She came to the fields."
"That doesn't matter," his father warned. "The Montclairs don't look kindly on familiarity."
"I know," Luca snapped. "But she's not what they say she is."
His father sighed. "That's the problem, son. If she were cruel, this would be easier."
Luca lay awake long after, torn between longing and logic. He knew better than to dream. Yet dreams, once awakened, were difficult to silence.
By the end of the week, Elara stopped coming to the fields.
Luca told himself it was for the best.
But absence, he discovered, was far louder than presence.