It happened quietly.
Sir Rowan collapsed during morning training. No battle. No warning. Just a sudden pain in his chest and a look of shock on his face.
I was there.
I remember dropping to my knees beside him, pressing my hands against his armor, begging him to breathe.
"Elara…" he whispered my name.
He never finished his sentence.
The healers said it was a weakness of the heart. Something hidden. Something unavoidable.
I knew better.
The palace changed after that.
People stopped meeting my eyes. Servants avoided my chambers. Whispers followed me down every corridor.
They didn't say it aloud—but they believed it now.
I was cursed.