The Weight of Shadows
Kael sat alone in his private study, the northern wind rattling the tall windows of Draven Palace. Silver light from the rising sun caught the edges of his dark armour, casting long shadows across the polished obsidian floor. He had not slept, though he had not expected to. The events of the previous day—Elara's arrival, the ceremonial wedding, her silent defiance—had unsettled him in ways he had not anticipated.
He poured himself a cup of northern tea, its bitter aroma curling through the room, and set it aside without taking a sip. His mind was occupied, restless. Why do I feel so… drawn to her?
Kael had not entered Elara's chambers on the wedding night for many reasons, chief among them his curse and the fact that he didn't understand whatever he felt anytime he was close to her. Even in a kingdom built on power and conquest, Draven observed certain protocols and he knew, he has to take her to bed or else the peace treaty will have to be nullified. A bride's first night was to be that was gentle and romantic and for some unknown he didn't have the heart to something like that with her just because it was a necessity. So, he thought he'd allow her take that night as a night of reflection, to honor her presence and her role, not to impose upon her or allow the union to become physical when she wasn't ready.
Yet there was more than tradition in his choice. Elara was not merely a political pawn; she was defiant, intelligent, and entirely unpredictable. To force his presence would have been folly—not a mark of authority, but of arrogance. She must arrive in this kingdom on her own terms, even if those terms were constrained by duty.
Kael's thoughts returned to breakfast, to the measured courtesy he had given Selene. His advisers would call it diplomacy, adherence to protocol, maintaining the semblance of northern order. And that was true. Yet he knew, in the quiet of his mind, that Selene's expectations of intimacy or closeness—emotional or otherwise—were secondary to the careful manipulation of the court. She was useful to him in certain ways: a loyal aide, a strategic advisor, an experienced northern noblewoman.
But Elara… Elara was unlike anyone he had ever met. There was something about her that unsettled the very rules he had followed his entire life. She stirred a fire inside him he had not known could exist, yet he would not, could not, allow himself to indulge it—not yet. The threads of court politics, duty, and power demanded control. For now, he would observe, measure, and wait.
And yet… she is captivating, he admitted silently, staring at the empty chair across from him where she had not yet arrived at breakfast. That fire in her eyes. The way she holds herself. That defiance…
He set his hands on the table and leaned forward, fingers steepled. I cannot allow myself to act impulsively. Not with her, not with the kingdom, and certainly not with Selene involved. She believes… she thinks… but she does not know.
Meanwhile, in her own chambers, Elara paced slowly, Lyra trailing silently. The palace was vast and labyrinthine, each corridor a test of her patience and observation. She had spent the morning absorbing the events at breakfast: Kael's polite attentions toward Selene, the subtle glances, the careful deference he showed. She could not ignore the uneasing feeling that had pricked her chest repeatedly.
Does he favour her? Elara wondered, bitterness rising. Does he already care for her? Or is it mere custom?
She walked past the towering windows overlooking the northern mountains, sunlight glinting off the jagged peaks. The cold wind swept through, carrying the scent of pine and frost, reminding her of the stark contrast between Draven and Dawnvale. In her own heart, she felt both awe and fear. Awe at the grandeur, the power, the strength of the northern kingdom; fear at the unknown challenges she would face within its walls.
Her thoughts wandered to Kael. His presence at breakfast had been measured, polite, even distant. He had not sought her gaze, not lingered on her words beyond necessity. And yet… there was an unspoken weight in his silence, a sense that he was aware of her, assessing her, perhaps even protecting her from the shadows in ways she could not perceive.
Lyra stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You must remember, Elara… appearances here matter. He may be observing more than he lets on. And Selene…" Her eyes flicked to the long hallway leading to Kael's chambers, "she is not to be underestimated."
Elara's lips pressed into a thin line. "I know. I will not underestimate her… or the king."
In her chambers across the palace, Selene lingered near the window, dark eyes gleaming with thought. She was so happy when were closest maid Tiana, told her Kael was not present for his wedding night with that bitch and Her breakfast had gone according to plan: Kael had shown her courtesy, listened intently, acknowledged her opinions. Yet there was something disconcerting in the way he occasionally glanced toward Elara, brief and fleeting, as if weighing her, measuring her. That slut must have used her beauty to seduce him, but then again;
She is new, inexperienced in northern ways… Selene mused, lips curling slightly. And yet there is a fire in her. A defiance that could be dangerous… or useful. We shall see. I will ensure that I am prepared for whatever comes next.
Her fingers tapped lightly on the window ledge, the sound sharp in the quiet room. A plan was forming, a web of subtle influence and careful manipulation that would place her at the center, not the sidelines.
Elara moved slowly through the corridors, taking in the intricate carvings on the walls, the portraits of Draven kings, the banners of silver and black. Every corner reminded her of the power she had married into, and every shadow reminded her of the constant scrutiny she would face.
Before she could get to her chambers, a maid came running to her, informing her that the chief Consort, Lady Mirelle wanted to see her. The maid led her to the chief Consort's chamber when Elara asked her to and what awaited her was something she laughed at the moment she got there. "Hahahaha, do you really expect me to wash your feet"? Elara asked looking surprised and watching the chief consort and the other ladies sitting there like they were joking.
"Of course, this is a tradition her, and it will be disrespectful if you don't abide by it", the chief consort shouted.
"I'm sorry if you think I'm being disrespectful...…." Elara was interrupted before she could finish her statement
"Indeed, but I won't hold it against you only if you finish washing my feet and then you apologise to myself and the ladies present" Lady Mirelle said.
"Hmphhh, I'm never going to do something so low as a chief consort and that's what you didn't allow me to finish saying" Elara shot back and immediately walked out angrily.
By the time she returned to her chambers, her mind was filled with questions, doubts, anger and a quiet determination. Kael's silence, Selene's subtle confrontations, the chief consort's disrespect and the palace itself—all demanded patience, observation, and strategy.
And though Kael's attraction remained subtle, hidden beneath layers of protocol and self-restraint, Elara could feel its faint, unacknowledged presence, a spark waiting for its moment to ignite.
The northern kingdom was a maze of power, tradition, and expectation. And in that maze, both princess and king were learning, silently, that the union was only the beginning—and that every day, every glance, every measured word would carry consequences far beyond what they could yet see.