Steam coiled through the princess's bathing chamber, curling against stone walls veined with pale marble. The copper basin stood at the center, filled with steaming water scented faintly of crushed lavender and rosemary. Oil lamps flickered in iron sconces, casting warm gold through the mist.
Elara leaned back into the water, her dark hair unbound and heavy down her back. Behind her, Maera worked scented soap gently through her hair, fingers careful and practiced.
"So tell me, my lady," Maera said softly, pouring warm water over her crown, "what kept you wakeful last night?"
Elara exhaled. "Nothing of consequence."
Maera's hands stilled briefly — she knew that tone meant everything and nothing at once.
"Have you made the arrangements with the Lord Chamberlain?" Elara asked instead. "For the eligible suitors?"
"Yes, my lady. Two gentlemen today. Two tomorrow. And so forth." Her voice remained steady. "If none please you, I am certain His Majesty will not hesitate to summon more."
Elara's fingers tightened beneath the water.
Her coronation had become the court's favorite whisper. A crown demanded a king beside it. Or so they insisted.
"I suppose it cannot be helped," she murmured.
Silence settled between them, broken only by the gentle splash of cooling water.
Then Elara spoke again, quieter this time.
"Maera… have you ever been in love?"
Maera's hands paused.
"My lady?"
"I know it is a strange question." Elara stared at the steam rising before her. "But I wish to understand what it feels like. Not the kind written in poems. The real kind."
Maera resumed rinsing her hair slowly.
"Yes," she said at last. "I have loved."
Elara turned slightly. "What is it like?"
Maera's gaze lowered, thoughtful.
"It is… unsettling," she began carefully. "You cannot command it as you would a servant. It arrives unbidden. You begin to seek that person in crowded rooms. You notice when they grow silent. When they are tired. When they pretend they are not."
A faint smile touched her mouth.
"You wish to be near them — even if no words are spoken. You long for them to see you — not as others do, not as a lady or servant — but as something known. Something understood."
Elara's throat tightened.
"And when they do not look at you," Maera continued softly, "it feels like being unseen in a world that once felt bright."
The water had begun to cool.
"You need not tell me more," Elara said gently, sensing the shift.
Maera shook her head.
"I have served you nine years, my lady. You have never pressed me for my past. I owe you honesty."
She rose.
"But perhaps we should continue this over breakfast. The water is losing its warmth."
Elara gave a faint chuckle. "Very well."
Maera helped her from the basin and wrapped her in a thick linen robe. Together they returned to her chambers, where she dressed her in a pale morning gown of soft silk and fastened delicate clasps at her back.
A knock sounded.
Two younger maids entered bearing trays of fresh bread, sliced pears, honey, soft cheese, and steaming tea.
"Your Highness."
They bowed and withdrew.
Elara exchanged a brief glance with Maera.
"You have more attendants now," Maera said once the door closed. "There are murmurs throughout the palace. Your coronation may soon be announced."
Elara's jaw tightened.
"And it seems," Maera added carefully, "His Majesty wishes the court to remember you exist."
Elara gave a brittle smile. "A touching gesture."
They sat. Tea was poured. Steam curled between them.
After a moment, Maera began.
"Three years before I came to the palace… my mother died."
Her voice remained steady, though her fingers tightened around her cup.
"I was left alone with my father. He was a gambler. And when coin failed him, he found comfort in drink."
Elara listened quietly.
"Our home became a place of shouting and broken things. Plates shattered. Doors slammed. I learned to move silently — so he would forget I was there."
She paused.
"When I turned sixteen, he brought a merchant to our door. A widower. Old enough to be my grandfather."
Elara's hand stilled.
"They spoke as if I were livestock. They discussed coin. Land. Debts."
Maera swallowed.
"My father laughed when the man agreed. Said the dowry would settle his troubles. Said I should be grateful."
Elara's eyes darkened.
"The night before the contract was to be signed, he struck me. Said I would ruin everything if I cried in front of the merchant."
Her voice did not shake — but something in it hardened.
"I ran before dawn."
She spoke of cold roads. Hunger twisting her stomach. Counting steps to keep from collapsing. Sleeping beneath a cart one night, in a chapel alcove another.
"On the fourth day, an elderly seamstress found me collapsed near the market gates."
Her name was Mistress Aldwyn.
"She took me in without question. Fed me broth. Gave me clean clothes. She had a small cottage and a son."
Her expression softened.
"His name was Rowan."
Elara felt the shift immediately.
"He had kind hands. And he listened. Truly listened. We would sit outside the cottage at dusk, speaking of small dreams. Of gardens. Of travel."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"I did not know when affection became love. Only that one day I realized the world seemed lighter when he stood beside me."
The following spring, Rowan asked for her hand.
"Mistress Aldwyn wept when she gave her blessing."
Elara's eyes glistened.
"We were to wed after harvest."
Silence fell.
Then—
"A fever came through the village that autumn. Sudden. Merciless."
Maera's fingers trembled now.
"Rowan tended to the sick without rest. He would not abandon them."
Her voice thinned.
"He fell ill within days."
Elara's breath caught.
"I sat beside him while the fever burned through him. He apologized for leaving me."
She blinked quickly.
"He died before sunrise."
The tea between them had gone untouched.
"Mistress Aldwyn survived him by less than a fortnight. Grief hollowed what illness did not."
The cottage was sold. Debts claimed it.
"I buried them both."
Elara reached across the table and covered her hand.
For a long moment, Maera did not speak.
"I believed," she whispered at last, "that loving me had cost them their lives."
Her fingers tightened slightly beneath Elara's.
"It took me years to understand that love does not summon death." She swallowed. "It only makes its absence louder."
The chamber felt smaller somehow.
"I thought if I never loved again, I would never feel that silence."
Her eyes lifted — vulnerable, unguarded.
"I was wrong."
Elara squeezed her hand.
"When I came to the palace, I sought only survival," Maera said quietly. "But I found something else."
A faint smile returned.
"You treated me not as a servant… but as someone worth keeping."
Emotion thickened the air between them.
"If you ever fear love, my lady, know this — it is not the pain that defines it. It is the light it gives while it is here."
Elara swallowed against the weight in her chest.
Outside her chamber door, boots shifted softly in the corridor.
Ser Kael stood at his post.
Unmoving.
Listening to nothing.
Guarding everything.