(Princess Elara's POV)
The room the servants lead me to is too grand for a prisoner.
But too guarded for a guest.
Two soldiers stand outside the door the moment I step inside. They don't look at me—not out of respect, but fear. The kind that comes from serving a king who doesn't tolerate mistakes.
Kael is nowhere to be seen.
Good.
And somehow… not good.
The room smells of cold stone and old stories. Moonlight filters through the tall windows, casting silver shapes across the marble floor. It's beautiful in a haunting way—like a palace built from nightmares and lullabies.
I drop onto the bed with a heavy exhale.
My wrists still feel the echo of Kael's grip.
Not rough.
Not cruel.
But unyielding.
Like he was holding on for more reasons than one.
I sit there, heart pounding, trying to make sense of everything.
Why the forest didn't swallow me.
Why the shadows reacted to me.
Why Kael looked at me the way he did…
As if I was a ghost he didn't want to see return.
I move to the mirror.
My reflection stares back—disheveled hair, dirt smudges on my cheeks, bruises I don't remember earning. I look like someone who ran for her life.
Because I did.
Out of my father's palace.
Away from a marriage that felt like a sentence.
Away from a truth I suspected but never understood.
My mother's face floats into my mind.
Her soft voice.
The warnings she whispered before she died.
"If you ever see shadows move on their own, Elara… run."
I did run.
Straight into them.
A shiver wraps around my spine.
I push away from the mirror and start exploring the room instead. Anything to distract myself. Anything that might give me answers.
There's a tall wooden wardrobe, a desk carved with ancient symbols, a balcony overlooking the blackened forest.
And at the far corner—
A painting covered by a velvet cloth.
My breath catches.
Something inside me whispers not to look.
Something stronger whispers that I must.
I step closer and lift the cloth.
My world stops.
It's a portrait of a woman.
Her dress is dripping gold silk.
Her hair is sunlight.
Her eyes… my eyes.
My mother.
Younger.
Alive.
In Drakmorn.
Standing beside the throne.
My hands shake as I reach out to touch the edge of the canvas.
Why is she here?
Why did she never tell me?
Why does Kael have a portrait of her in a place no one should wander?
"Your mother asked for it to be hidden."
The voice behind me freezes my blood.
Kael.
I whirl around.
He stands at the door, half-shadowed, cloak dripping darkness on the floor like it clings to him even when he tries to leave it behind. His expression is unreadable, carved from ice, but something sharp flickers in his eyes when he sees what I uncovered.
I take a step back.
He takes a step forward.
"Don't," he says quietly. "Don't touch it."
"I have every right to—"
"You have no idea what rights you have anymore."
His voice is low, dangerous—not with anger, but with truth.
"I want answers," I whisper.
Silence.
His jaw tightens.
His eyes close for a brief, pained moment.
"You will get them," he says at last. "But not tonight."
"That's not good enough."
"For now… it is."
He takes another step toward me, and for a moment, the shadows crawl up his boots as if reacting to his emotions.
They seem eager.
Alert.
Hungry.
But when they approach me, they… hesitate.
As though something about me repels them.
Or protects me.
Kael notices.
His expression cracks for the first time—a flicker of fear. Real fear.
Not of me.
But of what I might become.
"You should rest," he says, voice rough.
"And my mother?" I whisper.
"What was she to you?"
The question hangs between us like a blade.
His breath leaves him in a slow, controlled exhale.
"Someone," he says quietly, "I failed."
Before I can speak, he turns and leaves, shadows trailing after him like loyal dogs.
The door shuts.
And I stand in front of the portrait, heart pounding, realizing that the truth is much darker than I ever imagined.
Because whatever my mother hid from me…
Kael remembers all of it.