Breakfast had ended—quietly, privately, and with minimal humiliation, which Elena counted as a personal victory.
Claire had lingered afterward, chatting about fabrics and council politics, while Elena tried very hard not to think about the way Soren's gaze kept drifting toward her whenever he assumed she wasn't looking.
Eventually, the three of them moved into a small adjoining salon—Claire settling gracefully onto a cushioned bench, Soren standing near the tall windows in a posture that radiated tightly leashed tension, and Elena pretending to study the molding so no one would notice she was still emotionally compromised from earlier.
The moment felt almost peaceful.
Sunlight warmed the stone floor.Claire hummed as she organized a small stack of papers.Soren's presence—unsettling but steady—filled the room like a dark hearthfire.
Elena finally felt her heartbeat slowing.
Which, naturally, was when the door slammed open.
Not politely.Not ceremonially.With force.
Kael stepped inside alone.
Black-armored, broad-shouldered, and carrying an aura of absolute, silent lethality. Silver runes etched into his armor glinted sharply in the light. His expression was carved from stone, severe but unnervingly controlled.
His eyes—ice-blue, precise—swept the room once.
And softened only when they found Claire.
"My lady," he said quietly, inclining his head.
Claire blinked, startled. "Kael? What is it?"
The softness vanished instantly as he turned to Soren, posture shifting into rigid military formality.
"My prince. There is a situation."
Soren stiffened. "Report."
Kael paused. Only a breath. But the air tightened.
"The spy was not alone."
Claire's smile vanished.
Elena felt the room shift—the way it did when Soren's temper coiled before striking.
Kael continued, tone clipped.
"He carried markings. Ones we've only seen on agents of—"
He hesitated.
Soren finished coldly:
"—The Kharath Empire."
Elena inhaled sharply.
She remembered the ancient texts she had read in the library—pages describing a brutal northern power infamous for raiding, conquering, enslaving. A land forged by survival through cruelty. A place where fear was a tool and mercy a weakness.
Claire's voice trembled. "Kharath? Here?"
Kael nodded once. "In our forests."
Soren's jaw flexed, the tendon in his neck tightening.
"Why?" he demanded.
Kael turned slightly—just enough to reveal tension building through his shoulders.
"They're probing the rifts," he said. "Testing whether the old magic has returned."
A cold rush swept over Elena's skin.
The rift. Where she had appeared. Where the spy had been found.
Claire looked between them in horror. "But what could they possibly want with a rift?"
Kael hesitated—long enough that Elena felt nausea coil in her stomach.
Then his icy gaze settled on her.
Not threatening.
Worse.
Knowing.
"We suspect," he said quietly, "that they are not looking for a place."
He let the silence stretch.
"They are looking for a person."
Elena's breath froze.
Soren moved.
One step—silent, predatory—and placed himself directly between Kael and Elena. Not touching her, but claiming the entire space.
Kael did not flinch.
"They may already know she is here," he finished.
Claire gasped.
Elena grabbed the edge of a chair to steady herself.
Soren's voice was deceptively calm. "Out. All of you."
Claire hesitated. "Soren—"
"Claire."One word, tight and warning.
She touched Elena's arm before slipping out, worry clouding her features.
Kael bowed once. "Your Highness."
Then he left as silently as he'd arrived.
The door shut.
The room felt smaller. Hotter. Sharper around the edges.
Soren turned to Elena slowly—too slowly.
"Elena."
Her name in his voice carried a gravity that made her pulse trip. Fury. Fear. Something else she couldn't name.
He stepped closer.
"What did the spy want with you?" he asked, low.
"I—I don't know," she whispered.
His eyes darkened. "Think."
"I am thinking. I don't know why Kharath would—"
"You appeared at a rift," he said. "A place of power." He stepped nearer. "And now an enemy empire is sending agents into my forests."
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"Soren—"
His voice sharpened, a rare crack in his control.
"What are you, Elena?"
Her breath caught miserably. "I don't know."
She looked away.
He caught her chin—gently, unbearably gently—and guided her gaze back to his.
"I will not let Kharath touch you," he said. "Not while I draw breath."
Her heart stuttered.
"And Elena—" His voice dropped. "Do not wander alone again."
"I wasn't—"
His mouth twitched. Not amusement. Something darker.
"You're lying," he whispered. "And you're terrible at it."
Her blush betrayed her.
A flicker of heat crossed his eyes—swift, dangerous.
"Elena."
Soft. Shaped like a promise.
She swallowed hard. "I'm not afraid."
"No," he murmured. "You never are. That is what terrifies me."
Before she could answer, the door burst open.
A breathless messenger stumbled inside.
"Your Highness—there's been another breach."
Soren's hand dropped instantly from her chin.
His whole body went stone-still.
"Where?" he demanded.
The messenger swallowed. "Near the southern watchtower."
Soren turned to Elena, gaze burning, unreadable.
"Stay with Claire," he said. "Do not leave her side."
She nodded, pulse wild.
He brushed past her—close, so close she felt the heat of him like a brand.
Then he was gone.
Leaving Elena alone with a truth she couldn't deny:
The Kharath Empire wanted something.
The rifts were waking.
And she—impossibly, unwillingly—was at the center of it.