Chapter 3: Shadows and Whispers
The western wing was colder than Elira expected. The windows were high, letting in only thin strips of pale sunlight. Dust danced in the air, catching the light in tiny golden threads. It was quiet. Too quiet.
Kael lay in the cradle, staring up at the ceiling with wide, dark eyes. His tiny hands grasped at the blanket, frowning as if he already knew the world would not care for him.
Elira knelt beside him, her small fingers brushing his soft cheek. "Don't cry," she whispered. "I'll protect you. I promise."
The promise felt heavier than her body, heavier than the air in the forgotten room. She had never had anyone to make promises to in her past life. Not a brother. Not a friend. Not a parent.
A sharp knock echoed on the door. Elira jumped. The maid's warning had been clear—do not cause trouble. Trouble, in the empire's eyes, could mean punishment or being ignored even more.
"Who is it?" she called softly, trying to steady her voice.
The door opened slightly. A boy—older than Elira by a year, perhaps—peered in. His uniform was neat, his expression sharp. He carried a stack of papers.
"You're the Second Princess," he said, his tone unreadable. "The Emperor wants records updated. He said someone has to—"
Elira tilted her head. "Me?"
He frowned. "Yes. You. They said… you exist, so…" His voice trailed off.
Elira's lips twitched. In her past life, she had spent years ignored. Now, even when summoned, the empire's attention was begrudging, mechanical, like a breeze brushing past a forgotten corner.
"I can do it," she said softly, standing on tiptoe to take the papers. "Show me where."
The boy hesitated. Then, with a sigh, he pointed to a low table in the corner. "Be careful. Mistakes… they notice."
Elira nodded, pretending to be small and obedient. But in her mind, she cataloged every detail: the shape of the windows, the path to the master chamber, the schedules whispered in the corridors. Knowledge was power, even for a powerless princess.
As the boy left, Kael whimpered again. Elira lifted him into her arms. He clung to her without fear, tiny fingers pressing against her chest.
"You're safe now," she murmured. "No one can touch you while I'm here."
The baby's dark eyes seemed to study her, unblinking, as if understanding more than a newborn should.
Elira shivered. In the novel, Kael was supposed to grow up cold, cruel, and hated. But here he was—tiny, fragile, and looking at her with trust she had never known.
A thought crept into her mind:
If no one wants him… if no one wants me… then we will create our own world.
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the western wing. The air smelled faintly of old stone and forgotten incense.
Elira wrapped a thin blanket around Kael, holding him close.
"Tomorrow," she whispered, "we start living. Even if the empire ignores us… we have each other."
The silence answered her back—not empty this time, but patient, waiting.
And somewhere deep inside the palace, the whispers began. The whispers that two forgotten children might one day change everything.