The engagement was announced with trumpets, laughter, and wine.
Elara stood beside her parents in the great hall as guests offered congratulations she did not feel. Lord Ardent's son, Julien, bowed with polished grace, his smile practiced and polite. He spoke of travel, education, and prosperity—never once of feeling.
Elara listened as if from underwater.
When Julien reached for her hand, she allowed it. His touch was careful, distant. Safe.
That night, Elara slipped out of the manor long after the candles had burned low. The sky was cloudless, stars scattered like secrets. She pulled her cloak tight and followed the narrow path toward the northern fields.
She found Luca repairing a fence beneath moonlight.
"You shouldn't be here," he said without turning.
"I heard what they did to you," she replied. "I'm sorry."
Luca straightened slowly. "Apologies don't change power."
"I didn't mean for this to happen."
"I know," he said. "That's what makes it worse."
Elara's voice shook. "I'm engaged."
Luca's shoulders stiffened. "Then why are you here?"
"Because I can't breathe," she said. "Because every choice feels like a betrayal—of you or of myself."
Luca stepped closer, the moon revealing exhaustion etched into his face. "Then choose yourself."
"That would destroy you."
He laughed bitterly. "You think loving you hasn't already?"
The words hit harder than any accusation.
"I don't want to be brave at your expense," he continued. "And I won't let you ruin your life for a dream."
"What if the dream is the only real thing I've ever known?" Elara asked.
Luca was silent for a long moment. Then he reached out, stopping just short of touching her.
"If we cross this line again," he said, "there's no going back."
Elara closed the distance.
Their kiss was not gentle. It was desperate, stolen, filled with everything unsaid. When they finally pulled apart, breathless, fear rushed in to replace warmth.
"We can never do this again," Luca said.
"I know," Elara whispered.
They parted before dawn.
---
The next weeks passed like a slow execution.
Elara was confined more closely than ever—her walks supervised, her letters screened. Preparations for the wedding consumed the manor.
Julien noticed her distance.
"You are not happy," he said one evening.
"No," Elara replied honestly.
He studied her. "There is someone else."
She said nothing.
"I will not ask who," Julien continued. "But understand this—your freedom ends when our vows begin."
The threat was calm, deliberate.
---
Meanwhile, Luca received an offer.
Work in the city. Dangerous, poorly paid—but far away.
He accepted without hesitation.
On his last night in the village, Luca stood at the oak tree one final time. He did not expect Elara to come.
She did.
"You're leaving," she said.
"Yes."
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
Tears blurred her vision. "I wanted more time."
"There was never time," Luca replied.
She pressed something into his hand—a ribbon from one of her gowns, simple but unmistakably hers.
"So you won't forget me," she said.
"As if that were possible."
They stood in silence until dawn.
When Luca walked away, he did not look back.
And Elara knew the choice had been made—by the world, if not by her.