Calista’s gaze raked over her, the barest twitch of her mouth betraying her distaste before she looked away.
“Tristan tells me you wished to speak with me.”
Elara’s throat tightened. “Yes, I—” She faltered, the words catching.Where do I even begin?She cleared her throat. “I knew you once. Long ago.”
Calista’s eyes flashed. “You did.”
Elara exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging as the tension ebbed from her body. “Can you tell me about it?”
“So youdon’tremember?”
Elara picked at the broken edge of her nail. “I have fragments. A memory of us together. We were talking about Lord Artan’s daughter.”
Calista snorted. “Of all things,that’swhat you remember.”
Elara’s gaze narrowed, her heart stumbling over itself. It felt like an insult, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why.
Calista leaned back in her chair, her gaze never leaving Elara, studying her with a detached kind of curiosity, like she was trying to decide how much of her time this conversation was worth. The firelight flickered, casting shadows across her face, but there was nothing warm about her expression.
“You want to know about the past,” she finally said, her voice smooth, though there was an edge beneath it. “I was the eldest daughter in a family that only cared about one thing—status. Everything was about appearances, alliances, and who could get closest to the Lord Sovereign. I was groomed from the momentI could walk—taught to speak softly, act obediently, and make myself pleasing to powerful men.
I had a younger sister. She was allowed to be free—spirited, wild. Not that it saved her in the end. But my parents made it clear that my sole purpose was to catch Osin's attention, that my worth was tied to his gaze, his favor. And I believed them. It wasn’t about love or affection. It was about being indispensable. About power.”
Her eyes flickered, something darker flashing behind them. “I was obedient. Played the part they wanted. I thought if I did everything right, maybe I’d earn a place by his side. Maybe I’d be more than just the pawn they’d shaped me to be.” Her mouth thinned into a line. “But that’s the thing with power. It has no loyalty. It takes, consumes, and when it’s through with you, you’re left searching for who you were before it claimed you.”
Calista leaned forward. “Don’t expect to like what you learn about our past, Hallowed. I stopped caring about pleasing anyone a long time ago.”
Elara stayed silent, bracing herself for what came next.
“Yes, we knew each other.” Calista’s mouth curved, not quite a smile. “And I hated you. You were different. Didn’t care about the court gossip, barely bothered with your hair. It made you stand out, made you a target. And for us girls, you were an easy mark. We were all jealous, you know? Jealous of your value to Osin. Jealous of how you didn’t seem to care about anything we thought was important.” She shook her head. “You didn’t play by the rules. Didn’t need to. And for all of us who had spent our lives bending and twisting just to survive, just to be seen—you were a threat.”
Elara swallowed, her throat tightening.
“I got close to you because I wanted to mess with you—just like everyone else. We thought you were this privileged, untouchable girl.” Calista’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something—regret, maybe—crossing her face before she continued. “Lord Artan’s daughter,Malinda, hated you more than most. She couldn’t stand that you had the attention of the Dantan brothers. She’d been in love with the eldest for years, and you…” Calista shrugged. “You didn’t even care. That’s what made it worse."
“But the more time I spent around you, the more I saw the cracks. Your life wasn’t what we thought it was. It wasn’t shiny and luxurious. It was cold, distant, and filled with the same kind of loneliness we all pretended not to feel.”
Calista leaned back, her gaze unwavering. “I know what it’s like to be manipulated by the men in your life. Groomed to believe it was your place to serve, to please. To be told over and over again that you were only as valuable as the favor you earned or the silence you kept.” Her lips curved. “But do you know what’s worse than being shaped by their lies? Believing you deserve it.”
She shook her head. “I stopped hating you after a while—stopped pretending you were anything less than exactly what you are—someone who never fit into the mold they tried to force you into. But by then, it was too late.”
Elara cleared her throat, her heart thudding in her chest. It was a lot—a flood of information she didn’t know how to process. She bit her lip, hesitating before speaking. “The memory I have,” she started slowly, “is of you telling me about the Hunter tripping Malinda."
Calista laughed, but it wasn't warm. Nothing about her was. “Malinda,” she said with a shake of her head, “she cut the ribbons off your cloak just to see you flustered at court. It was all so childish. But that’s what we were—children, vying for scraps of attention. We didn’t understand that it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t choose any of it. We just hated you for being in the middle of it.”
“But Ivan...” Calista’s mouth twitched at the memory. “He didn’t like that. After court that day, he waited for Malinda, made sure she went face-first into the mud, ruining that ridiculous new dress of hers. He wasn’t one for forgiveness. Even back then, he was intense.”
Elara’s ears buzzed, her heartbeat pounding wildly in her chest. “So the Hunter and I... we knew each other?”
Calista tilted her head, her green eyes sharp. “Yes. You knew each other. He was... protective of you. It was obvious to anyone watching. At first, I thought it was out of some twisted sense of duty. You being the Hallowed, his family tied to the sovereign. It made sense, in a way. He was following orders, nothing more.”
Calista’s fingers traced idly along the armrest of her chair. “But then I caught you both one evening, together.”
Elara’s heart stuttered, her brow furrowing. Why hadn’t he told herany of this?
Calista smirked. “He was reading to you. A novel. The kind your teachers never let you near. You were supposed to stick to philosophy, religion, science. But Ivan, he knew you wanted it. Figured it out somehow. I later learned from you how it started—he would climb into an alcove, a rounded window along the path you walked every day from your lessons to prepare for dinner. He’d sit there and read aloud, knowing you’d pass by, and one day you stopped. You didn’t know it was for you, not at first. You’d just sit in the grass outside the window, listening.”
Elara’s throat tightened, her heart pounding harder.
