Her father studied her for a long moment. Then, finally, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “I see your mother in you more and more each day,” Laurent murmured. His fingers briefly brushed her head, something like a blessing, and gave her a warm smile. “The Seven willing, should we survive to see the dawn… then we’ll speak of the future.”
He turned and strode out, leaving Alora staring after him, her heart a little lighter, but somehow steadier.
The castle guards opened the library doors wide for their king, but Queen Delphi waited beyond.
“How can you do this?” she seethed at him. “Defying Calveron will get us all killed. For all our sakes, let them have her. I beg you, Laurent. Listen to me!”
But her father marched on without speaking to her and Delphi spun around, her angry eyes fixing on Alora like knives, deep violet like the poisonous delphiniums she was named after. Her fists shook, fingers digging into her black mourning gown.
Delphi’s hiss carried through the library. “You’re a curse on us all.”
The library doors thudded shut, sealing Alora inside like a tomb.
She flinched. The queen’s words sank sharp as barbs, lodging in her mind. Was she dooming Argyle with her plan? Her stomach twisted.
Before the thought could root too deep, a hand closed gently around her wrist and tugged her behind the tall shelves. She gasped, wide-eyed, until she found herself staring into Caelum’s familiar face.
“Do not heed her,” he said quietly, his voice steady, resolute. “All of Argyle stands with you, Alora. You’ve given us hope again.”
Her throat tightened, the weight in her chest growing instead of easing.
Caelum was armored for battle, sword at his hip. He believed her plan could succeed, even when she herself wavered.
Alora wrapped her arms around herself. “Even when that hope puts you on the front lines?”
“I fight for our home, for which I march gladly.”
His certainty struck her harder than fear. She had never seen a battlefield, never watched blood soak into stone, never given an order that might cost a life. And yet here he stood, unflinching, carrying her fragile hope as if it were a banner worth dying for.
Alora swallowed, knowing this was what bravery truly asked of her. Not courage without fear, but faith placed in others when her own hands trembled because there was no other option but to fight.
“I have been meaning to return this.” Caelum reached into his cloak and withdrew the crimson spindle.
Alora’s mouth parted with a soft breath. She thought her father had seized it the night he found her in Salvia’s old dressing chambers.
“Oh, thank you!” She took it carefully, its familiar weight and warmth falling into her palm.
He nodded. “It seemed important to you.”
“It belonged to my mother,” Alora sighed, holding it to her chest. There wasn’t much she had left of her now. “I am most grateful. How can I repay you?”
Caelum paused for a breath, then lowered onto one knee and took her hand. “If I may be so bold, princess, may I ask for your favor?”
Alora stilled, her hand stiffening. “Favor?”
His smile was faint, solemn. “A knight bears his lady’s token into battle. If you would grant me yours, I would carry it as my strength.”
In his eyes she saw the longing he no longer hid. Affection she could not return, not anymore. Guilt coiled sharp in her chest as she thought of Theia. He should be asking for her favor.
“Caelum…”
“I may not see the dawn, princess,” he said teasingly. “Could you grant me this one wish?”
Her stomach twisted tighter. Caelum was marching to risk his life, answering her father’s command, obeying the plan she had set in motion. To deny him felt cruel.
With a sigh, Alora slipped the handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it into his palm. “Then let it remind you of Argyle,” she said gently, “and the duty you carry.”
Caelum’s fingers curled around the cloth as though it were sacred. He tucked it beneath his breastplate, smiling broadly, so heartbreakingly sweet that dread coiled in her chest like smoke.
