“Elira is about the most emotionally retarded person I know. That’s just a fact.”
I opened my mouth, but she held up a finger.
“She doesn’t know how to deal with feelings. Not hers. Definitely not yours. She’s scared. She’salwaysscared. And you leaving her alone in it? It just confirmed every terrible thing she already believes about herself.”
“Well how do I fix it?”
She gave me a long look, like I was missing the most obvious answer in the world.
“You could trytalkingto her. I know, it’s crazy,” she drawled.
“Sorrowsea up ahead!” A scout on horseback rode past, urgency in his tone. The tension in the air shifted.
I looked up just in time to see Caelen gesture toward Elle.
“Come on,” he said, reaching out to take the reins of her horse—guiding her forward, closer to him. “I can’t wait to show you my home,”
She let him.
She didn’t even glance back.
And just like that, the moment was gone.
Chapter 18
Elira
Sorrowsea looked like a magical sandcastle brought to life. Its towers rose high in shades of sun-washed stone, crowned with sculpted shell motifs that wound elegantly around the walls. The citadel overlooked the beach and bustling port below, where ships rocked gently in the tide, sails half-raised in preparation for departure.
“Are we taking the ships from here?” I asked, riding alongside Caelen.
Slade stood at my other side. “Yes. It’ll cut our journey time in half—and it may give us the element of surprise.”
“How long is the journey?” I asked.
“Most likely a few days by sea. It’ll be close quarters, that’s for sure,” Caelen said, flashing a smile. “But I’ll make sure you’re on my ship. It’s much bigger—and far more comfortable.”
Slade shot him a glare. “Assuming there’s room for the rest of us.”
Caelen hesitated, then cleared his throat. “We’ll figure it out.”
Up ahead, a small cotillion of troops approached—led by a man dressed in golden brown and sea green.
“General Marcus,” Caelen said, gesturing between us. “This is Slade Archenwald, and Princess Elira Virell.”
“Princess!” The general bowed low. He was a thin man, lined with age and refinement, his bearing crisp as sea air. His eyes sparkled with the quiet confidence of someone who’d seen his fair share of battles—and won most of them. I liked him immediately.
“Hi,” I said, more awkwardly than I meant to.
He smiled kindly, as if he found my informality refreshing rather than offensive.
“Your mother awaits us in the hall, Your Grace,” he said, straightening.
Caelen sighed. “Great.” He said, but I saw the look on his face.
“Should I be prepared to fight?” I asked, half joking.
“Maybe.” He grinned. “She’s .. not an easy woman. Let’s put it that way.”
