Caelum’s POV
The treaty sat open across my desk.
Candlelight pooled over the parchment, highlighting the neat, perfect ink strokes. Shadows stretched along the edges, making the whole thing look colder, smaller, more dangerous.
And still, something felt wrong.
I read the final clauses again.
Then a third time.
The language was exact—almost too careful—the kind of precision that only comes when someone has something to hide.
I pushed the chair back sharply and stood, striding to the door.
I called for my aide.
“Double-check the magical attachments,” I said the moment he arrived, not bothering with greetings. “Every binding clause. Every ritual seal.”
He bowed quickly and left without question, his robe brushing the floor as he turned.
Minutes later, he returned—face pale, hands trembling slightly as he handed me a second scroll. This one was thinner, coded in the fine script reserved for spells woven into law.
I read it once.
Then again, slower.
Buried deep inside, masked under ceremonial oaths and exchange rites, was a hidden binding.
If Elowen was crowned queen, her aura—the very energy that made her bloodline valuable—would be tied to Theron’s command.
Permanently.
A ritual bond.
A leash.
My hands tightened around the scroll until the parchment creased under my fingers.
I dropped it onto the desk with a sharp slap that echoed through the chamber.
It was a violation of everything we had agreed to. A breach not just of trust, but of sovereignty.
Drosmere hadn’t bargained for a puppet throne.
We had offered peace.
Not ownership.
The fury simmered hotter the longer I stood there, breathing through it, willing myself not to punch a hole through the nearest wall.
I needed to hear it from her.
I found Elowen in her receiving room, tucked away in one of the quieter wings of the palace.
She was seated near the window, brushing her hair back into a loose braid. She wore the pale blue gown she favored for appearances—softening her every edge, making her look harmless.
She looked up when I entered.
For a moment, she smiled.
It faltered quickly.
“You found it,” she said quietly.
I didn’t answer.
I didn’t need to.
She stood, smoothing the front of her dress with nervous hands, like the fabric could shield her from what was coming.
“I knew you would,” she added. Her voice was too steady. Practiced.
“You knew.” I kept my voice low. Cold.
Elowen nodded once, a small, almost guilty bow of her head.
“It’s part of the price,” she said. “For peace.”
I crossed the room in two steps.
“You agreed to this?”
She shook her head quickly, twisting her fingers together. “No. But I accepted it. There’s a difference.”
The words dug deeper than they should have.
Not because they surprised me—because I recognized them.
She had already convinced herself there was no other way.
“Elowen—”
“If you expose it,” she said sharply, cutting me off, “you’ll shatter everything. The treaties. The alliances. Drosmere’s place in the new court.”
She stepped closer, hands open, pleading now.
“You know what we sacrificed to get this close,” she said. Her voice cracked slightly. “We are nothing to them without this marriage. You start a war now, and all of it is for nothing.”
I stared at her.
I wanted to see the girl I used to defend—the sister I would have fought the world for without hesitation.
Instead, all I saw was a queen already cornered.
Already chained.
I didn’t say anything.
I turned and left, the door swinging shut behind me.
The corridors outside were nearly empty.
Only the low flicker of torches remained, casting long shadows that trembled against the stone walls. Somewhere down the hall, the muted boom of thunder rolled overhead, a leftover grumble from last night’s storm.
I leaned against the stone wall for a moment, breathing slowly, forcing myself to think.
The betrayal sat heavy in my chest, a weight that refused to lift no matter how tightly I clenched my fists.
And somewhere underneath all of it, like a whisper I didn’t want to hear, came the memory of Seraya’s voice.
Not begging.
Not breaking.
Planning.
Her ridiculous, reckless idea.
A fake pregnancy.
A play for power.
A lie sharp enough to carve through a crown.
At the time, I thought she was desperate. Unstable.
Grasping for anything in a world that had already decided she was expendable.
Now, I wasn’t so sure.
She wasn’t wrong to want revenge.
She wasn’t wrong to want something back from the ruins they built on her bones.
She was dangerous.
And maybe for the first time in weeks, I didn’t see that as a weakness.
I stared down the long, empty hall.
My hands curled into fists at my sides.
This time, I wouldn’t hesitate.
This time, I would agree.
30
