Chapter 55: Chapter-55

“It’s useful tactically. Terrible socially.” She looked at the water. “People expect emotional responses. Crying after attacks. Fear. Gratitude. I know I’m supposed to perform those reactions, but I can’t make them genuine.”

“You don’t have to perform for me.”

“Don’t I? You’re sworn to protect me. If you think I’m broken or damaged, does that change how you perceive your duty?”

He considered that. “My duty is to keep you alive. Your emotional state doesn’t change that. But personally…” He paused. “I find your clarity refreshing. Most royals are drowning in emotions—pride, anger, jealousy, fear. It makes them unpredictable. You’re logical. I can work with logical.”

“So my emotional void is tactically advantageous.”

“For me, yes.” He looked at her directly. “For you, I’m less certain.”

Elara processed that. “You think I’m missing something important.”

“I think you’re surviving efficiently. But surviving and living aren’t the same thing.”

“Philosophical for a beast knight.”

“We have three hundred years of collected philosophy. Captain Lyra says I think too much.”

“Do you?”

“Probably.” He smiled slightly. “But someone has to think about the implications of things beyond immediate threats.”

They lapsed into comfortable silence again. Elara found herself appreciating his presence—not emotionally, but practically. He didn’t demand emotional performance. Didn’t treat her emotional absence as a problem to solve.

“Can I ask you something?” she said.

“Fair trade.”

“How do you feel about leaving the palace? Actually feel, not tactically assess.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “Terrified. Excited. Unmoored. All at once.”

“That sounds complicated.”

“It is. Three hundred years of my order staying in one place, and I’m the first of my generation to leave. It feels like… breaking a sacred trust and fulfilling a secret dream simultaneously.”

“You wanted to leave?”

“I wanted to see the world. But I’m a beast knight. We don’t leave. So I buried the wanting and did my duty.” He looked at the dark shoreline sliding past. “Then you commanded it, and suddenly the impossible became mandatory. I don’t know if I’m grateful or resentful yet.”

“That’s honest.”

“You asked for honesty.”

Elara filed away the information. Emotional complexity. Multiple conflicting feelings existing simultaneously. She couldn’t access that experience herself, but understanding that others did was strategically useful.

“Tomorrow we reach Port Crestfall,” she said. “New threats. New complications.”

“New opportunities.”

“You’re optimistic.”

“I’m realistic. Yes, there will be threats. But there will also be possibilities that didn’t exist in the palace.” He straightened. “You’ve already accomplished more in two weeks than most princesses do in years. You might surprise yourself with what you can build.”

“I don’t feel capable of being surprised.”

“Then you’ll surprise everyone else instead.”

.

.

The next morning—the final day before Port Crestfall—Elara found Lisa on deck looking significantly better than she had in days.

Still pale, still clearly uncomfortable, but no longer actively dying.

“You’re upright,” Elara observed, approaching her.

“The ginger helped. The bracelet helped. Being on deck instead of below helped.” Lisa managed a weak smile. “Also knowing we arrive today helped enormously.”

“One more day.”

“One more day,” Lisa repeated, leaning carefully against a barrel to find her balance on the moving deck. She took a careful breath of the morning air. “I never thought I’d be so desperate to see land. Any land. Even if it means new problems waiting there.”

“At least they’ll be stationary problems.”

That got a genuine laugh from Lisa, though she immediately regretted it as her stomach lurched. “Don’t make me laugh. My stomach barely tolerates existing right now.”

Elara filed that away—humor could cause physical discomfort in seasick individuals. Noted. “How long until you feel normal?”

“The sailors said maybe an hour after we dock. Maybe a day. Bodies adjust at different rates.” Lisa adjusted her pressure point bracelet absently. “Your Highness, can I ask you something?”

“Everyone seems to want to ask me things lately.”

“It’s a long boat ride. Not much else to do except talk or be sick, and I’ve done enough of the latter.” Lisa fiddled with the bracelet more nervously now. “Why did you bring me? Specifically me. You could have brought anyone. Or no one. But you chose me.”

Elara considered the question. A practical answer seemed appropriate. “You were competent. Loyal. You didn’t question orders and you worked efficiently.”

“That’s a tactical answer.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Is it?” Lisa looked at her directly, and Elara noted the shift in her tone—less deferential, more genuine. “Because there were other servants. More experienced ones. Better connected ones. Older women who’d served royalty for decades. But you chose the quiet laundry girl who’d only been in your service for three days when you left.”

“Experience doesn’t equal loyalty. And palace connections are a liability when leaving the palace.”

“True.” Lisa’s grip on the barrel tightened as the barge rocked slightly. “But that’s still tactical thinking. I’m asking… was there another reason?”

Elara tried to parse what she was actually being asked. “You were available and willing. That seemed sufficient.”

“I was terrified,” Lisa said quietly. The admission hung between them. “When you asked if I’d come to Port Crestfall, I was absolutely terrified. Leave the capital? Leave everything I knew? My sister works in the palace kitchens—I’d never be far from family. My mother lives three streets from the palace gates. I see her every week on my day off.”

“You didn’t mention family obligations when I asked.”

“I know. Because…” She trailed off, struggling for words. Elara waited. Sometimes silence extracted information better than questions. “Because you were the first royal who ever looked at me like I was a person. Not a servant. Not furniture. Not just hands to fold laundry or pour tea. A person.”

Elara processed that. “I don’t understand the distinction. You are a person. That’s factual.”

“To you, maybe. But most nobles don’t see it that way.” Lisa’s voice carried something Elara recognized as bitterness, though she couldn’t quite access why. “You asked my name—my actual name—not just ’girl’ or ’you there’ or ’laundry servant.’ You thanked me for bringing you tea. You noticed when I’d reorganized your wardrobe and said it was more efficient instead of punishing me for touching your things without permission.”

“Reorganizing improved efficiency. Why would I punish efficiency?”

“Because most royals don’t care about efficiency. They care about control and hierarchy and making sure servants remember their place.” Lisa looked out at the river, her profile thoughtful. “Do you know how many times I’ve been hit for speaking without permission? Twelve times. I’ve been working at the palace for four years. That’s an average of three times per year for the crime of opening my mouth.”

Elara filed that statistic away. Palace servant treatment was worse than she’d calculated. “I’ve never hit you.”

“No. You’ve never even threatened it. You just… treat me like a competent professional doing a job.” Lisa laughed, and it came out bitter. “Stupid reasons to follow someone into danger, right? Basic decency and remembering my name. But I’d been invisible my whole life. And suddenly someone saw me. So when you asked if I’d come, even though I was terrified, even though it meant leaving my mother and sister and everything safe… I said yes.”

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