Chapter 4: Chapter 5: What was he doing here?

Elara’s pov

Then, as fast as he had appeared, he shoved me forward. I stumbled. The crooked crown nearly fell from my head. When I turned, gasping for air, he was gone. Vanished into the panicking crowd like smoke in the wind.

Guards shouted. People cried and pushed toward the doors. Strong hands, my guards, grabbed my arms. They pulled me back from the edge of the platform.

“Your Majesty! Are you hurt?”

I could not speak. I lifted a trembling hand to my throat. The ghost of the blade still felt icy cold there. My other hand shot up to steady the heavy crown.

Lena broke through the circle of guards. Her face was white with fear. “Elara! Your throat… there is no cut. Thank the gods, you are alive!”

I looked at her. My eyes were wide with a terror she could not understand. It was not just the attack. It was the voice. That strange, whispered voice in the middle of the nightmare.

It will not be today.

The ceremony was over. The crown was on my head. I was Queen.

And I was haunted by the voice of a man whose face I had never seen. A voice that now whispered a threat in my memory, over and over, like a cursed song: It will not be today.

* * *

The palace was not a home. It was a prison of whispers and fear. For three days after the coronation, I jumped at every shadow. I saw the black mask in my dreams. I heard the whisper in the quiet of my room.

It will not be today.

What did that mean? Was he coming back tomorrow? Next week? The fear was a cold stone in my stomach, always there.

My advisors would not leave me alone. They sat in my meeting room, their faces long with worry.

“My Queen,” said Lord Malakor, my father’s cousin. He was a tall man with silver hair and cold eyes. “This attack… it is a disgrace. The people are afraid. You are afraid. This must be fixed.”

“We are searching for the man,” I said, trying to sound strong. My voice was too quiet.

“Searching is not enough!” said another advisor, an old man named Garrow. He hit the table with his hand. “He could be anywhere. He could be in this very palace! He could be the man who brings your breakfast!”

His words made my skin crawl. I wrapped my arms around myself. I felt eyes on me all the time now.

“What do you suggest?” I asked, though I did not want to hear the answer.

Malakor leaned forward. His voice was soft but firm. “You need a shadow. A personal guard. One man. His only job is to stand at your side. To watch your back. To be your sword and your shield. We must choose him today. Now. The kingdom needs to see you are protected. You need to feel protected.”

The idea made me tired. Another stranger. Standing close to me all day. Watching me. Seeing my fear.

“Must I?” I sighed. “Can the guards we have not do the job?”

“No!” all the men said at once. Their voices were loud in the small room.

Garrow shook his head. “The guards failed you at the coronation! They were too slow. You need one man. One man who is the best. His life for yours. That is the old way. That is the safe way.”

Malakor nodded. “We have called the best fighters to the courtyard. They are waiting. You will look. You will choose. Today.”

I saw there was no way out. “Fine,” I whispered. “Let us get this over with.”

So that afternoon, I stood on the high balcony overlooking the main courtyard. Below me, a line of men stood waiting in the sun. There were twenty of them. They were the biggest, strongest fighters in the kingdom. They came from the army. From the city guard. Some were knights. Others were from faraway lands, looking for work and gold.

One by one, the Captain of the Guard, a man named Varrus, called them forward. He shouted their names and their skills. It was like a show.

“This is Borik!” Varrus yelled. His voice echoed. “He can break a man’s arm with one hand! Watch!”

A huge man, bigger than any I had seen, stepped forward. He had arms like tree trunks. He lifted a heavy log over his head like it was nothing. The crowd of other guards and servants watching clapped. I nodded once. My mind was far away, back in a dark room, remembering a different kind of strength.

“This is Rurik!” the Captain called next. “He can throw a knife and hit a target from fifty paces! See his skill!”

A serious man with a scar on his cheek stepped up. He turned, and with a fast move, he threw a knife. It flew through the air and hit the center of a wooden board with a loud thunk. People clapped again. I nodded again. I was so tired. The sun was hot on my neck under the heavy crown. I just wanted to go inside. To hide in my room where no one could see me.

I made a decision. I would pick the next man. Any man. Just to end this.

“And this,” Captain Varrus shouted, his voice rising, “is Kaelen! A skilled fighter from the northern lands. He fights with two swords at once! They say he has never lost a battle!”

Kaelen?

The name was a key. It unlocked a door in my mind. A door to a dark club full of colored lights. To the sweet taste of blackberry wine. To loud music and warm hands on my hips. My head, which had been bowed, snapped up.

My eyes searched the line. And they found him.

My heart stopped.

It was him. The man from the Wandering Gardens. The man from the private room. He stood tall, his shoulders wide under a simple leather vest. He had the same messy dark hair. The same sharp jaw I had touched. But his eyes… they looked right at me. They were not the warm, smiling eyes from that night. They were hard. Cold. Serious. The eyes of a soldier, not a lover.

But they were his eyes. I would know them anywhere. That deep green, like a dark forest.

My breath caught in my throat. A rush of feelings hit me like a wave. The memory of his touch. The sound of his laugh in my ear. The feel of his skin in the dark. A warm, happy feeling flooded my chest. But right behind it came a spike of pure, cold fear.

What is he doing here?

My thoughts raced, wild and scared. Did he know? Did he know who I was that night? Had he known all along? Was that why he talked to me? Had it all been a plan? A trap to find the princess and ruin her before she became queen?

My hand flew to my stomach, feeling sick. The world seemed to spin.

But then, a worse thought came. What if he didn’t know? What if he was just a soldier looking for work? What if he had no idea that the woman he’d been with, the woman named Lara, was really the Queen of Dravara?

That thought was almost more frightening. Because if he ever spoke of that night… if he ever told anyone, even as a story in a tavern, that he had been with a woman who looked just like the queen… the scandal would destroy me. The advisors would say I was a liar. A disgrace. They might say I was not fit to rule. They might even take the crown away.

But then I thought, if he spoke, he would be in great danger too. A common man who claimed to have slept with the queen? They would cut out his tongue for such lies. Or worse. His life would be over.

So we were both trapped. By the same secret.

I stared at him. He stared back, his face a blank, unreadable mask. He gave a small, formal bow of his head. He showed no sign of knowing me. No smile of hello. No wink of a shared secret. Nothing. He was a stranger.

Lord Malakor leaned close to me. His voice was a low hiss in my ear. “My Queen, you must choose. The sun is hot. The men are waiting. The people are watching.”

I looked at the line of men. The huge Borik. The serious Rurik. And Kaelen.

My secret. My dangerous, beautiful mistake. My only happy memory in a world that had become cold and scary and full of masks.

If he was my guard, I could watch him every minute. I could control what he did and where he went. I could make sure he never, ever spoke of that night to anyone. He would be close to me, but he would be under my command. It was the most dangerous choice I could make.

And it was the only choice I could make.

I felt a strange calm. Fate was a cruel thing. It had brought my secret back to me. Maybe not to protect me. Maybe to destroy me. But he was mine. My secret. My problem to solve.

I lifted my hand. My finger did not shake.

I pointed straight at him.

“Him,” I said. My voice was clear and loud in the quiet courtyard. Everyone heard. “I choose him. Sir Kaelen.”

A murmur of surprise went through the advisors behind me. Lord Malakor looked shocked. He stepped closer. “Him, Your Majesty? A mercenary? A man we know nothing about? We have men of known loyalty right here! Borik has served the crown for ten years!”

I kept my eyes on Kaelen. I did not look away.

“Yes. I have chosen,” I said, cutting Malakor off. My voice left no room for argument. “He will be my personal guard.”

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