The chamber was eerily quiet, the storm outside whispering against the windows like a warning.
Clara stood frozen, eyes locked on the parchment Prince Alaric had just unsealed.
It bore her mother's name.
Evelyn Whitmore. The First Crown. A protector. A traitor in the eyes of the throne.
"I need to hear it from you," Clara said, voice barely steady. "She wasn't just a noblewoman, was she?"
Alaric's gaze softened. "No. She was so much more."
He stepped closer, each footfall measured, heavy with something unsaid.
"She was one of the last guardians of the First Crown," he admitted. "She knew truths that could shatter the Council. And she died… because she refused to be silent."
Clara's breath hitched.
A thousand memories flashed in her mind—her mother's fierce eyes, the way she'd hold Clara's hands and say, "There's more to strength than what they show you."
"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" Clara whispered, her voice catching.
Alaric stopped in front of her, barely an arm's length away. His fingers twitched at his side.
"Because I was trying to protect you."
Her heart beat faster.
He took a breath, low and tight. "But I realize now... keeping you in the dark didn't keep you safe. It just made you feel alone."
Clara looked up at him, startled by the rawness in his voice.
"And now?" she asked, her voice no louder than a whisper.
"Now," Alaric said, eyes dark and unwavering, "I don't want to protect you from a distance. I want to protect you beside me."
Butterflies stirred in her chest.
"You're not just a target anymore, Clara. You're at the heart of this."
Her throat tightened. "Because of my bloodline?"
"Because of who you are," he said. "And what your mother left behind."
The air between them thinned.
Clara's gaze fell to his hand. When he reached out—gently brushing a loose strand of her hair behind her ear—she didn't move away.
"Everything's changing," she murmured. "The Council is watching me. That woman—Lady Seraphina—she's connected to all of this. I can feel it."
"I know," Alaric said, jaw tightening. "And she's not the only one. Someone wants to erase what your mother protected."
He stepped even closer.
"You're not alone in this war, Clara. Not anymore."
Before she could answer, the doors slammed open.
A guard rushed in, breathless.
"Your Majesty. An emergency Council summons. Lord Renley demands Lady Clara's presence at dawn."
Clara's spine stiffened.
Alaric's expression turned sharp, deadly calm. "Too fast. They're rushing their hand."
She met his eyes, her heart thudding like war drums.
"This is a trap," she said.
"Then we'll spring it on our terms."
He took her hand in his without hesitation this time. His grip was warm. Solid.
"You're not facing this alone," Alaric whispered.
And this time, she believed him.
[ To be continued...]