The heavy door closed behind them with a soft, echoing click.
The silence that followed wasn't peace. It was a pressure—a weight in the air that thickened with every heartbeat.
Elysia turned slowly, standing near the edge of the room, her back straight, arms loosely folded. The late afternoon sun bled through the tall windowpanes, streaking her floor in lines of gold and shadow.
Thalor stood only a few steps from the door, his expression carved in stone. Not the gentle face she remembered from childhood, not the warm, kind smile of the man who once lifted her onto his shoulders at festivals or tucked her in with stories of dragons and stars.
This was the king. Hard. Tired. Caged in duty and regret.
He didn't sit.
He didn't speak right away, either.
He simply looked at her, as if trying to see something beneath her skin.
"You were alone," he said at last, his voice low but firm. "With her. For days."
Elysia blinked. "Yes."
