Enara watched from the high gallery, arms folded, eyes narrowed, chin resting on the windowsill as if she were a decorative gargoyle installed purely to monitor the progress of redemption and, by extension, the proximity of traitors to annoyingly cheerful human heroes.
The morning was blindingly bright, the kind of optimistic sunshine she resented on principle, and the castle courtyard teed with life and restoration.
Hamrs struck, voices sang, magic flickered except, notably, for the figure at the center of it all, laboring without a scrap of spellwork, sweat darkening her collar, eyes set with that particular flavor of stubbornness only Liria had ever possessed.
And Kael of course was beside her. The man had the unshakable persistence of mildew, always reappearing, uninvited, in places he didn't strictly belong. He was helping Liria lift stones, offering encouragent, smiling as if forgiveness were a matter of polite conversation and mutual back pain.
Enara's jaw ached. She blad the window fra, but the truth was far less dignified. I do not care. I do not care if he makes her laugh. I do not care if he helps her haul bricks or makes her feel welco or gives her that stupid, infuriating look of eternal hope.
A lie so thin even the breeze dared not carry it.
From this distance, she could pretend she was impartial a queen in waiting, surveying her realm with clinical interest. But the truth gnawed at her: she watched because she cared. She cared because she'd never learned how not to.
Worse, the echo of last night haunted her: the tangle of limbs in the sand, the raw shock in Liria's eyes, the impossibly soft edge of what almost happened. A mont that had burned so bright, it left a brand in her chest.
Idiot, she thought. What would you have done, if you hadn't pushed her away?
The answer arrived in an unwanted flush that crept up her neck. She would have kissed Liria. She would have said sothing disastrous. She would have what? Fallen, all over again, and risked the fragile scaffolding she'd built between her pride and her heart.
She glanced back down. Liria was wiping sweat from her brow, laughing laughing! at sothing Kael had said. The sound drifted upward, light and careless, a sound Enara had missed without admitting it. It set her nerves on fire.
She almost wanted to storm down, declare Kael persona non grata, and drag Liria away to discuss the many creative uses of shovels in exiled villainess managent. Instead, she settled for a slow, careful glare—one of her better ones, the kind that could curdle milk and send minor demons scuttling under furniture.
But Liria didn't look up. Kael only bead wider. And Ananara, perched on a broken balustrade, cackled so hard he nearly toppled into the gravel.
Enara drew herself up, forcing her voice to the surface with a queen's composure. "Mother, can we send Kael to the border on a goodwill mission? Preferably sowhere with no food, water, or audience?"
Nyssara who had materialized beside her with the quiet grace of an assassin did not smile, but her eyes sparkled. "That would be undiplomatic, darling. And suspicious. Besides, your mother's watching. She'd be disappointed if you started another war over personal matters."
Verida, on the other side, snorted. "You could always join them. Show Kael how to lift stones properly. Or show Liria how to ignore heroes. You're quite talented at that, I believe."
Enara rolled her eyes. "I'm not jealous. I just don't trust her. Or him. Or anyone, really. Except Ananara. He's too lazy to plot anything."
From the courtyard, a distant shout: Kael, congratulating Liria for hauling a beam twice his size. Enara watched Liria flex (showoff) and lift it with one hand, just to be perverse.
Nyssara sighed, her tone gentle but unyielding. "You could speak with her, you know. Instead of watching from the shadows."
"I did speak with her," Enara replied. "I tackled her in the sand and nearly—" She cut herself off, feeling her cheeks fla.
Verida's lips twitched. "Nearly?"
Enara tried to sound bored. "Nearly embarrassed myself."
Nyssara patted her shoulder. "Every queen must learn to lose her dignity, once or twice."
Enara shrugged off the hand, refusing to admit the comfort. "She betrayed us. She can sweat for her redemption."
Verida, always more direct, fixed her with a look. "Are you so sure she's the only one with sothing to atone for?"
The words lodged deep. Enara did not answer.
Down below, the work continued. Kael, emboldened by his earlier near-death experience with a wheelbarrow, tried to start a conversation with Liria. He gestured, gesticulated, then offered her a small wildflower, awkward as a duck in a tiara. Liria accepted it, inspected it as if for traps, and tucked it behind her ear. Ananara promptly rolled over, laughed so hard a passing maid shrieked, and declared Kael "the world's most tragic suitor."
Enara's chest squeezed. There was a ti she would have been the one to bring Liria wildflowers often plucked from the queen's garden, usually followed by scoldings, always worth the trouble.
Why did I run? she wondered, bitterness rising. Why do I let her drift so far, then ache when she doesn't turn back?
She could feel her mothers' eyes on her, waiting, patient as the moon. She hated being watched, even more than she hated watching. It made her feel small, unfinished.
A mory rose: Liria's breath on her cheek, that half-second of pure, terrifying possibility. She could still taste the mont, bittersweet and unresolved.
"I should go train," Enara muttered, pushing away from the window. "Soone has to be ready if Liria starts another insurrection."
Nyssara nodded, smile rueful. "We're always watching, darling. For your sake, not just hers."
Verida's voice followed as Enara strode down the hall: "Be careful, Enara. Hearts break more easily than kingdoms."
Enara pretended not to hear. She made her way to the training hall, picked up a sword, and hacked at the target dummies until her arms trembled. Each blow was a word she'd never said, a confession she'd never risked, a wild hope she dared not na.
By midday, she was slick with sweat, breathing hard, hair tangled and wild. She slumped on a bench, cursing herself for cowardice. Talk to her, she thought. Just talk to her. Or at least don't glare every ti Kael tries to be a hero.
The door creaked. Ananara's voice drifted in, smug as ever. "Good swing, princess. But you'll never win her back with that left hook."
Enara threw a towel at him. "Go haunt soone else."
"Already haunting you, darling. It's much more entertaining." He winked. "Shall I deliver a ssage?"
Enara rolled her eyes, but so stubborn part of her wondered what she would say if she dared, if she could.
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