Elara’s POV
The next morning, Lena ca through the side door with her usual cheerful energy. "Good morning! How are you feeling today?"
"Tired," I admitted. "But I’ll manage."
She helped dress in a simple gown. Nothing too heavy today. I couldn’t handle the weight of all those layers. She pinned my hair up and placed a small crown on my head.
"You look pale," she said, studying my face with concern. "Are you sure you’re well enough to—"
"I’m fine," I cut her off in a gentle manner. "I have duties to attend to."
She didn’t look convinced, but she nodded. "If you need anything, just send for ."
"I will. Thank you, Lena."
She squeezed my hand and left through the side door.
I took a deep breath and walked to my main door. Opened it. Kaelen was there, standing at his post. He looked at , and I looked at him.
Neither of us spoke.
The silence was heavy. Awkward. Painful.
I wanted to apologize for yesterday. Wanted to tell him I didn’t an what I’d said. But the words stuck in my throat.
"I have a eting with Lord Malakor," I said finally. "In the small eting room."
"Of course, Your Majesty," he said. His voice was completely neutral. Professional. Like I was just another job which definitely I was but I felt pissed for no reason.
We walked through the palace in silence. Him three steps behind . Both of us pretending yesterday hadn’t happened.
Lord Malakor was already waiting when I arrived at the small eting room. He stood and bowed when I entered.
"Your Majesty. Good morning."
"Good morning, Lord Malakor," I said, taking a seat at the small table.
Kaelen took his position against the wall behind . Silent. Watchful.
Malakor sat down across from . "I hope you’re feeling better today, Your Majesty. Yesterday’s... episode was concerning."
"I’m fine," I said. "Just overwheld. As you said, there’s much to adjust to."
"Indeed." He smiled. "Which is why I wanted to et with you this morning. There’s sothing I need to give you. Sothing that rightfully belongs to you now."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small velvet box. He placed it on the table and slid it toward .
I looked at it, confused. "What is this?"
"The keys to the Royal Office," he said. "Your father’s private study. By tradition, it’s sealed when a king dies and only opened when the new ruler is crowned. It’s been four days since your coronation. It’s ti."
My heart clenched. My father’s study.
I hadn’t been in there since I was a child. Since before he died.
"The room has been preserved exactly as he left it," Malakor continued. "Nothing has been moved. Nothing has been touched. It’s yours now, Your Majesty. A place where you can work in private. Where you can think without interruption."
I opened the velvet box. Inside was a single iron key. Old and heavy.
"Thank you, Lord Malakor," I said quietly.
"It’s my honor, Your Majesty." He stood. He bowed and left.
I sat there, staring at the key in my hand.
"Your Majesty?" Kaelen’s voice ca from behind . Still formal. Still distant.
"I’m going to my father’s study," I said, standing up. "You’ll follow, I assu."
"Of course, Your Majesty."
We walked through the palace. Up the stairs to the third floor. Down the quiet hallway in the east wing.
And there it was. Dust had gathered around the edges. No one had opened it in months.
I slid the key into the lock. It turned with a heavy click. I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The sll hit imdiately. Old paper. Ink. Aged wood. And sothing else. Sothing that slled like my father. Like his coat. Like his hands when he held .
My chest tightened.
"I’ll be right outside, Your Majesty," Kaelen said from the doorway.
I nodded without looking at him. "Close the door."
He did. And I was alone.
The study was exactly as I rembered. Exactly as my father had left it.
A large wooden desk sat near the window. Bookshelves lined every wall, packed with books on law, history, trade, and politics. A map of the kingdom hung on one wall. His chair sat empty behind the desk.
Waiting for him to return.
But he never would.
I moved deeper into the room. My fingers trailed along the edge of the desk. Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust.
mories flooded back.
My father, sitting behind this desk late into the night. His head bent over ledgers and law books. The candlelight making shadows dance across his tired face.
My mother, standing by the window or sitting opposite him. Their conversations low and serious. Planning. Discussing. Ruling together.
And . Small and curious. Climbing onto his lap even when he was busy. Asking questions far beyond my years.
He would answer every question. Patient. Kind. Teaching without even realizing it.
While he governed, I read. While he ruled, I explored his shelves. I traced maps with my small fingers. I leafed through volus on culture and trade and history. Absorbing a world I didn’t yet understand.
This room had been my classroom. My sanctuary. My father’s kingdom within the kingdom.
And now it was mine.
I ran my fingers along the spines of his books. Paused at familiar titles. Pulled one out and opened it. His handwriting filled the margins. Notes. Thoughts. Questions.
My throat tightened with emotion.
I moved along the shelves, rembering. The expectations of the council. The weight of the crown. It all pressed inward, making it hard to breathe.
I needed answers. Needed guidance. Needed my father.
I walked to his desk and sat down in his chair. It felt too big. Like I was a child again.
I opened the top drawer. Quills. Ink. Sealing wax. The usual things.
The second drawer held papers. Letters.
The third drawer stuck when I tried to open it. I pulled harder, and it slid free.
Inside were personal items. A portrait of my mother. A pressed flower from their wedding. A wooden horse I’d carved for him when I was seven. Terrible and lopsided, but he’d kept it.
Tears filled my eyes.
Then my fingers caught on sothing. The bottom of the drawer felt wrong. Uneven.
I pressed down.
Click.
A hidden compartnt slid open at the back of the drawer.
My breath caught
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