A Broken Sob

Now, only Reynand and Elara remained. The tension between them felt unbearable to Elara, and she finally spoke, her voice soft yet trembling. "She is our daughter, Your Grace." Her gaze stayed fixed on the floor, unable to meet Reynand's eyes.

Reynand's brooding expression deepened as he looked at her, stepping closer. He couldn't believe that Elara was still so afraid of being alone with him, unable to meet his gaze when they spoke. 

Well, it made sense. In the four years they'd been married, they'd spent only seven days together as husband and wife, and just one passionate, uninvited night—one that was not how he imagined their marriage would be, but it was still a night that lingered in his mind. They were practically like strangers now.

"It seems we cannot just speak for a brief now, can we?" Reynand's voice was low, edged with a quiet intensity, each word contrasting sharply with the rhythmic tap of his shoes as he closed the distance between them. "You have gotten what you wanted, wife."

"Wh—what?" Elara's head shot up, her breath hitching as Prince Reynand loomed inches away, the sudden closeness stealing the air between them.

"My attention. You have it now," Reynand said, his tone commanding but with a subtle warmth flickering in his otherwise cold gaze. "I shall meet you this evening in my quarters."

"I—I…" Elara's voice faltered, her lips parting as if to argue, but she quickly bit the words back. "Yes, Your Grace," she said instead, bowing her head, though her fists clenched at her sides.

Prince Reynand brushed past her, his shoulder lightly grazing hers as he strode away.

Once again, when Elara thought Prince Reynand's demeanor was nothing but cold toward her, the single word 'wife' stirred something deep within her, unsettling her thoughts and leaving her faltering. 

Whether it was now or four years ago, Prince Reynand's presence was like a magnet, pulling her soul irresistibly toward him and leaving her incapable of thinking rationally.

***

Even though Ravenswood was just a March, a borderland kingdom in the remote territory, the castle itself was vast—nearly as large as the main palace in the capital. 

Yet today, within its sprawling walls, Elara's steps toward the prince's quarters felt all too brief. If she could, she would have hidden from the prince right then and there.

Her carefully laid plans to prove she had become a reliable Marchioness were shattered in an instant by the prince's news of marriage. 

Elara found herself tangled in confusion—was she angry at the news, or, more furious with herself, for failing to control her emotions as a lady of the castle should?

The cool autumn breeze stirred gently, causing Elara to glance toward the window as she entered the lounge chamber of the prince's quarters. 

She walked over to the window, intending to close and lock it, but her short arms couldn't quite reach the latch at the top.

Before she could try again, a tall, broad figure appeared behind her. His arm brushed against hers as he effortlessly reached for the latch. 

The faint scent of lavender soap mixed with something uniquely masculine filled the air. Elara's breath hitched as she realised it was Prince Reynand standing just inches behind her.

She spun around, finding herself trapped between his arm and the window frame. Her heart raced as she tried to focus on anything other than the proximity. 

Prince Reynand locked the window but didn't step away. His presence anchored her in place—silent, imposing. 

His damp, tousled hair and freshly shaven jaw only sharpened the cold, commanding presence he carried.

Elara swallowed, unable to meet his gaze, her breath catching in her chest. But the moment she looked away, her eyes landed on his broad chest, visible through the loosely tied tunic that hung slightly open, making her heart pound even harder.

"You should just ask someone else to do this kind of thing," his voice broke through the silence.

"The—there is no one to… ask around. So... it is no big deal to do it myself, Your Grace."

"No big deal? Or perhaps you just don't want to ask for help, because you're afraid of disturbing others?"

"No… I am just—"

"Just okay to swallow your burden alone while letting out a fake smile?"

Elara was caught off guard by the relentless questions from Prince Reynand. Her eyes darted away, unable to meet his gaze.

"No, Your Grace… That is not—"

"Have you always been like this for the past four years? Doing everything on your own, struggling alone?"

Prince Reynand's words hung in the air, and Elara fell silent, lost in thought. It was as if those words ripped through years of accumulated weight, shattering it into pieces. 

Her eyes burned with unshed tears, her chest tightened, and her breath became shallow as a sharp tingle crawled up her nose. A tear broke free, tracing a slow path down her cheek.

"Wh-what do you know?" Her voice wavered. "You... you were away at war for years. I… I did not even dare think about my own well-being because..." She choked, her breath hitching.

"Because I was afraid you... you would not make it…" Elara's words hung in the air as she tried to hold back her sobs.

"Isn't it hard for you?" Reynand asked.

She gripped Prince Reynand's tunic tightly, desperation weaving through her fingers. 

The sudden action made Reynand flinch. His body instinctively yielded to her, allowing her to pull him close until her forehead rested against his shoulder.

Strands of her blue-grey hair brushed against his jaw, leaving behind the faint scent of sweet jasmine.

He felt the warmth of her tears soaking into his side, the quiet intimacy of her grief settling between them.

"If I... If I say yes... will you... will you make it easier... Your Grace?" Elara's voice broke through a sob uncontrollably, as though her heart was shattering with every breath she took.

Reynand's hand, still resting on the window frame, shifted uncertainly before moving to gently stroke her hair. The soft motion seemed to deepen her quiet crying.

"I cannot promise that. But at least... I am home now," Reynand whispered, his voice tender as he gently patted her back, hoping to soothe her fractured soul—or perhaps to quiet his own restless thoughts.