Worry Not!

Present Time.

Reynand and Elara sat across from each other on the settee. Elara was still quietly sobbing, gently wiping her tear-stained cheeks with the handkerchief Reynand had given her.

"What's her name again?" Reynand asked, his voice low, his gaze darkening beneath furrowed brows.

"Agatha, Your Grace." Elara's eyes stayed fixed on her lap.

"Why didn't you mention it in your letters?"

Elara bit the inside of her lip, fingers tightening around the silk fabric in her hand.

"Did you… even read my letters?"

Reynand's gaze sharpened. She wouldn't meet his eyes. 

Even though they had shared only one passionate night in the four years of their marriage, Reynand could still sense the shift in her tone.

The awkward distance, the lingering fear of him—it was still there. But now, it was laced with something new, a sliver of boldness.

"Of course, I didn't read them myself," Reynand muttered, watching her carefully, as if her every movement hid an answer. "Sir Anthony briefed me on all the letters and news from Vallatia Palace."

Elara's grip on the handkerchief tightened, her knuckles paling. She inhaled deeply, lifting her chin to meet his gaze—steady, unflinching.

And then… a soft smile curved her lips.

"I wanted it to be a surprise, Your Grace."

"A surprise?" Reynand scoffed, a bitter edge to his tone. "And if I had died out there? You would have let me die as a prince who never knew his daughter existed."

Her smile didn't falter. "I'm grateful you didn't. So, my surprise still worked." Her words turned sharper. "And more than that, I suppose I got a surprise too… about your new arranged marriage."

Her nails pressed into her palms through the crumpled fabric of the handkerchief. She wouldn't let herself crumble. Not now. Not after everything.

She vowed to hold her composure—as the lady of the castle, the Marchioness of Ravenswood. 

Four years in the Royal Court under the Queen had stripped away every trace of her innocence. 

She had learned the hard way that survival demanded strength, and showing weakness was a luxury she could no longer afford.

Reynand studied her, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Are you sulking?"

"I wouldn't dare, Your Grace." Elara lowered her eyes, her smile thin, and wary.

Reynand exhaled slowly, weighing his words.

What had she endured in these four years to sharpen her like this? Part of him felt relief that she had adapted and survived. 

But another part… bristled with unease at how much of her had changed. Or perhaps… he never knew her to begin with.

"The thing with Trisha, it was decided not long after my victory," Reynand said, his tone heavy, like something was hanging between them. "It surprised me too that the Corsaria King demanded it after helping us with their forces. I thought—"

"Trisha?" Elara interrupted, her gaze drifting to the floor, distant, as if she hadn't really been listening to him the moment Reynand casually used her name without any title.

"We were friends back when we studied at Asteria to become Spellbinders," Reynand said, realising too late he shouldn't have dropped her title.

"Ah, that's why…" Elara's voice softened, her mind flashing back to the way Princess Trisha called Reynand by his name too earlier. "So, she's a Spellbinder too?"

"Yes, and a warrior." Reynand cleared his throat, carefully explaining, "She leads the Spellbinder forces, specifically the ones for women. Corsaria has more women than men, so they have female armies."

"Yeah, I've heard their reputation." Elara clenched her jaw, feeling something tight inside. "So she's a suitable princess for you, then, Your Grace." She forced a smile, but it was brittle, a thin veneer over something darker swirling beneath.

Reynand's eyes narrowed, his brow furrowing as irritation flashed across his features. "What do you mean?"

"You're both a Prince and Princess. Heroes to the people. Childhood friends. And destined to be Spellbinders." Elara's words slipped out, betraying her composure, as if they'd been waiting to break free. "That's the best compatibility, according to the Moon Goddess, isn't it?"

"ELARA!" Reynand's voice cracked with force, rising in anger. His eyes flashed, a storm brewing behind them. "You've crossed the line."

Elara flinched, her breath catching. The sudden burst of sound hit her like a physical blow. She froze, feeling the weight of her own words settle around her. "I—I…" She couldn't finish. The sting of his tone made it hard to speak.

"I like that you've grown confident and bold in how you express your thoughts." Reynand's voice softened, though there was still tension in it. "But, can you just hear me out until the end?"

"I apologize… Your Grace." Elara's voice dropped, her head dipped low, her gaze fixed on the floor. She couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. Her emotions had slipped out more than she intended. 

But the fact she had just learned made her uneasy. Prince Reynand and Princess Trisha were well-matched by the fate of the Moon Goddess.

Whoever was born under the full moon was destined to be a Spellbinder—a person with the natural ability to bind magic into useful tools with their inner mana. It was a blessing from the Moon Goddess to humankind in this land for a good cause.

"This marriage is unavoidable." Reynand's voice was low, steady. His fingers idly traced the rim of his goblet, the cool metal reflecting the flicker of candlelight. "Now Corsaria is also the enemy of Gravalon for aiding us, and the Corsaria King needs assurance that we'll protect them." 

"We already won, have we not, Your Grace?"

He leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing. "We might be winners now, but at the next eclipse, Gravalon is sure to strike again. Besides, a spellbinding weapon forged between two kingdoms could strengthen the binding magic needed to counter dark magic. A marriage alliance is the most effective way to develop the weapon."

Elara's lips parted, but no words came. "Ah…" Her eyes flitted around the room as if grasping for clarity in the shadows. She understood the basics of what Prince Reynand was saying, yet confusion still clouded her gaze.

Noticing the subtle furrow in her brows, Reynand smirked faintly. "In other words," he said, voice dipping lower, "I will have a contract marriage with Trisha until the weapon's development is complete."

Elara's breath hitched. "Con—contract marriage? That means..."

"Hm…" His gaze lingered on her, deliberately. "We'll divorce after it's finished. Perhaps in a year."

Elara furrowed her brow. "So… will she become the Marchioness since her status is higher than mine, Your Grace?" 

"Worry not! She agreed to be just the concubine." 

"Is… is that even possible? Surely the Royal Court won't—" 

"I'll make it possible. That was our agreement, and with my power now, no one shall dare defy it."

"I see..." A faint breath escaped her lips, and the tension in her shoulders eased, her expression softening slightly.

The faint, ashy scent of a dying candle clung to the air, its flickering flame sinking lower—an unspoken reminder that sunset was near. 

Reynand took a slow sip from his goblet, the cool liquid barely touching his lips as his gaze lingered on Elara. 

His thoughts drifted—she had been so worked up earlier, but now, the tension seemed to ease. Her words were bold, but her body… far easier to read than her mind. Could this be jealousy?

"You don't need to be… bothered by it." Reynand's voice turned silkier. "I won't share a bed with her."

Elara's eyes widened. The heat bloomed across her cheeks at the mention of sharing a bed, and she instinctively lowered her gaze.

"N-No, Your Grace... I—I dare not be... bothered. Wh-Whatever your decision, I dare not question it, Your Grace." Her voice faltered, thin and shaky—but not her mind. She cursed under her breath for not keeping her composure, stuttering again in front of Prince Reynand.

Reynand let out a soft chuckle, the sound smooth and low. Amusement flickered in his eyes. Despite how much she had changed, that innocent reaction of hers when he mentioned the bed… it was still there, barely hidden.

"So," he tilted his head, lips curling, "you wouldn't mind if I shared a bed with another woman?"

Elara's breath caught in her throat. "No—Yes—Ah, no! I mean…" Her fingers tangled together, thumbs fidgeting as her words tripped over themselves. 'Is he teased me?'

A slow grin spread across Reynand's face. "Will you share a bed with me then?" His eyes darkened slightly, his voice low and full of intent. "You know… I truly wish to speak with you all night, but..." He let out a quiet sigh, rolling his shoulder as if weighed down. "My body still aches from the long trip. I need sleep."

"Ah, yes! Yes, Your Grace, you must sleep soon and rest as much as you need!" The question of sharing a bed made her blurting the words out, her mind scrambling to steady itself as her pulse hammered wildly in her chest.

"Yes? You'll share a bed?" His tone teased, though his eyes didn't waver.

"N-No! I mean—YES, you need sleep, and NO, we won't share a bed!" Elara bolted upright, the settee creaking softly beneath her as she shot to her feet. "I—I will take my leave then!" She couldn't stand the flush of heat on her face anymore.

She spun on her heel and stepped quickly toward the door. But at the doorway, she paused. Turning back, her eyes sharply glinted as they met the prince's.

"We must abide by custom if we're to share a bed, Your Grace." Her lips curved into a faint smile. "I'm not the same innocent girl I was four years ago. You won't lure me so easily ever again."

Reynand stared after her, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. Her words lingered, sweet and taunting.

With that, Elara darted off, her soft steps fading down the corridor.

'Well… we shall see.' He murmured to himself, his amusement curling in his chest like smoke.