Chapter 4

The Weight of Suspicion

The morning sun stretched its golden fingers over the palace grounds, casting the lush greenery in a warm, hazy glow. Dew glistened on the blades of grass, shimmering like a sea of diamonds as Elowen treaded carefully across the training grounds. Her breath came in uneven bursts, her body tense and her thoughts racing as she tried to find her way back to the palace without being noticed.

The training grounds were vast, a sprawling expanse of neatly trimmed lawns and weathered stone pathways. Targets with arrows embedded deep in their centers lined one side of the field, while racks of gleaming swords stood under shaded pavilions. The air was still, broken only by the soft rustling of the wind and the faint whistle of an arrow slicing through the silence.

Elowen's heart stopped. She froze mid-step as her eyes landed on a figure at the far end of the grounds.

He stood tall, his stance poised and commanding. His broad shoulders and lean frame were clothed in a loose white tunic that clung to him in all the right places, the fabric flowing elegantly as he moved. His golden hair, tied neatly at the back of his head, caught the sunlight, glinting like polished metal. Every movement he made was deliberate, precise—an effortless display of control and strength.

Prince Derek.

The eldest of the three princes, he was a figure of regal authority and natural charisma, a man whose mere presence commanded attention. His blue eyes, cold and calculating, flicked between the target and his bow as he nocked another arrow. His fingers moved with practiced ease, the draw of the bowstring smooth and fluid, his muscles taut beneath his tunic.

With a sharp inhale, Elowen watched him release the arrow. It flew true, burying itself into the heart of the target with a soft thud. He stepped back, inspecting his work with the faintest hint of satisfaction curling at the corner of his lips.

Elowen knew she should move, knew she had to escape before he noticed her. But as she turned to leave, her slippered foot caught the edge of a loose stone, and she stumbled forward with an audible gasp.

The sound was faint, but it was enough.

Derek's gaze snapped toward her, sharp as the arrow he'd just loosed. His piercing blue eyes locked onto hers, and in that instant, Elowen felt as though she had been pinned in place, not by his arrows, but by his attention.

"You there," he called, his voice deep and steady, laced with authority. "Who are you?"

Elowen's pulse quickened as she hastily straightened her posture, clasping her hands in front of her to hide her trembling fingers. "Your Highness," she said softly, her voice shaking slightly. "I didn't mean to intrude. Please forgive me."

Derek lowered his bow and began walking toward her, his boots crunching against the gravel path. The sunlight seemed to follow him, casting an almost ethereal glow around his form. As he drew closer, Elowen felt the weight of his scrutiny, his eyes flicking over her from head to toe.

"No one is permitted in the training grounds except for the royal family and the guards," he said evenly, stopping a few paces away. His tone wasn't harsh, but there was a sharpness to it that made Elowen's stomach twist with unease. "Explain yourself."

Elowen forced herself to meet his gaze, though the intensity in his blue eyes made her want to look away. "I... I was wandering the palace grounds last night, Your Highness," she began, her words carefully chosen. "I didn't realize where I was. I may have… had a bit too much to drink at the celebration. I must have fallen asleep out here by accident."

Derek raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. His gaze lingered on her disheveled appearance—her lavender gown wrinkled and dirtied at the hem, her hair slightly out of place, the faint shadows beneath her emerald-green eyes betraying her exhaustion.

"And you woke up here, of all places?" he asked, his voice calm yet laced with skepticism.

"Yes, Your Highness," she replied quickly, nodding. "It was foolish of me, and I assure you, it won't happen again."

Derek studied her for a moment longer, his gaze unwavering. There was something in his eyes—something probing, questioning. Elowen felt her breath hitch as his attention shifted to her neck.

The mark.

Her heart raced as she realized too late that the collar of her gown had slipped slightly, revealing the faint outline of the swollen bite. She fought the urge to cover it, knowing that any sudden movement would only draw more attention.

Derek's gaze lingered on the mark for a moment too long before he finally looked away. He didn't ask her about it, but the flicker of suspicion in his eyes made it clear that he had noticed.

"Very well," he said at last, his tone neutral. "You've been warned. Do not let this happen again."

"Yes, Your Highness," Elowen said, bowing her head in relief.

Without another word, Derek turned and strode away, his back straight and his movements purposeful. Elowen watched him go, her legs trembling beneath her as she fought to steady her breathing.

As soon as he disappeared into the meeting hall, she turned and hurried toward the palace. But her relief was short-lived.

---

The moment Elowen stepped into the princess's quarters, she froze. Selene was standing in the middle of the room, her arms crossed and her expression thunderous.

"And where," Selene began, her voice icy, "have you been?"

Elowen hesitated, her mind scrambling for an explanation. "I... I got lost, Your Highness," she said softly. "I was drunk and—"

"Enough!" Selene snapped, cutting her off. Her piercing blue eyes bore into Elowen, and the tension in the room became suffocating.

Elowen lowered her gaze, her hands clenching the fabric of her gown. She could feel the fever starting to take hold, her body trembling as sweat beaded on her forehead.

"You've embarrassed me enough as it is," Selene continued, her voice rising. "When I found you in the East, you were nothing—a filthy orphan begging for scraps. And out of the kindness of my heart, I gave you a home, a place in my household. This is how you repay me?"

Elowen swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion. "I'm sorry, Your Highness," she whispered. "It won't happen again."

Selene's lips twisted into a cruel smile. "Oh, you'll pay for this, Elowen. Jeria! Sadie!" she called sharply, and the two maids appeared in the doorway.

"From now on," Selene said coldly, "Elowen will handle the chores. All of them. Leave the cleaning, the laundry, and the kitchen work to her. And don't feed her until she's done."

The maids exchanged uncertain glances but nodded silently.

"Your Highness, please," Elowen begged, her voice breaking. "I'm sorry. It won't—"

Selene raised her hand and struck Elowen across the face, the sound echoing through the room. "Silence," she hissed. "You've brought this upon yourself."

Without another word, Selene swept out of the room, leaving Elowen trembling in pain and humiliation.

Sadie lingered behind, her soft brown eyes filled with pity as she watched Elowen. "Come," she said gently. "Let's get you started."

Elowen nodded weakly, her fingers brushing the faint, burning mark on her neck. Though the memory of Selene's slap stung, it was nothing compared to the weight of the mark Morris's mark and the terrible truth it carried.

It had been two years since Selene first met Elowen.

The encounter had taken place in the Eastern Province, where Selene was attending a royal ceremony. It was there, amidst the crowded streets of a quaint marketplace, that she had first laid eyes on Elowen. The young woman had been a mess—her dress torn, her hair tangled, and her cheeks streaked with dirt. Yet, even in such a state, her beauty had been undeniable.

Elowen's hair was a cascade of midnight waves that shimmered under the sunlight, her emerald-green eyes wide and strikingly vivid. Her full lips, naturally pink, were chapped, but they still managed to soften her delicate features. And then there was her figure—slender, with curves that drew attention even beneath the rags she wore.

Elowen had begged for Selene's help that day, her voice trembling as she explained her plight. Orphaned and alone, she had no family, no home, and no means of survival. Selene, though reluctant at first, had agreed to take her in—if only to silence the poor girl's persistent cries.

At the time, Selene had thought herself magnanimous. But as the months passed, she began to regret her decision. The maids whispered about Elowen's beauty, comparing her to the princess herself. Heads turned whenever Elowen entered a room, and Selene could feel the jealousy festering within her like a poison.

Selene walked elegantly and more immaculate as she headed for the meeting hosted by the queen for the princesses. Over 130 princesses from across the realm had gathered at the palace, each vying for the chance to marry one of the three princes. The meeting hall was abuzz with excitement, laughter, and the faint hum of courtly gossip.

Selene entered with Jeria by her side, her presence commanding attention as she made her way to her seat. She was beautiful, yes, but in a room filled with royalty, beauty was common.

As Elowen worked in the kitchens, her fever worsening with each passing moment, a shadow flickered in the corner of the room. She paused, her heart racing as the faint scent of sandalwood filled the air.

"Morris," she whispered, her voice trembling.

A low, familiar chuckle echoed in the darkness.

"Elowen," Morris said smoothly, stepping into the light. "Did you really think you could escape me?"