They reached the sitting room where Elara was waiting. The guard opened the doors, announcing the emperor and the prince's arrival.
The room was opulent- bathed in the pale morning light, marble floors gleaming, gold inlay catching the sun in soft glints. And there, in the middle of it all, standing by the tall windows, was Elara.
Elliott's breath caught lightly in his throat. For a moment, it was like seeing a ghost of Sydney from decades past. Elara bore a striking resemblance to her mother- the same straight black hair, the same sharp, almost severe angles of her face. She wore mourning clothes, simple but unmistakably fine, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
But the likeness ended at her looks. Her posture, her demeanor-it was different. Where Sydney had carried a weary, resigned sort of grace, Elara looked as tightly strung as a bowstring. Her grey eyes, the exact shade as her mother's, didn't hold calmness at all. They darted around the room restlessly- flitting to the windows, the doors, the men before her. They carried not just grief, but something else entirely. Nervousness. Impending doom. A trapped, cornered helplessness that practically vibrated under her skin.
"Queen Elara," Elliott greeted softly, his voice warm with genuine sympathy as he approached her. His eyes were gentle, not a shred of suspicion in them. As if even the idea of suspecting her was beneath him-an insult to grief itself. "Welcome home. You have my deepest condolences. Your mother... her passing was deeply unfortunate. The healers tried everything they could, but, unfortunately, it was her time to go."
Elara dipped into a low curtsy. The movement was jerky, her fingers trembling almost imperceptibly against the folds of her dress. Elliott, blind in his kindness, didn't notice. Aiden did.
"Your Majesty. The Emperor," she murmured. Her voice was even, but thin, like glass stretched too far. "Thank you... thank you for your kindness."
Elliott nodded, offering her a faint, sorrowful smile. "It is only my duty. Your mother... she spoke of you in the end. You were her final thought."
Elara's gaze flickered- uncomfortable, unsettled. She couldn't hold his eyes for long.
Aiden remained where he was, by the door. He made no move to step forward, no move to offer comfort. His arms were crossed, his sharp eyes dissecting every detail. The way her gaze never settled, the whiteness of her knuckles, the restless tension coiled in her frame. This was not grief. Grief did not make one look like a cornered animal searching for an exit.
Elliott, still blindfolded by empathy, interpreted it differently. "The journey must have been long," he said gently. "You must be exhausted." He hesitated, glancing around as if making sure she truly was alone. "...You did not bring your children? I understand you have three. One girl, two boys. I would have loved to meet my niece and nephews. I had hoped to offer them comfort as well."
The question was harmless, simple-spoken with nothing but sincerity. Yet it startled her. A flash of raw panic lit up her grey eyes, so pure and unguarded that Aiden nearly stepped forward. But just as quickly, it was gone, her face schooling into a flimsy calm, her voice clipped with practiced regret.
"Ah..." she trailed off, her tone carefully controlled. "The journey was too long, as you know, Your Majesty. And fraught. I did not wish to subject them to so much traveling. Additionally, the twins are little. I fear the somber atmosphere of a funeral might have upset them. The three are staying with their father."
Elliott's brows rose faintly. He had assumed she might want her children to say goodbye to their grandmother one last time. But listening to her reasoning, he found it logical enough. The children had never truly known Sydney-perhaps it was kinder this way. The journey was taxing, after all.
"I see," he murmured in understanding, nodding. His voice softened again, his sympathy wrapping around her like a blanket.
Aiden, meanwhile, watched her with hawk's eyes. The excuse could have been believable- if he hadn't seen the panic flash in her gaze before the mask.
The silence stretched for a moment, heavy. Finally, Elliott broke it with a kind dismissal. "The last rites are scheduled for the evening. Feel free to rest until then. This palace is your home too. Anything you need, you only have to ask. A steward will show you to your chambers and the attendants assigned to you for the duration of your stay."
Elara curtsied again, lower this time. There was something almost like relief in the motion-as if ending this audience had lifted a great weight off her shoulders.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. Your generosity and hospitality are overwhelming."
"It's my pleasure."
With one last nod, she allowed the steward to lead her away. The doors shut softly behind her, leaving only Elliott and Aiden in the chamber.
"Poor woman." Elliott sighed, his hand resting against his chin, his expression solemn. "Grief has truly undone her. She... used to be so sharp."
He was remembering the last time they had seen each other, when both were locked in contest for the throne. Elara was no fragile victim-she had been a player, a contender, fierce and calculating. Gabriella had won, and by extension, so had Elliott. He didn't have to extend her such empathy. But of course he did. Elliott had never been one to hold grudges.
Aiden didn't answer. He only gave a faint, absent nod, his mind racing with all the things Elliott's empathy refused to see.
Elara's grief wasn't the only thing at play here. And Aiden had no intention of taking any risks with Elliott's safety again.
------
Aiden was in his study. Commander Lira stood before him, delivering the report of Elara's search.
"She was clean," Lira said. "Meticulously so. No sharp blades. No unidentified substances. Everything was searched thoroughly, Your Highness. Some hairpins were confiscated-made of Tisco alloy. No traces of poison have been found yet, but Tisco is notorious for retaining toxins, and it's a rather unusual choice for something as ordinary as a hairpin. They're still being tested. Apart from that, her luggage only contained mourning clothes, personal belongings, and a few somber pieces of jewelry."
Aiden leaned back in his chair, face set in a tense mask. They had found nothing. Nothing except the pins.
"Test them with utmost urgency," he ordered. "And report back to me the moment results arrive."
Lira bowed her head in acknowledgment. Aiden dismissed her with a flick of his fingers. The heavy doors shut, and then he was alone.
The report was clean. It should have eased his suspicion. It didn't. Not in the slightest.
Her behavior earlier in the day gnawed at him. She was too tense, too cornered, too restless. He didn't know what exactly, but something was wrong.
Maybe Cyrus had anticipated the search. Maybe that was why- if Elara truly had been sent here by him- he hadn't armed her with anything obvious. Maybe the attempt was never meant to be at the first meeting at all.
Cyrus had allies inside their court. That much was clear. Through the fake James deal, they had watched certain nobles closely. Some were under suspicion, but there was still no concrete proof. The stable boy had been attacked once- but he'd survived. That had solidified what Aiden already knew: Cyrus did have spies within Velluria.
But crucially, Cyrus didn't know who the Moon Heir really was. He only knew the heir was in the Vellurian capital, in their hands. His attempts on the supposed James had failed. Which left only one logical, desperate option: to aim straight for Elliott's neck. Because then, whether they had James or not wouldn't matter. If Elliott fell, Velluria itself would fall into disarray. They could not meddle in Altheria's affairs if their own throne was broken.
The thought left Aiden's jaw tight.
As for Elara- her being clean didn't ease him. Not at all. Cyrus was not a fool. Perhaps she was meant to receive the weapon later, while she was here. A long shot, a huge risk Cyrus would be taking. But then again, desperation made men reckless. Cyrus, of all people, was desperate.
Aiden rose from his desk, the chair scraping faintly against the stone floor. He opened the study doors and gestured for the two knights stationed outside.
"New orders regarding Queen Elara," he said, his voice as cold and sharp as an iron blade. "Double the guards on her quarters. Two men inside her anteroom at all times. Two more outside the door. She will have an 'attendant'-one of our most observant female agents disguised as a lady in waiting- at all moments. Guards will be stationed beneath her windows. High alert at all times."
He met the knight's eyes directly, ensuring the severity and urgency of his commands burned through.
"She is not a prisoner," he continued. "She is not to be made to feel like one. She will be treated as an honored, grieving guest- with the utmost respect. But our eyes will not leave her. Relay my orders."
The knights bowed sharply and left at once.
---
AN: the ominous feelings is in the air~