Chapter 24: The Shield He Never Spoke Of
Morning arrived slowly after the attack.
Elara did not sleep much that night. Every sound made her tense. Every shadow felt too close. When the sun finally rose, pale light filled her room, and she let out a breath she did not know she was holding.
She was alive.
The crown rested on her head, calm and steady. It no longer warned her. But she could still feel the echo of danger, like a fading storm.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Come in," she said.
A maid entered, carrying a tray of food. "His Majesty ordered this," she said gently. "And… he assigned new guards."
Elara frowned. "New guards?"
The maid nodded. "They will stand outside your door at all hours."
Elara's heart tightened.
Araion.
She thanked the maid and ate slowly, her thoughts racing. He said nothing last night, she thought. But he didn't leave either.
Later that morning, Elara stepped into the hallway.
Two guards stood straight at her door. Different from the usual ones. Older. Sharper eyes. They did not speak, but they nodded with deep respect.
She walked down the corridor.
More guards.
At the stairs.
At the corners.
At the garden gates.
Elara stopped.
"This is too much," she whispered.
The crown pulsed once—calm, not alarmed.
She turned and headed toward the king's private wing.
No announcement was made when she entered. The guards there stepped aside without question.
Araion stood near a table covered in reports. He wore no crown, no armor—only dark robes. His shoulders looked tense.
"You increased the guard," Elara said.
He did not turn right away. "Yes."
"You didn't tell me," she said.
He finally faced her. His expression was calm—but his eyes betrayed him.
"I didn't want to frighten you," he said.
Elara crossed her arms. "You don't usually protect people quietly."
"No," he admitted. "I usually make it known."
"Then why now?" she asked softly.
Araion walked to the window. "Because this threat is different."
"How?" she asked.
"Because it comes from within," he replied. "From people who smile during council meetings and sharpen knives at night."
Elara shivered.
"I should face them openly," she said. "If they fear me—"
"No," Araion said firmly.
She looked at him, surprised by the sharpness in his voice.
"You will not be used as bait," he continued. "Not while I still draw breath."
Something in his words made her chest ache.
"This isn't like you," she said quietly. "You don't usually hide your concern."
Araion was silent for a long moment.
Then he spoke, slower now.
"For centuries," he said, "I ruled through distance. Pride. Fear. No one came close enough to be hurt."
Elara listened carefully.
"But you are not a pawn," he continued. "And I will not treat you like one."
She stepped closer. "So you protect me in secret?"
"Yes," he said. "Because if they know how much you matter, they will strike harder."
Elara searched his face. "And how much do I matter?"
Araion hesitated.
That alone was an answer.
"You matter enough," he said finally, "that I am willing to change."
The crown pulsed softly.
That afternoon, Elara noticed small things.
When she walked the gardens, guards shifted positions without her asking.
When she attended lessons, doors were sealed quietly behind her.
When she slept, wardlight shimmered faintly around her room—stronger than before.
None of it was announced.
None of it was explained.
It was simply… there.
That evening, Elara found Araion in the training hall.
"You placed magic wards," she said.
"Yes," he replied.
"Ancient ones," she added.
He raised a brow. "You felt them."
"Yes."
He nodded. "They are tied to my life force."
Her breath caught. "That's dangerous."
"If you are harmed," he said simply, "they will activate fully."
Elara stared at him. "You bound your own power to my safety?"
"Yes."
"Why?" she whispered.
Araion set his sword aside. "Because pride is useless if it costs lives."
She took a step closer. "You could have told me."
"I didn't want gratitude," he said. "Or fear."
"What do you want?" she asked.
He met her gaze. "Time."
The word lingered between them.
"To keep you safe," he continued. "To teach you. To prepare you."
"And after?" she asked.
Araion looked away. "After… is uncertain."
Elara felt something warm and heavy settle in her chest.
Later that night, Elara returned to her room.
She paused at the doorway.
The wardlight shimmered softly, invisible to most—but not to her.
She smiled faintly.
"You're watching," she whispered.
Somewhere in the castle, Araion stood alone on a balcony.
He watched her window from a distance.
For centuries, he had believed care was weakness.
Tonight, he learned otherwise.
Elara lay down, feeling safer than she had since the attack.
Not because of guards.
Not because of walls.
But because someone who once ruled alone now chose to stand quietly beside her—even if she never asked.
The crown pulsed once, warm and steady.
The king was learning to protect not with pride—
But with care.