The night was thick with the scent of ink and old roses.
I had dismissed my maid. The papers were still warm from the seal. The room swam in quiet candlelight, gold brushing against red velvet and stormy thoughts.
That was when Cladus stepped in.
He didn't knock. He never knocked.
"You went too far tonight," he said, voice low and precise.
I didn't look up.
"Define 'too far.'"
"You danced with Auren."
"So did half the court."
He stepped closer.
"But only you made him bleed."
I finally looked up.
"Did I?"
"You know you did," he said. "And you liked it."
---
I rose, slowly, folding the final letter into its velvet pouch.
"He's the one who let me fall."
"And yet you look at him like you're waiting for an apology you'd never accept."
My breath caught.
"Careful, Cladus."
"I'm always careful," he said, stepping closer. "Especially with people I've sworn to protect."
"Then protect me from him."
"I'm trying," he said. "But you're the one setting the fire."
---
There was silence.
The kind that cracks between two people standing too close, with too much between them.
He looked at me then—not as a knight. Not even as a man.
But as someone who knew I was slipping.
"You've built a war out of whispers," he said. "But how long until they whisper about you?"
"They already do."
"Then why does it still hurt?"
I didn't answer.
Because it did.
Because behind every blade I planted in court, there was one still lodged in my own spine—from Auren. From Serina. From myself.
"You told me once," Cladus said, softer now, "that you didn't want to survive just to become them."
"And maybe I lied."
His jaw clenched.
"You're not alone, Elara."
"Then why do I feel like I am?"
---
The candles hissed. The wind stirred the edge of the curtains.
Cladus stepped forward until we stood breath apart.
"You want vengeance," he said. "Fine. So do I."
"Then what's stopping you?"
"You."
That silenced me.
"Because if you fall too far," he whispered, "there will be no one left to pull you back."
---
For a moment, I almost believed him.
But belief was dangerous.
So I turned away.
"Thank you for your concern, Sir Cladus. You're dismissed."
He didn't move.
"One day," he said, "you'll either thank me… or hate me."
"What makes you think it won't be both?"
He said nothing.
Then he left.
And I stood alone, the fire still crackling behind me.