Sol stood dazed, his hands slightly trembling as the weight of realization settled over him like a heavy shroud. His mind was still reeling when a gentle nudge pulled him back to the present.
Elara, who had been mid-conversation with Henrik, had finally taken notice of his unusual stillness. She nudged him lightly, her brows furrowing slightly in curiosity. Sol blinked rapidly, forcing himself to steady his breath and mask the unease clawing at his chest.
Though there was a hint of dissatisfaction in her expression, Elara collected the carving without complaint. She ran her fingers over the details one last time, as if searching for something more, but in the end, she simply sighed and straightened.
“Thank you, Henrik,” she said, her tone polite but carrying a trace of something unspoken.
Henrik gave a small nod, his sharp eyes flicking briefly to Sol before returning to Elara. “Do take care, my lady.”
Without another word, Elara turned on her heel and began to leave, her graceful steps carrying her toward the bright light of day outside. Sol watched her go, his heart still pounding, but he dared not move, dared not let the fear on his face show.
Henrik, still standing nearby, exhaled quietly. “Be careful, boy,” he muttered, his voice low and knowing.
Sol swallowed hard but said nothing. He simply lowered his head and followed.
As they walked back to Sol’s place, Elara seemed completely unaffected, her voice carrying on as light and carefree as before. She spoke about random things the way the sun hit the trees, a funny story about a servant at the manor, even the scent of fresh bread from a nearby stall they passed. There was no trace of worry in her tone, no hesitation in her steps. It was as if she hadn’t realized the gravity of what had happened, as if the invisible lines Sol had just crossed didn’t exist to her.
Sol, on the other hand, felt the weight of it pressing down on his chest with every step. His heart still pounded, his thoughts spinning in circles. He couldn’t stop replaying the moment in his head the carving, the realization, the consequences that could follow if anyone found out. Every glance at Elara only deepened his unease. How could she be so calm? Did she not understand? Or did she simply not care?
By the time they reached his house, Sol felt exhausted not from the walk, but from the crushing fear that still gripped him.
Elara, unfazed, stepped inside and immediately placed both carvings down on the small wooden table. She studied them for a brief moment, then turned to him and, with complete sincerity, said, “Yours looks so much better.”
Sol blinked, caught off guard by the statement. “What?”
Elara gestured to the two pieces, her lips curling into a slight pout. “I mean, look at them,” she said. “Mine is neat, sure, but yours feels… alive.”
Sol opened his mouth but couldn’t find the words to respond. His mind was still drowning in fear, yet here she was, casually complimenting his work as if nothing had changed. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to steady his breath.
Elara tilted her head, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as she finally took in his expression. “You’re acting strange,” she noted, crossing her arms. “What’s wrong?”
Sol hesitated. He couldn’t tell her, not now. Not ever. So he did what he had always done best.
He lowered his head and shook it slightly. “It’s nothing, my lady,” he murmured, forcing a small, empty smile.
Elara stared at him for a long moment, as if debating whether to push the matter. Then, with a small sigh, she let it go. “If you say so,” she said, though she didn’t seem entirely convinced.
She turned back to the carvings, brushing her fingers lightly over the surface of his. “Still, you have quite the talent, Sol,” she mused. “I think you could be better than Henrik one day.”
Sol forced a chuckle, though it came out hollow. “I doubt that.”
Elara smirked. “We’ll see.”
The birthday was tomorrow, and Elara had much to do, she had to prepare the gift properly, ensure it was presented in the right way, and tend to the countless other responsibilities that came with such an important occasion. And yet, despite all that, she found herself lingering.
She should have left hours ago, but she couldn’t bring herself to.
The evening deepened, the last remnants of daylight swallowed by the creeping darkness. Outside the world settled into a deep quiet. Inside Sol’s small home, the only sound was the crackling of firewood as Sol lit the flames, their glow casting flickering shadows across the room.
Elara watched him from where she sat, her hands resting idly on her lap. The warmth of the fire softened the sharp features of his face, making him seem… different somehow. Or maybe it wasn’t the fire at all, maybe it was something else entirely.
Before she could second-guess herself, the words slipped past her lips.
“Sol… what do you think of me?”
The question hung in the air, delicate yet weighted. Sol, who had just placed another log onto the fire, froze for a brief second before slowly turning to face her. His expression was unreadable, as if his mind was struggling to grasp why she was asking such a thing.
Elara held her gaze. She wasn’t sure what answer she was expecting, perhaps she wasn’t expecting one at all. Perhaps she only wanted to hear his voice, to understand how he truly saw her.
Sol hesitated, his hands curling slightly at his sides. He should have seen this coming. The days they had spent together, the conversations, the stolen glances.
But what was he supposed to say? That she was unlike anyone he had ever known? That she made him feel like he was more than just a nobody? That she had become the one thing in his life he didn’t know how to turn away from?
No, he couldn’t say that. He shouldn’t say that.
Finally, he exhaled softly, his voice quiet, almost cautious.
“I think…” he started, choosing his words carefully, “that you are someone who doesn’t belong in a place like this.”
Elara’s lips parted slightly, as if she hadn’t expected that response. “A place like this?” she repeated.
Sol nodded, looking away toward the fire. “You’re meant for grand halls, for a life filled with light and admiration. Not…” He motioned vaguely around them. “Not here, in a small, empty house with someone like me.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
A flicker of something unreadable passed through Elara’s eyes. She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand. “And yet, I’m still here,” she murmured.
Sol’s throat tightened. He didn’t know what to say to that.
Elara studied him for a moment before offering a small, almost teasing smile. “You didn’t answer my question, you know.”
Sol swallowed. His heart felt like it was beating too loudly, too fast. He met her gaze again, the firelight reflecting in her deep eyes, and for a moment, just a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to be honest.
“I think… you are impossible to forget.”
Elara’s breath caught slightly, but she didn’t look away. Instead, her smile faded into something softer, something that felt dangerously close to understanding.
The fire crackled between them, its warmth wrapping around the silence that followed.
Sol’s voice was barely above a whisper as he continued, his words unguarded, raw in their sincerity.
“You are like a dream to me… one from which I wish I never wake up.”
But just as the confession left his lips, his voice faltered, dying down as realization crept in. He had said too much.
Before he could pull away, before he could regret it, Elara moved.
Without hesitation, she reached for his hand, her fingers threading through his, warm and steady. Sol barely had time to react before she pulled him closer, closing the distance between them. And then, softly, without a word, she kissed him.
Sol went completely blank.
His body froze, his thoughts dissolved into nothingness. The fire crackled, casting golden light over them, but Sol couldn’t feel anything except the press of her lips, the way her hands held onto him as if afraid he might slip away.
For a moment, the world ceased to exist, no city, no titles, no invisible walls between them. Just the quiet warmth of her embrace.
When she finally pulled away, her gaze met his, searching for something in the depths of his wide, stunned eyes.
Sol’s lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He had never imagined this, not in his wildest dreams.
Elara’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Then don’t wake up.”
Sol’s breath was unsteady, his mind still struggling to process what had just happened. His heart pounded in his chest as he looked at Elara, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but hesitation held him back.
Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, he forced himself to say, “My lady… we cannot. We are of two different worlds.”
Elara’s grip on his hand tightened, her warmth grounding him even as his world threatened to spiral into chaos. “And what of it?” she said, her voice unwavering. “I love you, Sol. No title, no birthright, no expectation will change that.”
Sol swallowed hard, shaking his head. “Your father—”
“Don’t worry about my father,” she interrupted, her eyes burning with determination. “He has never denied me anything before, and he won’t start now.”
Sol could only stare at her, his thoughts tangled between fear and the overwhelming longing that he had buried for so long. “You don’t understand,” he murmured, his voice tight. “If he finds out—”
“I will manage everything,” Elara said firmly, stepping even closer. “Sol, you don’t have to fight this alone.”
She searched his face, waiting, willing him to believe her. But in his heart, Sol knew that love was not as simple as words, not in a world like theirs. Yet, standing there, with her hand clasped so tightly around his, he found himself wanting just for a moment to believe that it could be.
Sol exhaled shakily, his heart warring with his mind. He looked down at their joined hands, feeling the warmth of her fingers wrapped around his own, as if she were trying to tether him to something he had no right to hold onto.
“My lady…” he began, his voice raw, “I love you more than you could ever imagine.”
Elara’s breath caught, her grip tightening ever so slightly.
“But like I said… we are of different worlds,” Sol continued, his words heavy with pain. “The places you come from, the grand halls, the ballrooms, I clean those places. I scrub the floors beneath your feet. And you… you sit on a throne I could never dream of reaching.”
Elara’s brows furrowed, frustration flickering across her features, but Sol wasn’t done. He let out a quiet, bitter chuckle, shaking his head.
“Heck,” he murmured, his gaze finally meeting hers, “I don’t even think I know your real name. Is it really Lyra?”
For the first time, uncertainty flickered in Elara’s eyes. A silence stretched between them, fragile and charged. Then, softly, she whispered, “…No.”
Sol clenched his jaw, forcing himself to take a step back. The firelight flickered across his face, casting shadows that mirrored the turmoil within him.
Elara held her gaze, her eyes steady, unyielding. The firelight flickered against her face, casting warm shadows, but there was no hesitation in her voice, only quiet, unwavering certainty.
“My real name is Elara,” she said, stepping closer, her presence commanding in a way Sol had never quite noticed before. “I am Elara Helvig of House Helvig, daughter of Cedric Helvig, the lord of Black Pearl City.”
She took another step forward, her voice carrying the weight of her lineage. “My father is not just a noble, he is one of the serving knights under the banner of the Kingdom of Hadeland, a man who holds power over this city with the king’s blessing.” She tilted her head slightly, watching him carefully.
Sol’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. He had known she was important, had suspected she was someone far above his station. But hearing her say it, hearing the undeniable truth in her voice, made it feel far more real.
Elara let out a soft breath, her expression unreadable. “See?” she said, quieter now, her voice losing its edge. “That’s who I am. Now you know.”
She was looking at him, waiting. Not for awe, not for reverence, but for something else, something deeper.
Sol’s throat tightened as he tried to speak, his mind swirling with the implications of what Elara had just revealed. But before he could form the words, a noise broke the tension, a distant clattering of hooves. Not just one, but many. The sound grew louder, quickly closing in on the small house.
Before Sol could react, the door was suddenly kicked open with a force that rattled the frame. Sol stepped back instinctively, his heart racing. Standing in the doorway was a tall man clad in grey armor, the emblem of Black Pearl City proudly displayed on his chest. His eyes were cold and hard, there was no mistaking the authority in his posture.
Behind him, two figures stepped into view. The first was a man, thin and dark, barely four feet tall. His features were sharp, his eyes darting between Sol and Elara. He whispered something to the second figure, who wore identical grey armor. The second figure, taller and more imposing, scanned the room with an almost casual indifference.
The man in grey armor spoke first, his voice deep and commanding. “Lady Elara,” he said, his gaze flickering over to her. “The city lord requests your presence immediately. It is urgent.”
Sol’s pulse quickened. He had no idea what was happening, but everything in him screamed that it couldn’t be good. He glanced at Elara, her face betraying nothing of her thoughts, her gaze shifting between the soldiers.
The taller soldier simply ignored the man whispering at him, his focus now entirely on Elara. “Lady Elara, please. The city lord is waiting.”
Elara nodded slightly at the soldier, her expression unreadable. She began moving toward the door, her steps measured and deliberate. Before stepping out, she turned back for just a moment, her eyes meeting Sol’s. She gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod. Sol mirrored her gesture, the weight of the unspoken words between them hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.
But just as Elara reached the door, everything changed in an instant. The soldier suddenly whipped around with a swift, brutal motion. Without warning, he slammed the butt of his sword into Sol’s stomach. The force was enough to knock the breath from his lungs, sending a sharp pain radiating through his core.
Sol stumbled back, his hands flying to his stomach in a desperate attempt to steady himself. The world around him spun, his knees weakening beneath him. His breath came in shallow gasps as he tried to recover from the unexpected blow.
Elara stopped, her head snapping back toward him, her eyes wide in shock. She took a step forward, but the soldier, still holding his sword with a firm grip, blocked her path with a cold, authoritative motion.
“Stay back, my lady,” the soldier commanded, his voice sharp.
Sol’s chest heaved as he fought for control, his vision clearing just enough to see Elara standing frozen, her face pale. Her lips parted, but no words came.
The small man behind the soldier muttered something under his breath, but it was unclear whether he was speaking to Sol or the soldier. The soldier, however, paid no attention to the murmurs, his eyes locked on Sol with a look that spoke volumes.
Sol straightened slowly, his hands still clutching his stomach, feeling the raw, bruising pain from the strike. His heart pounded, not just from the physical blow but from the dread gnawing at him. What had just happened? Why had he been attacked so suddenly?
Elara’s gaze shifted between the soldier and Sol, confusion and something darker flickering in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but then she looked away, turning her focus to the soldier.
The soldier didn’t seem to care about Elara’s hesitation. His voice was firm and commanding. “We are under orders, Lady Elara. Please, come with us.”
Sol’s thoughts raced, but his body refused to cooperate, his legs still shaky and weak from the force of the attack. As Elara was escorted away by the second soldier, Sol stood there, fighting to steady himself. His mind was clouded, his heart heavy with confusion, fear, and the sinking knowledge that something terrible was unfolding, something he could not escape.