A year had passed since the day Elara first met Prince Sebastian.

  She had changed.

  The shy, sheltered noble girl who once hesitated to speak her mind had found strength in places she never expected. She had spent months honing her skills in archery, practicing in secret until her fingers blistered and her aim became precise. It had started as an escape—something that belonged solely to her, something beyond her parents’ expectations. But it had turned into something more.

  Yet, at home, another battle continued.

  Her parents grew more persistent about her engagement, parading suitors before her like prized stallions at auction. And today, she would meet the most insufferable of them all.

  ***

  The heavy oak doors of the Whitmore estate’s parlor swung open with practiced ease, as if they had been waiting for him.

  Lord Adrian Ravenshire strode inside with the confidence of a man who already considered himself welcome—no, expected. His polished boots barely made a sound against the marble floors, but his presence filled the room as though he had announced himself with a trumpet.

  Dressed in an impeccably tailored midnight-blue coat embroidered with silver filigree, he carried himself with an effortless grace, his every movement calculated yet seemingly natural. His dark hair was neatly styled, not a strand out of place, and when he smiled—a slow, knowing curve of his lips—it was the kind of smile that suggested he already knew the outcome of this meeting.

  "Your Grace," Adrian greeted Duke Whitmore with a perfectly measured bow, his voice smooth as silk yet carrying just enough weight to imply his own importance. His gaze then shifted to Elara’s mother, his expression warm, as though he were indulging a necessary formality. "Your Grace, it is always a pleasure."

  Then, finally, he turned his attention to Elara.

  "Lady Elara," he said, taking a single step toward her, his grey eyes assessing, as if he were appraising a prize rather than greeting a person. "It is an honor to finally meet you. I have heard much about you—though I must admit, none of the praises truly do you justice."

  He smiled as he took her hand, lifting it just enough to make a show of his courtesy, though he did not kiss it. Instead, he held it for just a moment longer than necessary before releasing it, as though granting her a favor.

  Elara resisted the urge to pull her hand away too quickly. She met his gaze with polite detachment, the kind her mother had trained her to perfection, though inside, she already disliked him.

  "A pleasure, my lord," she said evenly.

  With the air of someone who already believed himself victorious, Adrian turned back to Duke Whitmore. "I trust we have much to discuss."

  "Indeed," the duke said with approval. "Elara, sit with us. Lord Adrian has traveled far, and we must extend our hospitality."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Elara masked her irritation and took a seat, her back straight, her hands resting delicately in her lap. Adrian sat across from her, perfectly at ease.

  "I must admit," Adrian continued, sipping from his wine, "I expected you to be more... timid. But I see now you carry yourself with a quiet strength. Admirable."

  Elara forced a smile. "How kind of you to say, my lord. Though I must confess, I wasn't aware you had expectations of me before we even met."

  Adrian chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Ah, but how could I not? A daughter of the Whitmore family, rumored to possess both beauty and wit—it is only natural to be curious."

  Her grip on her gown tightened beneath the table. "And are your expectations satisfied?"

  His smile deepened. "More than satisfied."

  Her stomach twisted at his tone. He spoke as though this arrangement had already been decided—as though her thoughts on the matter were irrelevant.

  Duke Whitmore cleared his throat. "Lord Adrian is a fine match, Elara. His family is well respected, and their influence rivals our own. You would do well to get to know him."

  She already knew enough.

  Still, she nodded, playing the part of the obedient daughter. "Of course, Father."

  Adrian leaned back, watching her with the air of a man who believed everything was falling into place. "I look forward to our future conversations, Lady Elara. I believe we shall get along splendidly."

  Elara smiled, but it did not reach her eyes. "We shall see, my lord."

  As the conversation shifted to politics and trade, Elara tuned out their voices, her mind racing. She had spent the last year learning how to wield a bow, how to steady her hands, how to make each shot precise.

  But no amount of training had prepared her for the battle ahead.

  She would not let them decide her future.

  Not without a fight.

  ***

  That evening, nestled in her blankets, Elara let out a slow breath as she turned the pages of her book. The candlelight flickered beside her, casting restless shadows against the walls. The meeting with Lord Adrian Ravenshire had left her tense, her skin crawling with unease. His words, his smug confidence, the way he had looked at her—it was as if he had already placed a claim on her life.

  She gripped the edges of her book tighter. The mere thought of him being her future made her stomach churn. Tonight, she wanted to think of something else, and that was when her mind wandered back to the strange light that had illuminated this very room a year ago.

  Her search for answers about the ghostly orbs had led to nothing. At first, it had haunted her—she had scoured books, questioned scholars—but there was nothing in recorded history that matched her experience.

  Eventually, she let it go. If the world had no answers for her, then perhaps she needed to look forward rather than dwell on what she could not explain.

  And then her thoughts drifted to Prince Sebastian, who remained as unwavering as ever. Some nights, he would slip away from the palace, and Elara and Oliver would follow him into the city's quiet, forgotten alleys.

  Together, they shared warm bread and milk with the homeless, exchanging laughter and soft conversations with those who had long been ignored by the nobility.

  “It won’t change the world,” Sebastian admitted one night, watching as a little girl eagerly drank the milk he had given her. “But tonight, she won’t go to sleep hungry.”

  Elara had watched him then, a quiet warmth settling in her chest.

  ‘He is going to be a great king,’ she thought, closing her eyes as sleep finally took her.