As Elara finished speaking, the door to her private chambers creaked open, and a guard stepped inside, his presence abrupt. He paused when he saw her, but his tone was firm as he spoke.

“Lady Elara, there’s been a—”

“Out,” she said, her voice calm but unwavering, cutting him off mid-sentence.

The guard hesitated, his gaze flickering between her and Sage before responding with a slight edge. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, my lady.”

Elara’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing her face. Without a word, she stood up, her movements graceful and deliberate. She walked toward the guard with quiet authority, her presence commanding.

“You’ll leave,” she said again, the words dripping with quiet menace.

But the guard remained planted in place. “I have orders,” he said, his jaw set stubbornly. “I can’t just—”

The shift was immediate. Elara’s hand shot out in a blur of motion, grasping the guard’s wrist with precision. With a smooth twist, she disarmed him, sending his sword clattering to the floor.

The guard staggered back, clearly surprised, but he didn’t retreat. He lunged forward, ready to fight. Elara sidestepped effortlessly, letting him stumble past her before she swiftly brought her knee up into his gut, knocking the breath from his lungs.

For a moment, there was a dangerous stillness in the air. The guard gasped for air, his hand reaching instinctively for his sword, but it was too far away.

Elara stepped back, straightening herself, the violence in her movements fading just as quickly as it had appeared. “I told you to leave,” she said coolly, her voice even, like she hadn’t just incapacitated him moments ago.

The guard, his pride and his breath wounded, gave her one last look—silent, simmering—and then muttered something under his breath before backing out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

Elara watched him go, her gaze briefly distant. Then, as if the entire exchange had never happened, she casually brushed off her sleeves and turned back toward Sage, her expression smooth once more.

Under her breath, just loud enough for herself, she muttered, “Idiot.”

Her gaze met Sage’s, the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at her lips, but there was no trace of the earlier tension. “As I was saying… control is delicate,” she continued, as though the brief altercation had been nothing more than a passing distraction.

She crossed her arms and met his eyes again, her expression serious once more. “Do you understand now, Sage? There’s a reason I hold the reins.”

And with that, she waited.

Sage watched as the guard came in, eyebrows raising in surprise when the girl rendered him useless fairly quickly. He hadn't expected that. Then again...if the guard had actually fought her, he would have lost his head. Or worse.

Sage had tensed, ready to jump into the fray if need be, but the princess had things under control as she put it. Really, it just seemed like the guard knew he needed to walk away, so that's what he did. It was the smart move, sage had figured that one out a while ago.

He let out a sort of laugh, though not an amused one, when she kept talking to him. "You hold the reins because you have the power to do so," he noted quietly. It want a threat ...but he was also telling her she only got away with things like that because no one had the power to discipline her.

But he did understand....he was going to be a tool. Nothing more than that. If he messed up, even on something small, she could do as she pleased to him. He wouldn't have any sort of power against her. He couldn't fight her, couldn't do anything but take her anger and hope she left him intact.

It was dangerous...but he was used to danger. This was different though. Every other time he could fight. Punch his way through anyone, take a knife a shove it through them as he went past. He couldn't do that here. Not with her. Well, he understood her just fine. It would be more abuse from someone....but he was used to that too. He'd be alright. It wasn't like he had much of a choice.

She studied him for a long moment, her gaze unwavering. Then, she responded with a low, almost amused chuckle. “You speak of power as though it’s something to be feared,” she said, her voice soft but firm, almost like she was speaking to a child. “But power doesn’t just work that way, Sage. You think I abuse it? You think you’re helpless because you don’t have the same brute force as others?”

She rose from her chair, her presence commanding the space around her. There was a cold calculation in her eyes, and she knew exactly what she was doing. Every word she spoke was deliberate, and every movement calculated to make him understand exactly where he stood. She took a step closer to him, a slow, measured pace. “You think you don’t have a choice?” She took a breath and let the air hang heavy before finishing. “You have more choices than you think. But if you really want to test that, I’m not one to back down.”

A pause, just long enough for the weight of her words to settle, then she flicked her wrist, motioning for the guard. Without hesitation, the man stepped forward, waiting for her next command.

Elara then tossed the heavy sack of coins onto the desk. It landed with a heavy thud, the clinking of metal echoing in the silence of the room. She turned her eyes toward Sage, watching him carefully.

“Take it,” she said, her voice flat, unemotional. “That’s your pay, and you’ll find it more than generous—provided you don’t get yourself killed. If you want to be my guard, you’ll have to prove your worth in more ways than just swinging a blade.”

The guard stepped forward, prepared to hand the sack to Sage, but before he could reach him, Devon narrowed his eyes at the heavy sack. He raised a brow and shook his head. "This... this is more than my pay." His voice held a hint of disbelief as he looked from the sack to Elara. “I get more than all the positions, what with this?”

Elara didn’t flinch at his question, her eyes narrowing slightly as she held his gaze. She slowly began circling around him, her footsteps measured and deliberate, letting the silence hang for a beat too long. She stopped just beside the guard and, with a smooth motion, draped her arm over his shoulder.

"Let me make this clear," she said coolly, her voice calm yet carrying an edge. "You’re not here because I pity you, or because you deserve more than anyone else. You’re here because I see value in you. And value, Devon, has a price."

She pointed lazily toward the door, where a guard was standing with blood trickling from a gash on his head, struggling to stay upright. “Do you see that?” she asked. Her tone was casual, but there was an unmistakable threat lurking beneath it. "That’s the price of failure. The price of hesitation."

The guard hesitated, his throat tightening as he took in the injured man. He started to speak, but Elara didn’t give him the chance.

"Do you want to end up like him?" she asked, her voice now quiet but sharp, like a blade’s edge.

The guard opened his mouth to protest, but before he could get a word out, Elara silenced him with a swift, cutting command. "Then get moving. Now."

The guard froze, his protest dying in his throat, and he snapped into motion, the sack of coins firmly in his hand. Without another word, he turned and motioned for Sage to follow, his pace quick and hurried, eager to leave the tension of the room.

Elara returned to her seat, the smallest of smirks curling at the corner of her lips. She watched them go, knowing full well that Sage had been marked with her words. Whether he’d choose to heed the warning or not, she’d be watching.

The doors to the council hall swung open with a loud groan as Elara entered, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor. Her eyes were blazing with barely contained frustration, and her movements were tight, controlled, yet full of an unmistakable anger. She did not look at her father immediately, but instead moved to the far side of the room, throwing a glance toward the seats as though she was about to take her place.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she turned to face the king. Her jaw tightened, her hands clenched at her sides, the air around her crackling with fury.

“I don’t need a lecture, Father,” she said, her voice low, but filled with seething intensity. “And I certainly don’t need to be summoned like some child.”

The king raised an eyebrow, but he said nothing. His calm demeanor only seemed to fuel her anger.

“You think I don’t know what’s going on here? I see it. You want to control me just like everyone else!” Her words came out like venom, sharp and deliberate. “You want to tie me down, to make me a pawn in your little game of politics. But I won’t play by your rules, Father. I won’t.”

Her voice was rising with every word, and the tension in the room thickened as she paced back and forth. The others who had assembled in the room watched, their gazes flicking nervously between the father and daughter, unsure whether to speak or simply wait for it to pass.

“You think you can use me, manipulate me into submission, but I’m not some piece for you to move around!” Elara’s voice broke through the silence, full of raw emotion. “I deserve more than that.”

The king’s expression remained impassive, though there was a flicker of something—perhaps irritation or understanding—in his eyes. “Elara,” he said quietly, his voice cutting through her fury like a blade. “This isn’t about control. It’s about ensuring that you survive in this world. You don’t understand the consequences of your actions.”

“You don’t get it!” she spat back. “You never have.”

Elara’s hand slammed down on the table, making the entire room jump. The rage in her was palpable, raw, untamed. “I am not a puppet, Father. I’m your daughter, and I will not be treated like a tool.”

A tense silence followed, the kind that felt like a brewing storm, before Elara’s eyes shifted toward the door. Her gaze hardened, and she took a deep breath, trying to reign in the emotional whirlwind that had consumed her.

Before she could say another word, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. Her attention snapped back to the door, and she straightened, the anger in her body slowly giving way to a simmering calm. Her chest still heaved with frustration, but now there was an eerie stillness in her as she turned back to her father.

King Aldric didn’t look surprised. He remained seated, his fingers still steepled, watching her carefully as the guard stepped forward to announce the arrival of the final person.

The tension in the room was suffocating. King Aldric sat at the head of the table, his gaze sharp as he looked at Elara, his daughter’s fuming presence filling the space. He’d watched her rage earlier, and now it simmered just beneath the surface, ready to boil over once more. The room had grown silent, everyone waiting for the next move.

“Elara,” King Aldric’s voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “You need to understand—this is about more than your emotions. This is about the future of the kingdom. If you continue to act on impulse—”

"Don't!" Elara’s voice cracked through the air, fierce and unrelenting. She was standing now, her fists clenched at her sides. Her eyes blazed with raw fury. “I’m sick of hearing about the kingdom! The future! It’s always the same—your future, your kingdom!”

Her chest rose and fell with the intensity of her anger, her breaths shallow. "Do you think I don't see what's going on here? You think I can't feel the way you’ve been trying to push me into some mold you can control, some role you can manipulate me into?!” Her voice shook with the force of her words. “I’ve spent my entire life being your pawn. Your little project. And you dare sit here, acting like I don’t understand the consequences of my actions?"

King Aldric’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of something—maybe regret, maybe irritation—crossing his face. But he didn’t back down. His voice was steady, though a hint of a warning was buried beneath. “Elara, calm down. You’re not listening—this is about ensuring stability. It’s about making sure we’re not torn apart by your reckless decisions.”

“Reckless? You think I’m reckless?” Elara’s laugh was bitter, full of disbelief. Her hands shot up, gesturing wildly as if trying to physically throw her emotions at him. “I’ve sacrificed everything for you! For this damn throne! I’ve bent, twisted, and shaped myself into exactly what you wanted, but you—you still treat me like I’m some child who needs to be guided!”

Her voice grew louder, more unrestrained. "Well, I’m done! I don’t need your approval, your permission, or your control. You think I’ll sit here like a good little daughter and play by your rules? Not anymore."

The room was thick with tension, everyone staring, frozen in place as Elara’s fury erupted like a storm. She pointed at her father, her finger trembling with anger.

“You never believed in me! You think I’m some tool to wield, some pawn to use—well, here’s the truth, Father.” She was shaking now, her words coming fast and sharp, each one like a dagger thrown with precision. “I’m not your damn pawn anymore. I’ll carve my own path, with or without you."

The words hung in the air for a heartbeat, a charged silence before Elara turned on her heel, the sound of her boots striking the floor echoing like thunder as she stormed out of the room. The door slammed behind her with a violent crack, shaking the very walls.

For a long moment, the room remained still. King Aldric sat there, his eyes fixed on the empty doorway, the weight of his daughter’s words lingering in the air.

Elara’s boots pounded against the stone floors of the castle as she stormed down the hallway, her heart still racing with the fire of her fury. Her chest was tight, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. The door to the council hall slammed behind her, and she didn’t stop to think, didn’t hesitate. She couldn’t be here anymore. She couldn’t face him—couldn’t be a part of his kingdom, of his game.

Her hands trembled, fists clenched at her sides as she tore through the corridors, the familiar grandeur of the castle blurring around her. She reached her quarters in what felt like an eternity, throwing open the door with a force that rattled the hinges.

Without a second thought, she stripped off the fine silks of the dress she had been wearing, the weight of it too much, too suffocating. She tugged on a tunic, practical and simple, the dark fabric a stark contrast to the softness of what she had been forced to wear before. She pulled on pants, boots, and then—without pause—draped a cloak over her shoulders, fastening it tightly.

Her eyes were red, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care about the tears that fell, slow and silent, tracking down her cheeks as she moved. She only cared about leaving. About escaping.

Reaching for her bow, she slung it over her shoulder, grabbing the quiver of arrows as an afterthought. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to get away. She had to breathe, to think, to find a place where she could finally feel some sense of control, even if it was just for a moment.

With a last, shaky breath, she darted out of the castle, moving swiftly through the shadows, unnoticed by those who might have been watching. She barely felt the cold night air against her skin as she pushed past the castle gates, her pace quickening.

She ran—through the fields, the forest, her body moving on instinct, her mind clouded with anger, regret, and something deeper, something she couldn’t name. She ran until the world around her began to shift, until the steady sound of rushing water filled the air.

A waterfall.

The sight of it was like a breath of fresh air, its beauty raw and untamed, just like the storm inside her. The water roared as it crashed against the rocks below, the mist catching the last light of the setting sun.

Without hesitation, Elara stepped forward, crossing the narrow stone bridge that spanned the river below the waterfall. The rocks beneath her feet were slick, but her steps were sure, steady. She was used to walking through danger.

When she reached the other side, she didn’t stop. She climbed higher, following the narrow, winding path that led up to a cliff’s edge, a place she had come to many times in her life.

At the top, she paused, staring out at the horizon. The sun was beginning to dip below the line of trees, casting a fiery glow across the sky. The colors bled together—reds, oranges, purples—as though the world itself was burning in the wake of her fury.

Elara sat down, legs dangling over the edge, and pulled her knees up to her chest. She let the tears come then—silent and unstoppable, each drop falling freely, as if the weight of everything had been too much to hold in. She didn’t try to wipe them away, didn’t try to stop them. She let them fall, one after another, mingling with the wind.

The anger had burned itself out, but the emptiness remained. She had made her choice. But as she sat there, watching the sky bleed into darkness, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was a price to pay for all of it.