Winter's Rebellion

Chapter 7: Silent Bonds

Elara's POV

I pace the confines of my new private chamber, the Queen's words replaying bitterly in my mind.

"You are a princess, not a commoner, Elara! Every action you take reflects on this kingdom and its people. Your impulsiveness and lack of self-control could lead us all to ruin. If you cannot rise to the responsibility of your title, then you are no better than the enemies at our gates."

The sting of her rebuke lingers, each word cutting like a knife. I clench my fists, heat rising to my face, my heart pounding with humiliation and anger. The shame wraps around my chest, making it hard to breathe. How could I have been so foolish and reckless?

Sentenced to isolation for four days, I'm left alone with nothing but my thoughts and the weight of my mistakes. The silence is heavy, each moment dragging on. I have waited for someone to visit, but no one has come. My hand throbs from the cut, a constant and cruel reminder of my outburst.

Two days have passed since my confinement began, and my only duty here is to reflect on my actions as the Princess of this country. But reflection offers no comfort. Sleep has become elusive, slipping away each time I close my eyes.

The nightmares haunt me, replaying the same terrifying scene over and over: I'm running, lost in a dark forest, the shadows closing in around me. Then, the dragon appears, its massive form looming, its intent to harm clear in its fiery eyes. Just as it's about to strike, I plummet into the abyss, the cold, unending darkness swallowing me whole.

It leaves me trembling, drenched in sweat, and the fear lingers long after I've awoken. The boundaries between dream and reality are blurring, and I can't escape the sense that I'm falling, even now. A tear escapes my eyes, as I sit at the window nook, gazing at the moon—a clear, round sentinel in the night sky.

My thoughts are interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Before I can respond, Sir Tristian slips in, closing it quietly behind him. I quickly wipe away my tear. Embarrassment flares within me as I hesitantly avert my gaze from his striking appearance. His usual armor is replaced by more subdued garb.

He wears a simple tunic of dark wool, the fabric rich and finely made, though unadorned. Over it, a heavy cloak drapes his broad shoulders, its deep hood pulled low to conceal his features. His leather boots, softened by years of wear, make little sound on the stone floor. A sword still hangs at his side, but the rest of his attire is meant for ease and discretion, rather than battle.

Seeing him in this unassuming attire, I struggle to find the words. Tristian approaches the window nook and, without speaking, takes a seat beside me on the cushioned bench. The space is snug, just wide enough for both of us.

"Princess Elara," he says softly, his voice carrying a warmth that reaches out to me.

My heart flutters at the gentle tone he uses, and the closeness of our shared space feels suddenly both warm and intimate.

"I have news from my meeting with the King and Queen," he says, his voice firm and steady.

I turn my gaze to him and meet his eyes. His expression is stern, yet there's a hint of tenderness as he studies me. "Is everything okay?" I ask.

"Their Majesties know about the dragon," he begins, his voice calm but serious. "I did not tell them it's you. However, I have more troubling news."