Elowen's POV:
The corridors feel quieter than usual when I return from the gardens.
Perhaps it is simply the late hour.
Or perhaps I am still too aware of the conversation lingering in my mind.
The palace attendants bow as I pass, their footsteps soft against the marble floors. Lanterns burn low along the walls, casting long shadows that stretch ahead of me.
By the time I reach the wing reserved for the candidates, most doors are already closed.
Selene's door is not.
She is waiting.
The moment she sees me turn the corner, she nearly jumps from the chair beside her doorway.
"You're back!"
Her voice carries down the corridor before I can stop her.
I sigh softly.
"Yes."
She rushes forward immediately.
"Well?"
The single word contains more energy than the entire council chamber earlier today.
I glance toward Hailey's door further down the hall.
Closed.
Good.
Selene notices the direction of my gaze and lowers her voice slightly, though the excitement remains impossible to conceal.
"You were gone forever."
"It was not forever."
"It felt like forever."
She folds her arms impatiently.
"So?"
I push open my door and step inside.
Selene follows without invitation, shutting the door behind her.
Candles already burn on the small desk beside the window, left by the maids earlier in the evening. Their light fills the room with a soft golden glow.
Selene turns toward me expectantly.
"Well?"
I remove my gloves slowly, placing them on the table.
"We spoke."
Her eyes widen.
"That is not enough information."
"It is accurate information."
She groans softly.
"Elowen."
I glance up at her.
"Yes?"
"What did he say?"
I cross the room and sit near the small writing desk.
"He asked questions."
"What kind of questions?"
"About the Trial."
Selene narrows her eyes slightly.
"That cannot be all."
"It is the majority."
She studies me for a moment.
"You are hiding something."
"I am simplifying."
"That is the same thing."
I sigh again.
"He asked about my intentions."
"And?"
"And I told him the truth."
Selene leans forward eagerly.
"You told him you do not want the crown?"
"Yes."
Her mouth opens.
Then closes.
"You said that. To him."
"Yes."
"In the glass house."
"Yes."
She stares at me as though I have just confessed to pushing the prince into the ornamental fountain.
"You are extraordinary."
"I have been called worse."
Selene begins pacing the small room.
"And what did he say?"
"That he found me… interesting."
She stops.
Turns slowly.
"Interesting."
"Yes."
Selene presses both hands to her face.
"You are impossible."
"I did not ask for the description."
"No one asks to intrigue the Crown Prince."
"And yet here we are."
She lowers her hands and studies me again.
"You are leaving something out."
"I am leaving many things out."
"Elowen."
I meet her gaze calmly.
"We spoke about the Trial. Governance. Motives."
"And?"
"And then he dismissed me."
Selene tilts her head.
"That sounds… anticlimactic."
"It was efficient."
She watches me for another long moment.
Then finally, exhales.
"Well."
"Well?"
"At least you survived."
"I never doubted my chances."
She smiles faintly.
"I still wish I had seen his face."
"I suspect it was the same one he always wears."
Selene laughs softly.
After a moment, she moves toward the door.
"I should sleep."
"That would be wise."
Her hand pauses on the handle.
"Elowen?"
"Yes?"
"Be careful."
I raise an eyebrow.
"Of what?"
Selene hesitates.
"Of becoming… interesting."
Then she leaves.
The room grows quiet again.
I sit at the desk for several minutes after the door closes.
The following days pass more peacefully than expected.
I do not encounter the Crown Prince again.
This is not entirely accidental.
The palace gardens are large.
The library is larger.
And I have become unexpectedly skilled at noticing certain tall silhouettes in distant corridors.
Avoidance, it turns out, is a practical strategy.
Instead, I spend most mornings in the southern courtyard where several candidates gather to read or walk beneath the shaded canopies.
It is there that I first meet him.
I am seated beneath a stone arch with a book open in my lap when a shadow falls across the page.
I glance up.
And blink.
The man standing before me is not someone I recognize from the court.
He is tall.
Taller even than many of the palace guards.
Sunlight catches in his hair, turning it a bright gold that looks almost startling against the darker colors of the capital's fashion.
Blonde.
Truly blonde.
Not the muted shade common among northern nobles, but something brighter, as though he has spent more time beneath open skies than palace roofs.
His eyes are blue.
Not pale.
Not soft.
A clear, striking blue that reminds me unexpectedly of mountain lakes.
He inclines his head politely.
"Lady Elowen Evermere, I believe."
I close the book slowly.
"Yes."
"My apologies for the interruption."
His voice carries a hint of an accent I cannot immediately place.
Not foreign.
But not quite capital-born either.
"I am Lord Damien Thorne."
The name is familiar.
"From the northern border."
That explains the accent.
The border territories lie far from the capital's polished manners.
"Forgive my directness," he continues easily, "but your council presentation caused quite a discussion among several visiting delegates."
My eyebrow lifts slightly.
"That was not my intention."
"It was impressive."
The compliment is offered plainly.
Without the elaborate politeness common among the court nobles.
I find myself studying him more closely.
His features are striking.
High cheekbones.
A strong jaw.
The kind of easy confidence that usually belongs to men who spend more time riding horses than attending banquets.
"And you came to tell me this personally?" I ask.
His smile appears quickly.
And it is very effective.
"I came to see whether the woman who challenged half the council looks as formidable when she is reading alone."
"Also, to meet my sister, Lady Isolde Thorne."
"And?"
"And I am still deciding. "
I close the book entirely now.
"That sounds like a dangerous evaluation."
"Only if you dislike curiosity."
"I prefer caution."
"Unfortunate."
His blue eyes brighten slightly.
"Curiosity tends to ignore caution."
For the first time in several days, I feel something close to amusement.
"You are not from the capital."
"No."
"Clearly."
He laughs softly.
"We are not known for subtlety in the border provinces."
"That explains your introduction."
"And yet you have not dismissed me."
"Should I?"
"I hope not."
There is something refreshingly straightforward about him.
No careful maneuvering.
No political calculation in every word.
Just… interest.
"Well," he says after a moment, "I will not interrupt your reading further today."
"That is considerate."
"But I suspect we will speak again."
"You seem confident."
"I prefer optimism."
With another small bow, Lord Alric Thorne turns and walks back toward the courtyard gates.
Several passing ladies immediately notice him.
I cannot blame them.
He is… difficult to overlook.
Later that evening, I returned to my desk.
The unfinished letter to Father waits where I left it.
I dip the pen into ink once more.
Father,
The palace remains as exhausting as ever, though the trials themselves have proven more interesting than expected.
You will be pleased to hear that I have not yet been thrown out of the competition for insubordination.
Though I suspect several members of the court are still considering the possibility.
I pause.
Then continue writing.
Another development may amuse you.
A visiting noble from the northern border territories has recently arrived in the capital.
Lord Damien Thorne.
I met him this morning in the courtyard.
He is… difficult to ignore.
He also appears to possess the rare ability to speak plainly.
I suspect you would approve.
The ink dries slowly beneath the candlelight.
Outside the window, the palace gardens lie quiet beneath the dark sky.
For the first time in several days, my thoughts are not entirely occupied by grey eyes and glass houses.
Which, I suspect, is for the best.