Chapter 2 The Secret Letter

"Some truths are born in silence. But they always find a way to scream.

ELIRA

The silk sheets felt like chains that night.

Elira lay in bed, staring at the canopy above, where painted stars mocked her with stillness. Her mother's voice echoed from hours before: "You are to meet Prince Dareth of Aelthorn tomorrow. Smile. Be charming. The crown depends on it."

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she reached for the writing box hidden beneath her pillow-carved from moonwood, small enough to smuggle, and forbidden by every rule of royal etiquette.

Inside: paper, ink, a single black ribbon, and the memory of a boy who called her El.

Kael.

The name lit something in her chest. Something she didn't understand.

So she wrote.

To the boy beneath the lanterns,

You said you were a nobody. But you made me laugh like I was free.

I don't know what this is. I just know I can't stop thinking about it.

Meet me again? In the orchard by the old city wall. At midnight. No titles. No names.

Just us.

-El

She folded the letter. Sealed it with wax. Then tucked it under her mattress until the castle night-bird-an old servant named Grita, loyal to Elira since she was six-came in with the morning wash.

"Grita," she whispered. "Can you deliver something... quietly?"

The woman took one look at her flushed cheeks and sighed. "You're your mother's daughter," she muttered. "But your father's fire."

KAEL

Kael's dreams were strange that night.

He saw lanterns raining from the sky, burning holes into cobblestone. He saw her-El-with her hood down and a crown made of fire, weeping over something he couldn't see.

Then someone knocked on the forge door.

It was still dark outside. Mist coiled through the slats. He opened the door cautiously, hammer in hand.

No one.

Only a letter pinned to the post, tied with black ribbon.

His heart dropped.

He opened it slowly, like it might explode.

Meet me again. No titles. No names.

Just us.

He read it twice. Then once more.

Then cursed. Loudly.

JORIN

"You're going back?" Jorin raised an eyebrow as Kael scrubbed soot off his face and changed into his cleanest tunic-still patched, still threadbare, but less embarrassing.

"I have to," Kael said, chest tight. "She asked."

"She also lied about who she was," Jorin pointed out. "I saw her. That was the Crown Princess. You danced with royalty, you idiot."

Kael froze.

He hadn't wanted to believe it. But now, the signs were obvious-the voice, the way she carried herself, the way the crowd parted around her without her noticing.

His mouth was dry. "She didn't lie," he said quietly. "She just... didn't say."

ELIRA

She arrived at the orchard first, wearing a different cloak and a heart full of fear.

Every second felt like a stone skipping across a lake-closer to sinking.

Then he came.

Kael.

He was out of place here, under the moonlight and among noble-bred trees. But he looked at her like she was something soft in a brutal world.

"You came," she breathed.

"You wrote," he said.

And then, silence. Full and heavy.

Until he reached out-just a little. Fingers brushing hers.

"Elira," he said.

She blinked.

"I know who you are," he added. "You don't have to lie."

Terror seized her for half a heartbeat.

Then she saw his face.

Not disgusted. Not scared.

Just... sad.

"I didn't mean to lie," she said. "I just-wanted one night."

"One night isn't enough anymore," he whispered.

THE ORCHARD

They met again. And again.

Secret notes in baskets of fruit.

Late-night walks where the stars listened.

Stolen touches beneath shadowed trees.

They talked about things they couldn't say to anyone else.

He told her about the forge. About how his father died in the last border raid. About how his mother still talks to ghosts when the weather shifts.

She told him about palace walls and the way silence screams. About being dressed like a doll. About being sold to a prince who drinks perfume and calls war "strategy."

They never kissed.

But they stood too close.

And they burned anyway.

THE PALACE WALLS HAVE EARS

And one of them belonged to Lady Vasha the Queen's Shadow.

She followed the girl. Counted her steps. Saw the orchard meetings.

She wrote a letter of her own.

To the Queen.

That night, Elira dreamt of Kael's hands in hers and a world where she could choose love.

But across the palace, her mother was reading a different letter.

One that said:

Your daughter is meeting a commoner in the royal orchard. Repeatedly. Disguised.

It must be stopped.

And in the shadows, the Queen smiled.

Because love makes fools.

And fools are easy to break.