The Hollow Crown

The wedding had ended, but Elira carried its echoes like chains.

Every night since, she saw it replay when she closed her eyes: Seraphine in gold, swearing vows she did not mean, her hand resting in another’s. Elira would wake gasping, clutching her sheets, the taste of Seraphine’s last kiss still lingering.

And yet, the world demanded Elira smile. The alliance was secure, the threat of war diminished. Her council praised Aurelith’s “wise union.” To them, Seraphine was no longer a woman but a contract fulfilled.

But to Elira, she was still everything.

---

The first letter came less than a fortnight after the wedding.

It was shorter than usual, written in hurried script:

I burn in silence. They call me wife, but every word I speak to him feels like betrayal to myself. I lie beside him but feel only cold. Elira, I see you in every shadow, in every breath. Tell me you have not forgotten me.

Elira’s hands shook as she read. She wrote back, though she knew the risk doubled now that Seraphine shared a bed with a husband.

I could sooner forget my own heartbeat. You are the air I breathe, though each breath cuts me. Seraphine, I do not know how long we can live like this—half alive, half erased.

---

When councils summoned them again for matters of trade, Elira traveled to Aurelith under the weight of duty. But the instant she saw Seraphine across the hall, the facade cracked.

Seraphine had not dimmed. She still carried herself with fire, but Elira saw it—hidden exhaustion, a hollow behind her smile. And when Seraphine’s husband placed a hand on her arm possessively, Elira felt her stomach twist.

That night, unable to endure the silence, Elira slipped from her chamber to the temple gardens. Moonlight painted the marble white. She prayed Seraphine would not come, prayed she would—until the sound of hurried footsteps reached her.

“Elira.”

Her name was a plea, a confession. And then Seraphine was in her arms, lips pressing against hers with desperate hunger.

“I cannot bear it,” Seraphine gasped. “The charade, the lies, his touch—Elira, it feels like I am drowning.”

Elira cupped her face, forcing her to meet her gaze. “Then don’t drown. Fight. Even if the world tears us apart, we will not let it erase what we are.”

Their kiss deepened, their bodies pressed close against the cold stone wall of the temple. The stars above bore silent witness as they clung to each other, trying to fill the vast emptiness between duty and desire.

---

But even stolen nights are counted.

The whispers grew. Servants reported the princesses lingered too often in each other’s company. Aurelith’s nobles noted how Seraphine’s eyes followed Elira when they should have sought her husband. Even Elira’s council pressed sharper warnings.

“Your affections risk undoing all we have gained,” one elder hissed. “Would you bring war to Veyra for the sake of your… impulses?”

Elira said nothing, but her silence was an answer of its own.

---

Their last meeting before Elira’s return to Veyra was hurried, frantic. They met in the shadow of the stables, the smell of hay mixing with the salt of their tears.

“I don’t know how much longer I can endure this,” Seraphine whispered, clutching Elira’s hands so tightly it hurt. “Every day I feel myself vanishing. Every smile I give him is a knife I twist in myself.”

“You are not vanishing,” Elira said fiercely. “You live here.” She pressed Seraphine’s hand over her own heart. “As long as I breathe, you are not lost.”

Seraphine kissed her—once, twice, as though imprinting the memory deep enough to survive years of silence.

Then the sound of footsteps broke them apart. Guards passed nearby, their torches flickering. Elira and Seraphine froze, hearts pounding.

Only when the danger passed did Seraphine whisper, “One day, they will catch us. And when they do…”

Her words trailed into silence. They both knew the truth: discovery would not mean scandal—it would mean ruin. For Elira, her claim to the throne. For Seraphine, perhaps her life.

Elira kissed her one final time, fierce and trembling. “If that day comes, let them take everything else. But they cannot take this from us.”

Seraphine’s tears fell against her cheek. “No… but they can take you.”

The torches flared again, closer this time. With shaking hands, Seraphine pushed Elira away, whispering, “Go. Before it’s too late.”

Elira obeyed—because she had to. But as she disappeared into the night, she knew the truth had finally caught them.

Their love was not just dangerous now. It was doomed.

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