The West Wing smelled of rose oil and old secrets.
Elara moved through the velvet-lined corridor like a shadow draped in someone else's story.
Gilded mirrors flanked the walls, reflecting a girl who barely looked like herself.
Servants bowed.
Guards stepped aside.
Doors opened like the world owed her something.
Still, she walked as if the floor might vanish underfoot.
She ran her fingers along the crimson drapes soft, too soft.
Back home, curtains were linen cloth nailed to wooden beams.
This palace was not her world.
It was a stage, and she didn't know her lines.
Her chamber was worse.
Too rich.
Too heavy.
Silks poured off the bed like water.
Cushions piled in exaggerated comfort.
A comb studded with fire pearls sat untouched on her vanity.
In a velvet box, a necklace shimmered opal set in fireglass, glowing faintly in the candlelight.
She hadn't asked for it. She hadn't worn it.
Someone wanted her to.
"You're avoiding their gifts," said a voice from behind.
She spun.
M leaned against the wall near the window, half-swallowed in shadow.
He looked like he belonged in that dark corner made of it.
"You can't keep sneaking in," she hissed, heart leaping into her throat.
"One day, someone will see."
"They won't," he said with that maddening half-smile.
"I was trained not to be seen."
"Trained by who?"
Her arms folded across her chest.
"You're always half-truths and riddles.
Who are you really?"
He didn't answer.
But his gaze softened when he looked at her like.
she was the only thing in the room not made of lies.
"Did anyone ever tell you about my mother?"
she asked, the question escaping before she could take it back.
M's expression flickered.
"Only fragments. Nothing that would do her justice."
Her throat tightened.
"I wish I had something of her."
A voice.
A scent.
Even a flaw.
"Then believe what your heart tells you," he said, quieter now.
"Because what the palace says about her… isn't the full story."
Before she could speak, a knock echoed.
M vanished one heartbeat, and he was gone behind the curtains.
Ana entered carrying a tray.
"You missed breakfast again, Miss Elara."
"I wasn't hungry."
She placed the tray down carefully. "You've missed five this week."
Elara sat on the edge of a velvet bench, the food untouched.
"Do they… talk about me?"
Ana's eyes widened. Do they? It's a daily performance.
You should hear the maids.
Some think you bewitched the Empress.
Others say you're cursed.
Elara said nothing.
"You don't have to prove anything to them," Ana added gently.
Elara managed a smile. "But they'll expect me to, won't they?"
Later that afternoon, Elara wandered the Eastern Garden. She always ended up there. Under the willow tree. Its branches swayed like they remembered stories no one dared tell aloud.
She knelt and pressed her palm to the stone at its roots.
It hummed.
"You shouldn't be here."
The voice cut through the air like a cold knife. Madam Darla stepped into view, her silver hair coiled like a crown of ice.
Elara rose slowly. "I needed air."
"You come here to whisper to dead trees and pretend you're not what you are."
"I'm not pretending anything."
Darla stepped closer, eyes gleaming.
"You're too much like her.
Same quiet defiance.
Same secrets tucked behind the eyes.
The Empress will..... like she did to your mother."
Elara's blood stilled. "You knew her."
A beat of silence.
Then the older woman turned and left, her silks brushing the ground like wind passing over graves.
That night, the city glowed beneath Elara's balcony thousands of gold lights flickering like restless souls.
She barely noticed M step beside her.
"You always appear when I think too loud," she murmured.
He held something wrapped in a strip of faded cloth. "This was my mom's"
Elara took it slowly, unwrapping with trembling hands.
A pendant.
Older than anything in the palace.
Worn, etched with strange symbols that pulsed faintly at her touch.
It was warm.
Familiar.
Like something that had been waiting.
"Why give it to me?" she whispered.
"Why now?"
"Because sometimes," M said, his voice almost reverent, "the truth waits for the heart to be ready."
She closed her fingers around it, and something in her chest cracked open.
The silence around her didn't feel empty anymore.
It felt expectant.
And watching.