Serena wasn't sure what she expected when she returned to her chambers after being brought to her knees—literally—by the cold prince of Virelia.
But it definitely wasn't a girl with a smile like springtime sitting on her window seat, legs curled beneath her, petting a white cat.
The girl turned at the sound of the door, her face lighting up like she'd been waiting all day just to see Serena.
"You're awake," she said gently. "I was starting to think you were another ghost in this place."
Serena blinked. "I'm sorry… who exactly are you?"
The girl stood—tall, graceful, but with the energy of someone who apologized too often and hugged too easily.
"Elara," she said, offering a delicate curtsy. "Cousin to Damián. Daughter of the late Duchess of Celmarra. And very much not supposed to be here unsupervised."
Serena stared.
"You're a princess?"
Elara tilted her head, like the word didn't quite sit right on her shoulders.
"Technically. But I'd rather be known as someone who sneaks sweets into the West Wing kitchen and gets scolded for reading romance novels in chapel."
She stepped closer, her gaze softening.
"I've heard about you," she admitted. "Whispers mostly. Terrible ones. Which usually means they're very untrue."
"And you decided to come meet the caged rebel for yourself?"
"I thought you might need a friend."
That gave Serena pause.
The girl in front of her wasn't hardened.
She wasn't political.
She looked like kindness spun into silk.
And yet—
She wasn't afraid of Serena.
That mattered more than it should have.
Elara sat back down, patting the cushion beside her.
Serena remained standing, arms crossed.
"You're not what I expected," Serena said.
Elara blinked. "What did you expect?"
"A viper in lace. Someone planted by Damián to soften me before the next blow."
"Oh no," Elara said, blushing. "I cry during sunrise. And I faint when I smell blood."
She smiled shyly. "I'm not strong the way you are."
Serena sat down beside her before she realized she'd moved.
"You're in a cage too, aren't you?" Serena asked.
Elara's hands stilled in her lap.
"Yes," she said softly. "But mine has prettier curtains."
Later that afternoon, Serena found herself in the mirror room again.
This time, the collar already rested on the velvet cushion.
Damián entered wordlessly. Circled her once.
"You disobeyed," he said.
"I knelt for you."
"You trespassed. You questioned. You assumed."
She tilted her chin. "And?"
He stepped forward, brushing her hair from her shoulder.
"You were punished."
"I was aroused," she corrected.
His mouth twitched.
"I'll allow one question," he said.
She didn't hesitate.
"Why did you send Elara to me?"
Damián's face softened—barely.
"She's untouched by court cruelty," he said. "But not unaware."
"You trust her?"
"I'd burn this palace for her."
A pause.
"And for me?" she asked quietly.
He reached down, picked up the collar.
Fastened it around her neck—slowly. Deliberately.
And whispered into her ear,
"You'll never have to ask that again."