Enora finished the breakfast that Dantriel had prepared for her. She ate in silence, as if each bite was a small anchor keeping her in that refuge, far from the weight of the throne and impossible decisions. When she placed the cutlery on the table, she stood up and began to prepare to return to the palace.
Before she crossed the threshold, Dantriel spoke.
“What do you plan to do with those young people?”
Enora stopped. She didn’t turn immediately.
“I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “I need time to think about it.”
Dantriel drew a deep breath. He hesitated for a second before asking the question that burned in his chest.
“And what about us?” he asked. “Do you also need time?”
When Enora turned to look at him, she found something in his eyes she rarely saw: fear. Not of the kingdo
