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“Then why were you there?”

Elijah sat on the edge of the bed, resting his elbows on his knees, leaning towards me.

“I went to the balcony overlooking the garden for some peace. The balcony was empty, but two men spoke in hushed voices below. Victor ordered someone to stage a rebel coup, so you would seem like a random casualty. They set up a patsy, Kaia. A kitchen maid. Said they’d make an example of her with swift and harsh consequences. But your death was their ultimate goal.”

Elijah’s eyes were intense and demanded I listen. There was no hesitation in his words.

It was still hard to wrap my head around.

“Why would they go to such lengths to kill me? They could have charged me with a crime and done it legally. Or held me until they could.” I looked around the room for someone to make sense of this. “You have to be mistaken. There’s no way you heard this right.”

“There was no mistaking the order,” Elijah replied. “I don’t think it’s a council-sanctioned murder. Victor wouldn’t be hiding otherwise. It explains why it was a secret plot rather than a public charge.”

“How do you know it was Victor?”

“Victor’s voice is particularly distinctive, and I’ve known him my whole life.”

Itwouldbe easy to discern his voice. It was awful.

“That's true. It is very grating,” I agreed reluctantly.

“It really is,” E.Z. contributed, then shivered.

Despite the tense situation, I had to stop myself from smiling.

“You didn’t recognize the other voice?” I asked.

“No,” Elijah said. “I don’t believe it was any of the other councilmen. I would have recognized them as well. Another reason I don’t think it was sanctioned.”

I swallowed heavily, trying to dislodge the lump that threatened to choke me.

Everyone’s eyes felt heavy as they ran over my face. I didn’t care. I stared out the open window without seeing anything, my mind whirling with everything I’d heard.

If Elijah was wrong, Liam had died for no reason. I could have waited until they released me. If Elijah was correct, would Victor ever stop hunting me?

I sucked in a breath, trying to fortify myself before speaking. “Ok, let’s assume you’re right about Victor,” I said once I pulled myself together.

“I’m right.”

I sighed. “Fine, you’re right. But why were you the one to get me out? You hate me.”

“First of all,” Elijah said. “I don’t hate you. I just don’t like you very much. And who else would do it? I don’t think anyone other than Liam likes you particularly much.”

"Thanks, Ash-hole,” I said dryly. “But I need a serious answer. Why risk yourselves to save me? You had prominent, sought-after positions in the castle. One of you would be the shoo-in to replace Father. Elijah, you’re heir to the entire kingdom! Why give all that up?”

Elijah resumed his pacing, looking entirely uncomfortable with this line of questioning. His shoulders were rigid, his jaw was locked, and his back was stiffer than his typical posture. It was a marble sheet. Over and over, he opened his mouth to speak but said nothing before scrubbing his hands down his face again. The others remained quiet, giving him time to respond.

“Kaia, Eryk Noelani was one of the best men I have had the pleasure to know,” Elijah finally said. “He was a father to me, more so than my own.”

Elijah sank down in a squat in front of me, putting us at eye level. His dark eyes were soft. In them, I saw the sadness he was trying so hard to hide and the frustration he wasn’t trying to hide at all. His eyes begged me to listen and understand. To believe. And I had no choice but to comply, no matter how hard it was to look at him this closely.

He looked so much like Liam. They had the same hair and eyes. The same strong jaw. Elijah’s mouth was slightly fuller, and his seven-year age difference showed in how his face hollowed out and the stress lines in his brow— but still, he looked so achingly similar. I didn’t want to look away, no matter how much it hurt. After everything I’d been through, I wanted comfort, and his familiarity was calling to me. I longed to curl into him and borrow some of his strength.

Elijah reached for the hand resting on my knee but caught himself before touching my skin. His hand hung a moment before he snatched it back.

I saw what could have been concern for me written all over his face, but I knew that couldn't be true. I didn't want his pity comfort any more than I wanted to be let down by him again.

His pulling away was for the best. Until we worked out our issues, I couldn’t accept his comfort. I would hope for things he’d never give.