The letter said noon.
I arrived five minutes early.
The North Garden was quiet, the kind of curated stillness that comes with royal grounds. I expected to see a guard or aide—but it was only him.
Prince Caelum.
He stood by the pavilion, not in ceremonial robes, but in a simple black coat. Less polished. Less formal. Still dangerous.
"Elira."
"Your Highness."
We stood apart, the silence between us louder than any greeting. He gestured to the table. I didn't sit.
"Since you returned to the academy, I've heard things. I should've come to see you sooner—"
"But you didn't."
He exhaled.
"I asked you here because I owe you something."
"An explanation? Or a performance?"
That made him pause.
"They told me you were... changed. I didn't want to believe it."
"I'm not here to be measured. Get to the point."
He finally looked me in the eyes. No anger. No remorse.
Just confusion.
"Why do you hate me, Elira?"
I blinked.
Then laughed—quiet, short, sharp.
"Is that what you've been asking yourself? Not what you did, but why I hate you for it?"
"I never wanted you hurt. I thought you were safe. That it was handled—"
"Handled by letting them make me the villain? By walking away when it was inconvenient?"
"It wasn't like that."
"Wasn't it?"
The words cut clean. He said nothing more.
"You want to know what changed? I stopped mistaking silence for mercy."
I turned to leave.
"This meeting was for you, not me. Don't ask again."