Chapter Four: Teeth Beneath the Crown
Aldric was not the same man who had ridden into the cursed woods just weeks ago.
He knew it the moment he returned to the castle. The torches burned the same. The guards saluted with the same mechanical precision. The courtiers whispered with the same practiced smiles. But everything felt hollow now. A painted play he no longer believed in.
Because while they worshipped the crown, he had met something—someone—real.
Elara.
Her name beat in his chest like a second heart.
It was dangerous, what they were doing. He knew that. Every secret meeting in the forest was a gamble. But he kept going. Every night he could slip away without notice, he went. He brought wine and food. She brought questions and pieces of herself. Slowly, like an animal creeping out of a trap.
She laughed now. Not often, but enough to make it worth it. And sometimes, she let him hold her when the night grew heavy and her pulse ran wild beneath her skin.
But tonight was different.
The wind was sharper. The moon was waxing toward full again. And Elara was distant, pacing the clearing like a caged thing.
"You're trembling," Aldric said, rising from where he'd been seated on the log they'd claimed as their own.
She didn't answer at first. Just hugged her arms tightly across her chest, eyes fixed on the sky.
"You shouldn't have come tonight," she whispered.
"I had to."
"No," she said, voice tight. "You wanted to."
He reached for her hand. She pulled away.
"Elara—"
"You don't understand what the full moon does to me, Aldric." Her voice cracked. "It isn't just a shape I wear. It's a hunger. It claws at me for days before the change. It makes me think things. Want things I shouldn't. Sometimes, I don't even know where I end and it begins."
He stepped closer. "Then let me stay with you through it."
"No!" she shouted, startling even herself. "You don't get it! I could kill you."
Her hands were shaking. Not out of fear—but fury. At herself.
Aldric watched her, heart heavy. "Then teach me how to help you."
"You can't help a storm, Aldric," she said, voice breaking. "You just survive it."
He didn't move. Just watched her, breathing deeply.
"Tell me what you need."
She looked at him, eyes rimmed with tears, cheeks flushed. "I need to be alone when it happens. Far from people. From you."
The words stung, but he nodded.
"I'll respect that."
She looked away. "There's a cave in the southern cliffs. Remote. I go there the night of the full moon and stay until it passes. If I make it through without… hurting anyone, I return."
"And if you don't?"
She met his eyes, hollow. "Then you won't see me again."
Back in Eldwyn, Aldric's absence had not gone unnoticed.
General Caer approached him in the war chamber the next morning, his brow furrowed.
"Your Majesty, there are whispers," he said. "About your long walks. Late returns. And now, reports of something moving in the forest again."
Aldric didn't flinch. "What kind of reports?"
"Farmers say livestock's been vanishing. Trees shredded. Tracks in the mud—too large for wolves. Too strange."
The king's jaw tensed. "Are you saying you think I'm responsible?"
"I'm saying the court is watching you." Caer's tone softened. "And you're not sleeping. Your eyes are darker. You've changed."
Aldric turned away. "Change isn't always a curse."
But the words sounded hollow even to him.
That night, he stood on his balcony, staring at the crescent moon. The cave. That's where she'd be. Alone. Fighting herself.
He hated not being there.
He hated the silence.
Three days passed with no sign of her.
He rode out on the fourth day under the pretense of inspecting the outer lands. His horse moved quickly over familiar trails until he reached the edge of the cliffs. It took hours of searching, but he found it—a jagged break in the rock near a thicket of ferns. The cave was wide, dark, and silent.
"Elara," he called softly.
No response.
He stepped inside. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of moss and something else—faint copper. Blood.
His heart stopped.
"Elara!" he shouted, rushing deeper.
He found her near the back wall, curled up against the stone. Her clothes were torn, skin scratched raw, blood dried across her side. But her chest moved. Barely.
He dropped to his knees. "Elara. Wake up."
She stirred slightly, lips parting. "Aldric?"
"I'm here."
Her voice was brittle. "I didn't… kill anyone."
A wave of emotion surged through him—relief and sorrow all tangled together. "You're safe now."
"I wanted to see you," she whispered. "But I was too weak."
He gathered her gently in his arms, wrapping his cloak around her shaking frame. "I'll take you back. You'll rest at my private quarters. No one will know."
She opened her eyes weakly. "That's not safe."
"I don't care," he said. "You matter more than my title."
Bringing her to the castle was a risk. He knew it. But his mind was made.
He snuck her in through the back stables during the dark of night. His chambers were large, hidden away in the western wing. A long-forgotten tower few dared enter anymore. Servants came and went through secret tunnels. If he was careful, she'd never be seen.
For two days, he tended her wounds, fed her, held her when nightmares came. She told him stories—half memories, half dreams. He spoke of the kingdom, of how lonely power could be.
They didn't kiss.
But the way their hands stayed laced even in sleep said more than lips ever could.
On the third day, the danger arrived.
A knock.
Three sharp raps.
Aldric stood, heart racing. Elara was asleep beside the hearth, her skin pale against the blanket.
He opened the door to find Caer, arms crossed.
"May I come in, Your Majesty?"
"Now's not a good time," Aldric said too quickly.
Caer narrowed his eyes. "I saw a woman enter the stables two nights ago. Limping. Hooded. She never left."
Aldric didn't respond.
Caer pushed past him.
And stopped.
Elara stood there now, barely upright but defiant.
For a moment, no one moved.
Then Caer drew his sword.
"Step away, Your Majesty. That thing isn't human."
"She's more human than anyone in this castle," Aldric said, stepping between them.
"She's dangerous."
"So am I."
Caer's jaw clenched. "You love her."
Aldric didn't hesitate. "Yes."
Silence.
Then Caer slowly sheathed his sword.
"I won't report this," he said. "But others will find out. You need to decide—soon—if you want to rule or run."
And he walked away.
That night, as Elara stared out the window at the waxing moon, Aldric joined her.
"You heard him," he said.
She nodded.
"If I abdicate… if I leave it all behind, would you come with me?"
She looked at him. Really looked. "I'm not asking you to give up your crown."
"I'm offering."
Her eyes filled. "I don't want you to regret loving me."
"I'd regret never loving you."
And this time, when they kissed, it wasn't out of need.
It was out of choice.
Of hope.
And though they didn't know what would come next—war, exile, betrayal—they held on to the one thing they had left.
Each other.
To be continued.....
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