Chapter 4 Three

• The streets blurred around her as she sprinted toward home.
• How could the author have done that? No... She couldn't possibly...
• She burst through the door of her apartment, her heart pounding. The world outside faded away as she slammed her backpack down and hurried to her desk, opening the book in hand and flipping through the pages she last read with trembling hands.
• //Last Scenes of the Book Ylena was reading//
• Elanthia knelt on the icy marble floor, her pulse pounding as she gazed up at the towering figure before her. Draeven, the tyrant king, stood rigid and unyielding, his piercing eyes slicing through her like a blade.
• "Your Majesty," she murmured, her voice quivering as she fought to keep her tears at bay. "Please... have mercy. I carry your child."
• Draeven's expression remained unreadable, his jaw tightening as tension radiated from him like heat from a forge.
• "You must take me for a fool, Elanthia," he said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Do you truly expect me to believe that you—the daughter of a fallen noble, nothing more than a plaything in my court—would bear my heir?"
• His words struck like a dagger, but desperation drove her forward. "No! You don't understand. I loved you, Draeven. I still do! I would never deceive you. Please... don't cast me aside. I beg you."
• For the first time, Draeven hesitated, his brow furrowing as if something in her words unsettled him. But then, his features hardened once more. "And what would you have me do? Marry you? A scandal like that would shake the foundations of my reign. I have a duty to my kingdom."
• Tears slipped down Elanthia's cheeks, gleaming like shards of broken glass. "But this is bigger than your throne, Draeven! This is about us. Our child. Can't you see the weight of what you're doing?"
• For a fleeting moment, something flickered in Draeven's gaze—something softer, something unsure. But it was gone just as quickly, buried beneath the cold steel of his resolve. "A future built on a lie is no future at all."
• "Please, Your Majesty," she pleaded, inching closer despite the danger in his stance. "If I cannot stand beside you in the light, then let me stay in the shadows. Just... don't abandon me."
• "Enough!" Draeven's voice cracked like a thunderclap, his fury reverberating through the grand chamber. "You were a mere distraction, Elanthia. Nothing more. My marriage to a noble's daughter will secure my reign, and I will not be swayed by your desperate cries."
• The weight of his words crushed her, stealing the breath from her lungs. "But... what of love?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "What of our love?"
• Draeven's expression hardened once more. "Love is a luxury I cannot afford. You should know this by now."
• With those final words, he turned on his heel and strode towards the door, leaving Elanthia kneeling in the shadows, broken and alone. The echo of his footsteps faded, replaced by the haunting silence of the chamber, as she struggled to grasp the reality of her situation.
• "Draeven..." she breathed, despair washing over her. The flickering candlelight danced around her, casting fleeting shadows on the walls, as if reflecting the chaos in her heart. "What will become of us?"
• *****
• And so, days blurred into weeks, and weeks stretched into months. The kingdom erupted in jubilant celebration as King Draeven wed his noble bride. The grand halls gleamed with opulent splendor, laughter and music weaving through the air like an endless symphony of triumph. The people rejoiced, their king fulfilling his duty at last, and the promise of an heir became the whispered excitement of every courtier.
• Yet beyond the dazzling festivities, a shadow loomed—a stark contrast to the kingdom's joy. Elanthia, once cherished in the arms of the king, had been discarded like a forgotten relic. The world had moved on, but for her, time stood still.
• The spectacle of Draeven's marriage was inescapable. His queen, radiant with pregnancy, basked in the admiration of the court. They marveled at her beauty, her grace, the future she carried within her. The nobility spoke in hushed, reverent tones of the prosperity she would bring, but none uttered Elanthia's name. No one acknowledged the woman whose heart had once beat in tandem with their king's.
• Her days faded into a haze of muted colors and unspoken sorrow. Each sunrise was a cruel reminder of her isolation, each sunset a whisper of what had been stolen from her.
• No one knocked upon her door. No voice called out her name. She was a ghost among the living, a fleeting thought lost in the passage of time. She spent her days within the confines of her cottage, dreaming of a child she would never cradle, a future that had never been hers to claim.
• As she gazed through her window at the banners rippling in the wind, her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Draeven. Did he ever think of her? Did he recall the promises they had once exchanged? Or had she faded into nothing more than a forgotten echo in the chambers of his past?
• The thought sliced through her like a blade, sharp and unrelenting, leaving only a hollow ache in its wake.
• And when, at last, her days reached their quiet end, there was no one left to grieve her.
• No one to remember.