Reject me twice (Kira and Theron) novel Chapter 46

[Kira’s POV]

I was prepared to hate her.

Lady Elara Thornwood of House Thornwood, a name I’d never heard attached to any scandal or scheme, which in court politics usually meant the schemes were simply better hidden.

She was surely another schemer. Another manipulator with a pretty face and patient ambitions, another woman who’d weave herself into my brother’s life until she held enough threads to strangle him with them.

Another Seraphine, because that was what courts produced—predators wrapped in silk who fed on trust and called it loyalty.

I dressed for our first meeting the way I dressed for battle—armored in royal composure, every instinct sharpened to a blade’s edge.

She entered without ceremony. Simply walked in—practical stride, sensible shoes, a dress that was well-tailored but conspicuously unadorned—and bowed with the precise depth protocol required.

Not a fraction deeper, which would have been flattery. Not a fraction shallower, which would have been a challenge. Just correct.

“Your Majesty.” Her brown eyes met mine with a directness that caught me off guard. No deference, no fear, no trace of the careful politeness nobles deployed like shields. Just steady, intelligent attention. “I’ve heard a great deal about you.”

I waited for the flattery. It didn’t come. She simply stood there, composed and unhurried, as though the statement required no embellishment.

I couldn’t help myself. “Good or bad?”

“Both,” she said. “Because the truth usually contains elements of each, and anyone who tells you they’ve heard only wonderful things is either lying or hasn’t been paying attention.”

Something unfamiliar cracked across my face—a genuine smile, the kind that arrives without permission. “That’s refreshing. Most people at court wouldn’t dare say both to the Silver Queen’s face.”

“Most people at court find deception less exhausting than I do,” she replied, with a dryness that reminded me unexpectedly of Malik.

“There’s enough of it here without me adding to the supply. I’d rather be honest and occasionally uncomfortable than charming and perpetually performing.”

That was the moment I stopped expecting the mask and started watching for something else entirely.

Over the weeks that followed, Elara became an unexpected fixture in my life. We shared informal teas, conversations that started with politics and wandered into territory I hadn’t expected.

Malik pressed his lips to my hair. “She’s not Seraphine.”

“No. She’s not. And Damon deserves to be happy, even if he’s convinced himself he doesn’t.”

I closed my eyes and reached through the twin bond, pushing warmth toward my brother. I felt him receive it. Felt his resistance rise first, automatic and bristling.

Then, beneath the resistance—fear, raw and trembling, tangled with a hope so desperate it made my throat ache.

He was trying so hard to kill that hope. Trying to smother it before it could grow roots, because roots meant vulnerability and vulnerability meant Seraphine and Seraphine meant devastation.

But hope, I was learning, was harder to kill than either of us expected. It survived the darkest places. It grew in the cracks of the most fortified walls. And sometimes, if you were very brave or very lucky, it grew into something strong enough to hold your weight.

I curled closer to Malik, and let the sound of his heartbeat carry me to sleep.