The order was delivered without ceremony.
Commander Kael Draven was reassigned to the northern watch.
Effective immediately.
No explanation. No discussion. No delay.
Aelira read the notice in silence as the guard held it out, parchment crisp, seal unbroken. The words were polite. Final.
She folded it neatly and handed it back.
"I see," she said.
That calm was what frightened them.
Kael found her an hour later.
Not in her chambers—those were watched now—but in the narrow passage between the inner garden and the old library, a place the palace still forgot when it wanted to feel clever.
"They're sending me away," he said, voice low and controlled.
"I know."
His gaze searched her face. "Say the word. I'll refuse."
Aelira shook her head. "That's what she wants."
"She wants you alone."
"She wants you gone," Aelira corrected gently. "There's a difference."
Kael's jaw tightened. "This is a mistake."
"No," she said. "This is strategy."
He took a step closer, stopping himself just short of touching her. "You'll be watched. Provoked. Pressured."
"I've been all three before," she replied. "I survived."
Silence stretched.
Then, quietly, "I won't be here to—"
She met his eyes. "To anchor me?"
He didn't answer.
"You already taught me how," she said. "That was the point."
The words should have comforted him.
They didn't.
The departure was at dusk.
Aelira stood at the window as the courtyard below stirred—horses saddled, soldiers assembling, banners lowered.
Kael moved among them with precise efficiency, every step controlled.
He did not look up.
Not once.
If he did, he might not leave.
Aelira pressed her palm to the glass, breath steady.
This is necessary, she reminded herself.
That didn't make it easier.
They met one last time at the gate.
No witnesses close enough to hear. Plenty close enough to see.
Kael stopped before her, armor gleaming, expression unreadable.
"You'll write," Aelira said softly.
"I'll listen," he replied. "For anything that sounds wrong."
She nodded. "I'll be careful."
He studied her, then reached into his cloak and pressed something small into her palm.
A token.
A thin strip of dark metal etched with the same runes as his armor.
"What is it?" she asked.
"A recall," he said. "If you're in danger—real danger—break it."
"And you?" she asked.
His mouth curved faintly. "I'll come."
The moment stretched—heavy, charged, unsaid.
Kael leaned in, voice low enough that only she could hear.
"Don't let her convince you that this distance means abandonment."
Aelira's fingers closed around the token. "I won't."
He hesitated.
Then, very carefully, he bowed.
Not to the princess.
To the woman.
And turned away.
The gates closed behind him with a sound that echoed too loudly in Aelira's chest.
The palace felt larger immediately.
Colder.
That night, the queen dined in triumph.
"Distance breeds clarity," Seraphine said lightly.
Aelira smiled across the table.
"So does absence," she replied.
The queen's eyes narrowed.
Later, alone in her chambers, Aelira removed the ring and let the warmth stir—just enough to feel it.
Not wild.
Not desperate.
Waiting.
She placed Kael's token beside the candle and whispered to the shadows, "Watch for me."
They listened.
Because separation was not weakness.
It was pressure.
And pressure—applied correctly—
Could shatter a throne.