Chapter 6


The Unseen Distance




Morning light fell softly across the royal chambers, glinting off marble columns and threads of gold filigree that framed the room like sunlight caught in glass. It was the kind of beauty that silenced breath — and yet, for Elisana, it felt cold.

It had been three months since the wedding. Three months since the city’s cheers faded to murmurs, since the petals had been swept from the cathedral steps, since the sun that once burned bright in her heart began to wane.

The palace was vast — too vast. Its corridors swallowed laughter, and its vaulted ceilings echoed with emptiness. Servants walked quietly, their footsteps muffled by silk carpets and unspoken things.

“Elisana, His Majesty is requested at the Senate meeting again this morning,” said Mariette, her ever-loyal handmaiden, her tone careful. She folded a cream shawl across her arms. “Shall I prepare breakfast for one?”

Elisana’s lips curved faintly, though her eyes remained on the embroidery in her lap — a half-finished scene of stars over a quiet lake. “Yes. One will do.”

Mariette hesitated. “You could ask to accompany him. You are his wife. The Senate could not object.”


“It’s a council of generals,” Elisana replied, her tone gentle. “They would find my presence… ornamental.”


The maid lowered her gaze, saying no more. But the truth hung between them, heavy as fog: the Empress of Salastian — radiant, beloved, graceful — had no place beside her husband when the empire’s decisions were made.


The Empty Halls


At first, Elisana had tried. She waited by the gardens at dusk, where the jasmine bloomed and the fountains whispered softly. She would wait until the torches burned low, hoping he might come — as he used to, with laughter and childhood ease. But Marcus often returned late, long after the stars had risen. When he did, his steps were quiet, his eyes distant.

He spoke of borders, trade, and treaties — never of her.


She began to learn that love, in its quietest form, could fade without vanishing — like perfume on silk long after the wearer is gone.

So, she stopped waiting. Instead, she poured her heart into the neglected corners of the palace. The orphanage in the eastern wing — dusty, forgotten — became her sanctuary. She sewed clothes for the children with her own hands, rewrote the ledgers, and reorganized the staff. Her presence brought warmth where politics had long stolen it.

The servants began to whisper new titles for her. “The Gentle Moon,” they said, in reverence. But the name only deepened her loneliness. Because even the moon shines brightest when it is farthest from the sun.




The Whispers of Roses

One evening, the royal gardens bloomed under a tapestry of lanterns. The court had gathered — nobles, ministers, ladies, and lords — all smiling with practiced ease.

Elisana lingered near the rose arbor, unseen among the blossoms, when the voices reached her.


“She’s beautiful, yes,” said one lady, fluttering her jeweled fan lazily. “But rather too quiet for His Majesty’s taste.”


Another laughed softly. “Indeed. It’s said Lady Alessandra plays the violin for him after council meetings. How intimate, don’t you think?”

Their laughter rippled through the air — light as silk, sharp as glass.


Elisana stood behind the roses, her hand brushing a single bloom. The petal tore between her fingers like silk under strain. She didn’t confront them. She didn’t flinch.

She simply turned and walked away — slow, steady, every step measured, as if her heart were a delicate thing she carried carefully in her chest so it would not shatter.




The Candlelight Distance

That night, Marcus returned late once again. The hour was past midnight when the sound of his boots echoed faintly across the marble floors.

Elisana sat by the window, a book open before her though she had not turned a page in an hour. When he entered, she looked up, her eyes soft with something dangerously close to hope.

“You’re home,” she said quietly.


He nodded, fatigue pulling at his expression. “The Senate meeting dragged on longer than expected.”


“Was it the southern border again?” she asked.


“Yes.” He sank into a chair, rubbing his temples. “It’s… complicated.”


She set her book aside and rose. “Then let me help. You used to tell me everything, Marcus. Perhaps I can—”


“Elisana,” he interrupted, sharper than intended. “It’s state business. I don’t want to trouble you with it.”


Her lips parted. “It isn’t trouble if it concerns you.”


He sighed, this time softer, almost regretful. “You’re kind. But sometimes, kindness isn’t enough to understand politics.”

The words struck her like frost. Kindness — as though that was all she was capable of. The candle between them flickered weakly, its flame trembling between light and shadow — like them.




A Truth in Silence

A week later, Mariette entered the room with trembling hands. “Milady… forgive me, but I must tell you something.”


Elisana looked up from her embroidery. “What is it?”


“They say His Majesty was seen walking with Lady Alessandra in the east gardens. After midnight. I thought it was rumor, but—”

Elisana smiled faintly. “It’s all right, Mariette.”


“No, milady, it isn’t. You deserve better—”


“Enough.” Her voice was calm, but her eyes gleamed with quiet hurt. “If the rumors are false, they’ll fade. If they’re true… they will still fade.”

She looked down at her thread — silver on white silk. “Everything does.”


That night, she sat at her writing desk long after the candles had burned low. The palace outside was silent, the kind of silence that makes you hear your own heartbeat too clearly. And in that silence, she wrote in her journal:

They say love fades with time. But ours did not fade — it unraveled. Slowly, delicately, like silk threads coming loose beneath the weight of years. I still love him. Even as he drifts toward another star, I love him. But love, it seems, is not always enough to be seen.

When she closed the journal, the tears came — soft, soundless, falling onto the page.


Outside, the moon rose high over the palace. Its light reached every corner except one — the cold side of the bed where Marcus once lay beside her.