Vaelor remained in the castle longer than Elira liked.
He spoke to Kael without hesitation, moved through the halls without permission, and treated the cursed kingdom as though it were something awaiting correction rather than rule.
Elira observed him carefully.
Nothing about him matched Kael, yet both carried the same weight of lineage. The same blood. The same history.
And yet Vaelor's presence felt… curated. Like a mask worn too perfectly.
"You watch him closely," Serin noted beside her.
Elira did not look away. "He expects it."
"And Kael?"
At the mention of the Ruined King, something subtle tightened in Elira's chest. She ignored it.
"Kael expects nothing," she replied.
That, she realised, was what made him more dangerous.
Not expectation.
But absence of it.
Across the hall, Vaelor laughed softly at something said by one of the guards.
It sounded pleasant.
And yet Elira could not shake the feeling that pleasantness was sometimes the most convincing disguise of all.