MAIN CHARACTERS FROM CHAPTER 1 WITH THEIR NAMES AND AGES:

MALACH

- Age: 28

- Role: A knight who serves the king, queen, and their son, the crown prince. Malach is a man of few words, often appearing cold and distant due to his years of training as a warrior. His loyalty is unshakeable, but his mind is constantly burdened by the violence he’s been a part of.

- Personality: He is strong, disciplined, and Carrie’s a deep sense of duty. However, the weight of his past actions and his failures during missions weigh on him, making him a complex character.

- Appearance: Tall, broad-shoukdered, with sharp features and dark eyes. His long black hair is often tied back, and his armor is well-maintained but weathered from battles.

ELIANA

- Age: Healer in the palace, though she isn’t noble birth. Eliana tends to the royal family’s wounds but has little respect for the politics or high-rankings members of the court. She was trained on healing arts but is known for her blunt attitude and sharp tongue.

- Personality: Strong-willed, independent, and un afraid to speak her mind. While she cares deeply for those she tends to, she doesn’t allow herself to be intimidated by those in power. She has a sense of calmness in moments of crisis m, which makes her an effective healer.

- Appearance: She has long brown hair, often braided or tied back, and striking green eyes. Her face is gentle but stern, and she Carrie’s herself with a quiet authority.

EZRA (MINOR CHARACTER)

- Age: 30

- Role: A palace servant, tasked with assisting knights like Malach. He is strong and loyal, often caught between the nobles and the knights, trying to keep the peace.

- Personality: Helpful, straightforward, and pragmatic. While he’s accustomed to the palace life, he knows when to push back and when to stay silent.

- Appearance: Muscular build, with short-cropped brown hair and a solid presence. His eyes are dark brown, and he always Carrie’s a stern but warm expression.

THIS IS NOT AN MAIN CHATACTER BUT IMPORTANT….

STEWARD

He is a servant or official responsible for helping manage royal affairs, like delivering messages, organizo staff, or making sure orders from the king, queen, or prince are carried out.

...----------------...

The sound of hooves echoed through the grand courtyard, the rhythm steady but heavy. The gates creaked open, and the royal guards parted, letting the riders pass through. A dozen knights, their armor caked in mud, blood, and the weight of a battle lost, rode in under the shadow of the towering palace walls. The palace, once a place of glittering gold and opulence, now seemed a distant memory — the weight of war and blood staining everything it touched.

At the head of the column, Sir Malach rode in last. His cloak flared in the wind, but his face was hidden beneath the shadows of his hood. He had always been a man of few words, but today, there was nothing to say. His sword, darkened with dried blood, hung at his side, a silent testament to what had happened. His dark black hair, matted with sweat, hung loosely around his face. He was 28, a knight who had fought in wars and seen horrors that few could imagine. But even he could feel quietness in the air as they rode through the courtyard, as if the palace itself was waiting for him to return, not as a hero, but as a failure.

The gates of the palace was still grand, towering over the surrounding city, a fortress of stone that had withstood centuries. But Malach had long stopped seeing it as a place of refuge. Inside walls were the same faces, the same duties — and, now, the same death. His body aches from the battle, the cut on his shoulder deep and raw. His mission had failed, and he was too tired to care.

As the knights dismounted, the noise of the courtyard grew louder with servants rushing forward to tend to their wounded. Ezra, a palace servant, approached quickly, his eyes scanning Malach’s form. He was a solid man, built like boulder, with short-cropped brown hair and solid presence.

– Ezra — Sir Malach, you’ve returned. You’re wounded.

Ezra (looking over him)

Malach didn’t respond at first, his gaze fixed on the high tower in the distance, the symbol of his servitude to the royal family. His face, like his silence, remained a mystery.

– Malach — It’s nothing.

Malach (his voice low, almost drowned out by the sounds of the crowd)

Ezra frowned, his brow furrowing as he looked at the blood soaking though Malach’s armor.

– Ezra — Nothing? That’s a lie. The court healers will need to.

– Malach — No need. Take me to the east wing. I’ll manage.

Malach (his tone cutting though Ezra’s protests, his voice still distant)

Ezra hesitated but nodded, guiding him though the marble corridors. The servants scattered as they passed, the whispers following them like a shadow. The palace had once been filled with laughter, music, and the clink of wine glasses. Now, it was just the distant echo of footsteps and the murmurs of people who feared what was coming.

As they passed the grand hall, the sound of an old, familiar voice caught Malach’s attention.

– Prince Alaric — What happened to you, knight?

A voice from behind.

He turned slightly, meeting the gaze of Prince Alaric, the heir to the throne, standing at the top of the stairs. The prince was young, barely twenty, but already his eyes carried the weight of ambition. He was dressed in fine skills, a stark contrast to Malach’s battle-worm armor.

Malach didn’t speak. He simply lowered his head, acknowledging the prince with a slight nod. His thoughts were far from the prince’s grand plans, his mind instead consumed with the faces of the men who hadn’t made it back from the mission.

– Prince Alaric — Take him to the healer.

Prince Alaric (sighing as he turned away)

The words lingered in the air, but Malach wasn’t paying attention anymore. Ezra led him away, his boots cliking against the stone floor in rhythm with his thoughts. He didn’t need the prince’s pity, nor the healer’s touch. What he needed was an end to the endless war.

When they reached the small, tucked-away room in the east wing, Ezra motioned for Malach to sit.

– Ezra — Elina should be here shortly. she’ll tend to that wound.

Ezra (gesturing to the bed)

Malach sat without a word, his eyes distant. The flames in the heart crackled softly, casting long shadows across the stone walls. He let out a deep breath, trying to fight off the overwhelming sense of fatigue. But it was more than just the exhaustion. It was the weight of failure. The weight of a duth he had failed to uphold.

The door opened, and a soft voice cut through the silence.

– Eliana — You’re not supposed to be here.

Eliana (entering, her tone sharp but not unkind)

She was tall, with dark brown hair pulled back into a simple braid, her eyes focused and calculating. Her hands were steady as she closed the door behind her, her eyes flickering over Malach’s form. At 24, Eliana was a woman with the air of someone who had seen far too much of life’s darker side, yet still held a sharp edge to her tongue and steady hand for healing. She has been brought to the palace as a healer, but her reputation has grown beyond that — people whispered about her bluntness and disregard for the court’s formalities.

He didn’t move, not even when she stepped closer. Her fingers grazed his shoulder as she unbuckled his armor with the practiced hands of someone who had it a thousand times before.

She paused for a moment, meeting his eyes.

– Eliana — Knights always think they can carry the weight of the world on their own.

Eliana (her voice quiet but laced with aoemthing sharp)

Malach didn’t respond. The silence between them stretched, thick and uncomfortable.

– Eliana — Don’t worry. I’ve seen worse.

Eliana (setting to work in his wound, cleaning it carefully)

He watched her hands, delicate but precise. There was something about the way she moves — a sense of purpose. A calmness that was foreign to him. It made him uneasy. Knights were used to the chaos of battle, the adrenaline of survival. But her stillness… it was like the quiet before a storm. A silence that unsettled him.

– Malach — You’re the healer, then?

Malach (his voice barely above a whisper)

She didn’t look at him as she worked, but he could see her lips curve into the faintest of smiles.

– Eliana — I’ve been called worse things.

He raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He had heard rumors about her — that she had been brought to the palace to tend to the royal family, but that she wants just a simple healer. That she has a sharp tongue and no patience for the politics of the court. Something about her reminded him of the battlefields — raw, unyielding.

Eliana finished her work and stepped back, her hands wiping the blood from the cloth.

– Eliana — That should hold for now. But if you want to keep the use of that arm, you’ll need to take it easy for a while.

He nodded slowly, though the idea of resting seemed imposible. He wasn’t one to sit idly by.

– Malach — I don’t need rest.

Eliana’s eyes flicked up to meet his.

– Eliana — Knights like you always think you’re invincible. But even the strongest armor breaks.

He looked at there then, he gaze piercing though the heavy silence that had followed. For the first time, he felt something more than the weight of his wounds.

– Malach — What’s your name?

Eliana paused for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she spoke, her voice steady but carrying a note of something unspoken.

– Eliana — Eliana (she said)

Their eyes locked for a moment — a brief flash of aoemthing between them. The tension was almost palpable, as if the air had shifted.

But before either could say anything more, there was a knock at the door. The moment broke.

– Steward — Eliana, the prince demands your presence.

She didn’t look back at Malach as she gathered her things, but she spoke as she turned.

– Eliana — Rest, knight. You’re not as invincible as you think.

And with that, she left.

Malach sat in the silence, the only sound the crackling of the fire. His wound throbbed, but it was the words she had spoken that lingered in his mind.

He wasn’t invincible. Not anymore.

The corridor was colder than usual. Drafts slipped though the stone walls like whispers, brushing against the torches that lined the path. Malach walked alone now, the echo of his boots tapping a rhythm that didn’t match the beat of his heart. Wrapped in clean linen a lighter cloak, he passed servants who bowed, but he didn’t return their gestures. His mind wasn’t in the palace.

It was with her.

He hadn’t expected her voice to follow him after she left. But it did. Every word she spoke had carved itself into his memory — sharp, effortless, like the brush of steel against skin.

He slowed near a side passage leading toward the inner gardens — a quiet place, far from the noise of war councils and royal drama. He needed air. Space. Silence.

But when he turned the corner, she was already there.

Eliana knelt beneath a twisted almond tree, sleeves rolled past her elbows, tending to a cluster of herbs that grew along the shaded wall. The light filtering though the leaves scattered patterns across her face. She didn’t see him at first.

He didn’t speak.

– Eliana — You again.

Eliana (without looking up)

He blinked, a little caught off guard.

– Malach — I didn’t mean to intrude.

– Eliana — You didn’t.

Eliana (plucking a leaf and tucking it into a cloth satchel)

– Eliana — The palace just happens to belong to twenty other people today, apparently.

He moves a little closer, stopping a few away. The scent of crushed mint and soil filled the soace between them.

– Malach — You talk to everyone like that?

– Eliana — Only the ones who bleed on my table and then vanish without saying thank you.

Eliana (finally meeting his eyes)

A pause. He lips twitched, almost a smile. Almost.

– Malach — Then… thank you.

She stood, brushing dirt from her hands.

– Eliana — That sounded painful for you.

– Malach — I’m not used to needing help.

– Eliana — No one is. But that doesn’t mean they don’t need it.

They stood there, watching each other longer than necessary. The distance between them seemed smaller now. Tighter.

He cleared his throat.

– Malach — Why does the prince summon you so often?

She blinked at the sudden shift, her expresión changing.

– Eliana — Medical reasons. I’m the court healer.

– Malach — Is that all?

There it was — the silence again.

Eliana’s gaze drifted away. She reached into her satchel and pulled out a small sprig of thyme, twirling it between her fingers.

– Eliana — You’ve been gone from the palace for a long time, Malach. Things shift. People shift.

– Malach — I didn’t tell you my name, didn’t I?

Malach (he looks at her confused)

– Eliana — As a healer, I know everything.

He looked at her, something sharp behind his eyes.

– Malach — Are you in danger?

She smiled. Not the kind that I meant happiness — the kind that meant. You wouldn’t understand even if I told you.

– Eliana — Aren’t we all?

Before he could answer, voices approached — sharp, familiar.

– Ezra — There you are!

Ezra (appearing from the garden arch)

– Ezra — I’ve been looking for you. The king request your presence. Urgently.

Malach’s shoulders tensed. He nodded once to Eliana, who was already turning back to her herbs, as if she hadn’t just disarmed a knight with nothing but her presence.

As Ezra and Malach walked off, the steward passed from the opposite hallway, head bowed, robes swaying.

– Steward — That healer girl is too bold for her own good.

Steaward (murmuring low under his breath)

Malach stopped in his tracks, eyes flicking toward the man.

– Malach — Bolneaa isn’t a crime.

Malach (his voice ice)

The steward flinched, mumbled something about apologies, and kept walking.

Ezra leaned in slightly as they continued.

– Ezra —You’ve only been back two days. I didn’t expect you to… care.

– Malach — I don’t.

But Ezra raised and eyebrow and said nothing, because they both knew it was a lie.

INSIDE THE THRONES ROOM

The room was as it always had been — cavernous, cold, and glowing with stained glass light. King Adonias sat tall in his gilded chair, his silver beard trimmed sharply. Besides him, Queen Salome wore a distant expression, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

But it was Prince Alaric, learning against the far column with a wine glass in hand, who spoke first.

– Prince Alaric — Our silent knight returns. I trust your wounds have not made you forget how to kneel.

Malach dropped to one knee, expression unreadable.

– Malach — I love to serve.

– Prince Alaric — So modest. You’ll make a fine tale in some bard’s song.

Prince Alaric (waving a hand mockery)

– King Adonias — Rise, Sir Malach. I have need of your judment.

Malach stood slowly.

– King Adonias — A foreign emissary arrives tonight. From the north. We suspect betrayal. You will oversee his arrival. Ensuring nothing happens to the royal family.

– Malach — I understand.

– King Adonias — Good. Because I’ve lost enough men this season.

Alaric chuckled under his breath. The queen said nothing, her eyes flicking briefly to Malach and then away again.

As Malach turned to leave, the prince’s voice followed him.

– Prince Alaric — And so stay out of the healer’s gardens, won’t you? Not every wound deserves to be coddled.

Malach’s jaw tightened.

– Malach — Not every heir deserves him throne.

Malach (muttering just low enough that only Ezra heard)

They left the room in silence.

BACK IN THE EAST WING

Eliana stood at her small table, crushing herbs into powder. Her hands moved automatically, but her mind was far from the slave in front of her. He fingers had trounced him — his skin, his wound, his silence. And it lingered on her smoke.

She had been warned once.

“Do not speak too long with those who serve the table”

But the way he had looked at her… it wasn’t just a soldier’s glance. It was something she recognized, something she feared.

Because if she looked too long back, she might forget who she was… and why she was never meant to be someone’s sanctuary.

The palace by day was loud, polished, and watched. But by night, it exhaled — letting its secrets slip through cracks in stone and locked doors.

Tonight, it smelled of rain and jasmine. The moonlight spilled across the hallways like spilled milk. Silent feet moved across marble floors, one set heading toward the east wing… and one shadow watching from above.

Malach hadn’t slept.

Not since Eliana.

He stood near the open window of his quarters, arms crossed, eyes locked on the garden below. He’d cleaned his armor, sharpened his word — did everything but forget her hands on his skin.

– Malach — Fool.

(Malach muttered to himself)

He turned from the window and reached for the candle to blow it out — but stopped. Voices Faint. Ferminine. Curious.

He stepped silently to his door and cracked it open.

......................

...Eliana moved though the hallway barefoot, her hair unbound, the hem of her white shift trailing over the floor. A basket of herbs clutched in one hand....

– Eliana — Gods, you’re like a ghost.

(Eliana clutched her chest)

He stepped forward, out of the dark.

– Malach — You didn’t answer my question.

(Malach’s tone was clam, but sharp.)

– Eliana — I couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d dry these before morning.

(Eliana looked down at the basket.)

He glanced at it, then back at her face..

– Malach — You look different.

(Malach said after a pause.)

– Eliana — That a bad thing?

(Eliana smirked slightly.)

– Malach — No.

(Malach said simply.)

She turns and began walking toward the open courtyard. He followed — not because he meant to, but because he couldn’t stop himself.

......................

The garden was soaked from earlier rain, petals glittering like glass. Eliana knelt beside a stone bench, spreading the herbs carefully.

– Eliana — Do you always stalk women in the middle of the night?

(Eliana asked without looking at him.)

– Malach — Only ones who stitch me up and insult me.

(Malach answered dryly.)

She chuckled. For a moment, the air softened.

– Eliana — Then, you didn’t tell me what happened.

(Eliana asked suddenly, her voice quiet.)

– Malach — In the woods?

(Malach’s voice lowered.)

– Eliana — Yes.

(Eliana nodded, still focused on her herbs.)

He didn’t answer right away.

– Malach — The prince ordered us to slaughter a village. Said they were traitors. But there were no weapons. Just children.

(Malach’s words dropped like stones.)

She looked up sharply, eyes wide.

– Eliana — You didn’t.

(Eliana’s voice cracked.)

– Malach — I refused.

(Malach said.)

Her hands trembled slightly.

– Eliana — And they let you live?

(Eliana’s voice dropped.)

– Malach — Only because I’m the queen’s dog.

(Malach said bitterly.)

She stood ten, slowly, meeting his eyes.

– Eliana — I don’t think you’re anyone’s dog.

(Eliana said softly.)

A beat passed. Too long. Too close.

Then —

Footsteps.

Sharp. Polished. Confident.

They turned at once.

Prince Alaric stepped into moonlight with a predator’s smile, dressed in silver robes that shimmered even in the dark.

– Prince Alaric — I had a feeling I’d find you here.

(Alaric’s voice was smooth and cold.)

– Malach — Your Highness.

(Malach bowed stiffly.)

Eliana didn’t move. Alaric’s gaze

slid to her — slow, heavy, possessive.

– Prince Alaric — Lady Healer. You grace the palace halls like a spirit.

(Prince Alaric said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.)

– Eliana — I didn’t mean to disturb.

(Eliana replied, voice steady.)

– Prince Alaric — You haven’t. In fact, I was hoping to see you again.

(Alaric took a step closer.)

Malach’s jaw clenched.

– Malach — She was just leaving.

(Malach said.)

– Prince Alaric — And you? We’re you escorting her, or indulging in… private lessons?

(Alaric tittles his head, smug.)

Eliana stopped in.

– Eliana — I was tending herbs. Sir Malach was concerned for my safety.

(Her voice held a quiet steel.)

– Prince Alaric — I’m sure.

(Alaric murmured, his eyes now on her lips.)

He reached out, brushing a curl from her face. Malach stepped forward.

– Malach — My prince —

(Malach said tightly.)

– Prince Alaric — Stand down.

(Alaric’s voice dropped into steel.)

For a heartbeat, neither man moved.

Then Malach bowed again, hands trembling behind his back.

– Malach — I’ll walk her back to the healer’s quarters.

(Malach said.)

Alaric looked at him — long and cold.

– Prince Alaric — Do that. And be sure she’s safe… we wouldn’t want any harm to come to something so… rare.

(Alaric turned and walked away, leaving the scent of power and threat behind him.)

......................

Back in the hall, Eliana’s hands were fists at her side.

- Eliana — He’s dangerous.

(She whispered.)

– Malach — I know.

(Malach said*.)

– Eliana — You stepped toward him.

(Eliana looked up.)

– Malach — I wanted to kill him.

(Malach said plainly.)

She stopped walking. He did too.

– Eliana — Why?

(Eliana asked quietly.)

He looked at her.

– Malach — Because he touched what he shouldn’t.

(Malach replied.)

The silence between them pulsed.

She turned first.

– Eliana — Good night, Air Malach.

(Eliana said gently.)

– Malach — “Malach”

(He said.)

She glanced back, confused.

– Eliana — What?

(Eliana asked.)

– Malach — Just… call me Malach.

(He said softly.)

She smiled. Faint. Sad.

– Eliana — Good night, Malach.

(Eliana whispered.)

And she disappeared into her room, leaving him alone in the corridor. This time, he didn’t sleep.