The Gentleman's Agony

The first attack came two weeks later, during a public ceremony to honor the Proxies who had died in the Red Gala bombing.

Elara had insisted on the ceremony despite objections from her advisors. She wanted to make a statement, to show that the new regime valued Proxy lives, that their deaths mattered and would be remembered.

The ceremony was held in the palace gardens, with a memorial stone bearing the names of all the Proxies who had died. The stone was made of black marble, polished to a mirror shine, with gold lettering that listed each name, each age, each master they had served. It was a sobering reminder of the human cost of the Red Gala attack.

Two hundred and eighty-three Proxies had died that night. Two hundred and eighty-three people who had been forced to absorb the magical costs of their masters' panic, who had died protecting aristocrats who barely acknowledged their existence, who had been mourned by no one except their fellow Proxies.

Until now.

Elara had invited every Proxy in the capital to attend the ceremony. She'd also invited the families of the deceased Proxies, the people who had lost sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, parents and children to the bombing.

The turnout was overwhelming. Hundreds of people filled the palace gardens, all of them dressed in mourning clothes, all of them there to honor the dead.

Silas stood beside Elara on the platform, watching the crowd, feeling their grief and anger through the bond. These were people who had been ignored for generations, whose suffering had been dismissed as necessary, whose deaths had been treated as acceptable losses.

And now, for the first time, a Queen was acknowledging their pain, honoring their dead, promising to build a better future.

It was a powerful moment. And it made Elara a target.

She gave her speech standing at the memorial stone, her voice carrying across the gardens through magical amplification. She spoke about sacrifice and service, about the need to honor those who had given their lives, about the importance of building a better system so that no more Proxies would die needlessly.

"These two hundred and eighty-three people were not just Proxies," she said, her voice strong and clear. "They were human beings. They had dreams, hopes, families who loved them. They had lives that mattered, lives that were cut short by violence and hatred."

She paused, looking out at the crowd, making eye contact with as many people as she could.

"I cannot bring them back. I cannot undo the pain their families have suffered. But I can promise you this: their deaths will not be in vain. We will build a better system, a fairer system, a system where no one has to die to serve someone else's convenience."

The crowd was silent, hanging on her every word.

"The reforms we're implementing—the Shared Bond system, the new regulations, the rights and protections for Proxies—these are not just policies. They're a promise. A promise that we will never again treat people as disposable tools. A promise that every life matters, regardless of birth or status. A promise that we will build a kingdom worthy of the sacrifices these people made."

It was a good speech, heartfelt and genuine. Silas could feel through the bond how much she meant every word. She wasn't just performing for the crowd—she genuinely believed in what she was saying, genuinely wanted to make things better.

And that sincerity was what made her dangerous to the people who benefited from the old system.

The bomb came from the crowd, thrown by someone who had infiltrated the ceremony disguised as a mourner. Silas saw it coming—a small object arcing through the air toward the platform where Elara stood. His body moved before his mind could process the threat, years of Proxy training taking over.

He grabbed Elara and pulled her down, covering her body with his own as the bomb exploded.

The blast was smaller than the ones at the Red Gala, but it was still devastating. Silas felt shrapnel tear into his back, felt the concussive force slam into him like a physical blow, felt his ribs crack under the impact.

Through the bond, he felt Elara experiencing the same thing—not as intensely, because he was taking the brunt of the damage, but enough to make her scream.

The gardens erupted in chaos. People ran in all directions, some trying to escape, others trying to help the wounded. Guards rushed forward, surrounding the platform, weapons drawn.

Silas heard shouting, the sound of running feet, the chaos of people trying to figure out what had just happened.

"Elara," he gasped. "Are you hurt?"

"I don't know. I can't tell what's mine and what's yours." Her voice was shaky, frightened. "Silas, your back—"

"I know. Don't look at it."

"We need to get you to a healer—"

"We need to get you to safety first." He forced himself to his feet, ignoring the screaming protests from his body. "Can you walk?"

"Yes. Can you?"

"I'll manage."

They stumbled toward the palace, surrounded by guards, leaving a trail of blood behind them. Silas could feel his body trying to shut down, trying to give up, but he pushed through it. He'd survived worse. He could survive this.

They made it to Elara's quarters, and healers descended on them immediately. Silas was pushed onto a bed, and he felt hands examining his back, removing shrapnel, casting healing spells.

The costs of those healing spells hit him and Elara simultaneously through the bond. Silas felt his stomach lining dissolve, felt his liver begin to fail, felt his kidneys shut down. And through the bond, he felt Elara experiencing the same thing, her body breaking down in sympathy with his.

"Stop," he gasped. "Stop the healing spells. You're killing us both."

"But you're bleeding—"

"I'll heal naturally. The bond will help. Just stop using magic."

The healers looked at Elara for confirmation, and she nodded weakly. "Do what he says."

They stopped the healing spells and switched to conventional medicine—bandages, antiseptics, pain medication. It was slower, less effective, but it didn't carry the same devastating costs.

Silas lay there, feeling his body slowly repair itself, and tried to process what had just happened.

Someone had tried to kill Elara. Again. And this time, they'd done it in public, in front of hundreds of witnesses, with no regard for collateral damage.

The message was clear: the opposition to the reforms was willing to do anything, risk anything, sacrifice anything to stop Elara.

And they were getting more desperate.

Silas saw it coming—a small object arcing through the air toward the platform where Elara stood. His body moved before his mind could process the threat, years of Proxy training taking over.

He grabbed Elara and pulled her down, covering her body with his own as the bomb exploded.

The blast was smaller than the ones at the Red Gala, but it was still devastating. Silas felt shrapnel tear into his back, felt the concussive force slam into him like a physical blow, felt his ribs crack under the impact.

Through the bond, he felt Elara experiencing the same thing—not as intensely, because he was taking the brunt of the damage, but enough to make her scream.

Guards rushed forward, surrounding them, weapons drawn. Silas heard shouting, the sound of running feet, the chaos of people trying to figure out what had just happened.

"Elara," he gasped. "Are you hurt?"

"I don't know. I can't tell what's mine and what's yours." Her voice was shaky, frightened. "Silas, your back—"

"I know. Don't look at it."

"We need to get you to a healer—"

"We need to get you to safety first." He forced himself to his feet, ignoring the screaming protests from his body. "Can you walk?"

"Yes. Can you?"

"I'll manage."

They stumbled toward the palace, surrounded by guards, leaving a trail of blood behind them. Silas could feel his body trying to shut down, trying to give up, but he pushed through it. He'd survived worse. He could survive this.

They made it to Elara's quarters, and healers descended on them immediately. Silas was pushed onto a bed, and he felt hands examining his back, removing shrapnel, casting healing spells.

The costs of those healing spells hit him and Elara simultaneously through the bond. Silas felt his stomach lining dissolve, felt his liver begin to fail, felt his kidneys shut down. And through the bond, he felt Elara experiencing the same thing, her body breaking down in sympathy with his.

"Stop," he gasped. "Stop the healing spells. You're killing us both."

"But you're bleeding—"

"I'll heal naturally. The bond will help. Just stop using magic."

The healers looked at Elara for confirmation, and she nodded weakly. "Do what he says."

They stopped the healing spells and switched to conventional medicine—bandages, antiseptics, pain medication. It was slower, less effective, but it didn't carry the same devastating costs.

Silas lay there, feeling his body slowly repair itself, and tried to process what had just happened.

Someone had tried to kill Elara. Again. And this time, they'd done it in public, in front of hundreds of witnesses, with no regard for collateral damage.

"Who was it?" Elara asked, her voice tight with pain and anger. "Did the guards catch them?"

"I don't know yet, Your Majesty," General Blackwood said, entering the room. "But we're searching the area. Whoever threw that bomb couldn't have gotten far."

"Find them," Elara ordered. "I want to know who's behind this, and I want them brought to justice."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The General left, and Silas and Elara were alone with the healers.

"This is getting worse," Elara said quietly. "First the assassination attempt three weeks ago, now this. Someone really wants me dead."

"Multiple someones, probably," Silas replied. "You're threatening the established order. People who benefit from the current system are going to fight back."

"By trying to kill me?"

"By any means necessary. That's how power works, Elara. When you threaten it, it defends itself."

"Then we need to be more careful. More security, more precautions—"

"More security won't help if the threat is coming from inside the palace." Silas shifted slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at his injuries. "Elara, we need to consider the possibility that someone in your inner circle is working against you."

"You think I have a traitor among my advisors?"

"I think it's possible. The timing of these attacks is too convenient, too well-informed. Someone knows your schedule, knows where you'll be and when. That suggests inside information."

Elara was quiet for a moment, processing this. Through the bond, Silas felt her resistance to the idea—she wanted to trust her people, wanted to believe that everyone around her was loyal.

But she was also pragmatic enough to recognize the truth when she heard it.

"All right," she said finally. "We'll investigate. Quietly. I don't want to start a witch hunt, but I also can't ignore the possibility of betrayal."

"I'll handle it," Silas said. "I have contacts, people who can ask questions without raising suspicion."

"Madame Thorne's network?"

"Among others. I've been building my own network over the past three months. People who owe me favors, people who want to see the reforms succeed, people who have their own reasons for wanting to know what's happening in the shadows."

"You've been busy."

"I learned a long time ago that information is the only currency that matters. And right now, we need information more than anything else."

The healers finished their work and left, giving Silas and Elara privacy. They lay in their respective beds, connected by the bond, feeling each other's pain and exhaustion.

"Silas," Elara said quietly. "Thank you. For saving me. Again."

"It's becoming a habit."

"A dangerous habit. You could have died."

"So could you. That's why I did it."

"But your life matters too. You can't keep throwing yourself in front of danger for me."

"Why not? You'd do the same for me."

"That's different. I'm the Queen. It's my job to protect my people."

"And I'm your partner. It's my job to protect you." He turned his head to look at her. "Elara, we're in this together. Your safety is my safety. Your life is my life. That's what the bond means."

Through the bond, he felt her emotions—gratitude, affection, fear for his safety, and underneath it all, a deep love that she hadn't quite acknowledged yet.

He felt the same way, he realized. Somewhere over the past three months, his feelings for Elara had shifted from partnership to something deeper. Not romantic love, exactly—the bond made their relationship too complex for simple categories—but something equally powerful.

He cared about her. Not just as a partner or an ally, but as a person. He wanted her to be happy, wanted her to succeed, wanted her to live a long and fulfilling life.

And he was willing to die to make that happen.

It was a strange realization for someone who had spent fifteen years not caring about anything. But the bond had changed him, had forced him to feel again, had reconnected him with the humanity he'd buried to survive.

He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. But it was real, and he couldn't deny it anymore.

"Get some rest," he said. "We'll deal with everything else tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Elara agreed.

They slept, connected by the bond, sharing dreams and nightmares, healing together in the darkness.

And outside, in the shadows of the palace, their enemies plotted their next move.

End of Chapter 14