Malachi's POV:

I stood alone in the dimly lit chamber, the weight of my mistakes pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket. Each step I took echoed off the stone walls, a stark reminder of the solitude that enveloped me. My mind was a whirlwind of regret, my heart heavy with guilt.

"I screwed up," I whispered hoarsely, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "I messed everything up."

I ran a trembling hand through my disheveled hair, frustration and self-condemnation gnawing at my insides. How did it come to this? How had I let it all slip through my fingers so easily?

"I didn't think it through," I admitted to the empty air, my voice barely above a whisper. "And I hurt her. That was never my intention."

The memory of her betrayed gaze haunted me, the pain in her eyes like a knife twisting in my chest. I had never meant to cause her harm, had never wanted to see her suffer. But my actions had led to this moment, had led to her pain.

"Everything was going so well," I murmured, my voice thick with regret. "She was beginning to trust me, beginning to rely on me..."

A pang of longing pierced my heart as I recalled the moments we had shared, the laughter and the stolen glances that had ignited a spark within me. She had been my light in the darkness, my hope in a world consumed by shadows.

"...And best of all," I continued, my voice growing faint, "she was beginning to see her true potential."

But then, everything had changed. The ball, once a symbol of joy and celebration, had become a battleground of lies and deception.

My desire for perfection had blinded me to the truth, had led me down a path of deceit and betrayal. I had chosen to conceal the truth, to hide the darkness that threatened to consume us both.

I was a fool. I decided that her having her perfect night was more important than telling her the truth.

And now, as I knelt alone in the darkness, I realized the gravity of my mistake. I had betrayed her trust, had shattered the fragile bond that had begun to form between us.

I thought that if the ball went well, she would realize her potential as queen.

The weight of responsibility pressed heavily upon my shoulders as I surveyed the kingdom I had fought so hard to conquer. This wasn't my first time at the helm of power, not my first in navigating the treacherous waters of politics and power plays. I knew resistance would come, like a tide crashing against the shore, inevitable and unyielding.

We had been well aware of the section of nobles scheming against us, their whispered plots and clandestine meetings a constant hum in the background of our rule. We had prepared for them, biding our time until the moment was ripe to crush their ambitions. Yet, I had hoped that moment could have come at any other time, any other place.

But fate had other plans, as it often does. Of course, it happened during the ball, the grand event that Elara had poured so much of her heart and soul into. Even as chaos threatened to unravel the carefully woven tapestry of the evening, I had tried to handle it quietly, without involving her. But that one lord, fueled by arrogance and spite, couldn't resist the urge to gloat.

At that point, I had no choice. I couldn't allow them to disrespect me, to undermine my authority. And more importantly, I had to assure my people that they were safe under my rule. So, I let the chaos fall in on the night, like a storm unleashed upon the unsuspecting revelers.

I knew my actions would incur her wrath, would only serve to drive a wedge between us. And yet, somehow, she forgave me. Forgave my stupidity, my stubbornness. In a strange twist of fate, it seemed to bring us closer together, our bond forged in the fires of adversity.

After our discussion that night, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. For a moment, I let my guard down, allowed myself to believe that I could simply be the king, without the weight of the world resting on my shoulders. But as the events of the night had proven, peace was fleeting, and the responsibilities of the crown weighed heavier than ever before.

I had spent the entire night and the following morning locked in discussions with my closest advisors, strategizing and plotting our next moves. But no amount of planning could erase the fact that I had overlooked a crucial detail, a detail that had cost me everything.

I had given the strict order long ago that none of Elara's family were to be harmed, believing it to be a safeguard against any potential threats. I had thought I had nothing to worry about on that front, convinced that my command would be followed without question. But I was clearly wrong.

The Emberlyns, a name synonymous with treachery and deceit to my reign, had been involved in the plan to breach the palace. I had kept a watchful eye on them, willing to overlook their involvement for Elara's sake. After all, love often blinds us to the faults of those we hold dear. But I never anticipated that someone she was so close with would actually be a part of the breach.

To make matters worse, it was the same boy who had served as her guardian before my arrival, a boy who was clearly infatuated with her. Perhaps my oversight was fueled by jealousy, a primal instinct to protect what I believed to be mine. But no, that couldn't be true. I would never hurt her, even if the green-eyed monster reared its ugly head.

The truth was, I had been consumed by my duties as king, blinded by the weight of the crown upon my brow. I had thought I had everything covered and allowed arrogance to cloud my judgment. And now, as I stood alone in the empty halls of the palace, I realized the cost of my arrogance.

She was gone, taken from me by my own negligence. And as the realization settled over me like a shroud, I knew that I would stop at nothing to bring her back, to make amends for my mistakes, even if it meant facing the consequences of my actions head-on.

The decision tore at my heart like a tempest raging within me. I never wanted to let her go, to watch her slip through my fingers like grains of sand. But I couldn't force her to stay, couldn't hold her against her will, even if every fiber of my being screamed out in protest.

In the beginning, I had resorted to bluffing, weaving a tangled web of lies to justify our engagement. I told her it was to save her family, a desperate attempt to earn her trust, to convince her to give me a chance. But deep down, I knew the truth. I never wanted to hurt her, never wanted to deceive her.

Despite her family's staunch opposition to our union, I would have moved mountains to protect them, to shield them from harm. Because hurting them would hurt her, and her pain was something I couldn't bear to witness.

But as our relationship blossomed, as the walls she had erected around her heart began to crumble, I realized that our connection transcended my initial bluff. She began to trust me, began to see a future with me, of that I was certain. And now, with her gone, the gaping void left in her absence threatened to consume me whole.

It was excruciatingly difficult to let her go, to stand by and watch as she made her decision. When she asked to go home, her voice trembling with emotion, every instinct in me screamed to deny her request, to beg her to stay. But then I saw her tears, saw the pain etched in the depths of her eyes, and my resolve wavered.

She looked so broken, so fragile in that moment, and I knew that I was the cause of her pain. And that realization shattered me, broke me in ways I never thought possible. I couldn't deny her, couldn't bear to see her suffer any longer. And so, with a heavy heart and a silent prayer on my lips, I let her go, hoping against hope that one day she would find her way back to me.

The ache of her absence was a reminder of what I had lost. But this couldn't be the end, not for us. I refused to accept it, refused to let her slip away from me forever. She needed time, space to heal the wounds that I had inadvertently inflicted upon her, and I would give her all the time she needed. But I wouldn't give up on us, wouldn't give up on her.

She was a diamond in the rough, a gem hidden beneath layers of self-doubt and insecurity. I had seen firsthand how her family treated her, how they made her feel small, insignificant. But she was anything but. She was valuable, irreplaceable, and it pained me to see her fail to recognize her own worth.

A/N: Sorry for another shorter chapter. I was writing this and it was beginning to get too long so I decided to split this into two chapters instead. But the good news is the next chapter will be Malachi's POV as well. He still has a lot to reveal about his and Elara's shared past.

What do you all think; do you like chapters in Malachi's POV?