The morning sun spilled lazily over the polished floors of Velmora's palace, casting soft golden rays through tall stained windows. The sounds of drums, laughter, and clinking goblets had faded into silence, replaced by the gentle rustling of servants cleaning up remnants of the night before.
But peace did not reign in every corner of the palace.
In Queen Selene's Quarters
Selene sat in front of her mirror, still in the silken robe her maids helped her into after the celebration. Her fingers were locked tightly around a hairbrush, knuckles white.
She was staring—not at herself, but beyond the reflection.
At Aurora's face.
At the memory of that girl walking in, dressed in glowing white like a whisper of snow, silver threads catching candlelight and a soft blue pearl crown sitting on her head like divinely placed frost. Gasps had followed her entrance. Even the lords and visiting kings had turned to look. One of the elderly lords had whispered, "Is that the white-haired queen the fortress guards spoke of?"
Selene's lips twisted at the memory.
She tossed the brush across the chamber. Her servants flinched but said nothing.
"Did you see how he looked at her?" Selene hissed, eyes narrowed, voice low but venomous.
No one answered. They knew who "he" was.
The King.
Selene didn't imagine it—she knew. Aldric had never glanced at her that way, not in all her four years as his queen. Not even when she wore the silks her father imported from faraway lands. But last night, when Aurora walked in…
His eyes didn't just follow her. They lingered.
"I couldn't catch a glimpse of what she gave him." She turned to her servants. "Find out what she gave him," Selene ordered sharply. "The gift. I want to know."
Her head servant bowed deeply and departed quietly.
In Queen Virelda's Quarters
Virelda stood in her private garden, running her hand along the rim of a marble fountain. Her face was unreadable, calm as ever, but her thoughts churned like the water beneath her fingers.
She remembered the moment clearly, the way Aldric sat back on his throne after receiving Aurora's gift, holding it tightly to him. The way his expression shifted when she walked in… only for a flicker, but Virelda noticed. He barely moved when she played the lyre. He gave Selene a polite nod for the gold. But Aurora…?
What was it?
What spell does that girl hold over him?
Or was it her beauty?
She clenched her jaw. It wasn't hatred that stirred in her chest. No—it was dread. For the first time in years, she feared that someone might finally reach the king where neither she nor Selene ever could.
And if that happened… her place, her power… everything would shift.
"I'll be watching," she murmured to herself, turning from the fountain. "Very closely."
In Lady Ava's Chamber
Lady Ava sat by her window, sipping jasmine tea as her trusted handmaiden brushed her hair. She said nothing for a long time, only smiled softly to herself.
"Aurora…she looked beautiful," Ava said eventually, eyes distant, amused. "More than I expected."
"She stunned the room, Your Majesty," the maid added, gently.
"Yes. And His Majesty, most of all." Ava chuckled. "Did you see the way his eyes stayed on her? After all these years of stone and ice, I almost forgot my son was capable of looking at someone like that."
"Do you think… it means something?"
Ava didn't answer right away. She took another sip, eyes still on the horizon.
"It means," she said slowly, "that she's dangerous. But perhaps, exactly the kind of danger this kingdom needs."
In Aurora's Chamber
Aurora sat at her small round table, her maids folding fine linens and laying them neatly nearby as sunlight warmed the tiles beneath her bare feet. A scroll listing the names of the lower chamber servants rested in her hands, part of her duty to oversee them. Yet she wasn't reading. Her body felt tired, but her heart was wide awake. The celebration played over in her mind in slow motion—the music, the dancing, the gifts… the eyes.
How they all looked at her. How Aldric looked at her.
But what puzzled her most wasn't the stares—it was the feeling. The strange, burning feeling in her chest when he did not look away.
She remembered placing the small golden pendant in his hands—something she had crafted in secret with the palace goldsmith. A flame-shaped pendant, molded in quiet honor, meant to represent warmth. She had not expected him to react.
But he had, even if he didn't show it outwardly, she knew he felt something.
"Are you alright, my lady?" one of her maids asked.
Aurora blinked, realizing she had zoned out.
"I… yes," she said with a small smile. "Just thinking."
"Are you sure nothing is wrong, my lady?" Lira asked, stepping closer.
"I'm alright, Lira," she replied, smiling as her gaze drifted to the others. "Truly… I'm alright."
The maids nodded with gentle smiles and resumed their work.
The celebration had ended. But something else had begun.The slow, careful turning of fate.
And she, the girl once left for dead, now stood in the center of it.
-
The mid-morning light glimmered off the polished walls of the inner palace when the knock came to Aurora's door.
She looked up from where she sat by her open window, sketching quietly into a small journal one of her maids had given her. The birds chirped outside, a soft breeze teasing the white curtains. For a brief moment, everything was still.
Then the knock came again—firmer, official.
One of her maids opened the door, received the message, and closed it before approaching her. "Your Majesty, the king… has summoned you."
Aurora's fingers froze around the charcoal pencil.
She shut the journal slowly and stood up.
She walked the halls in silence, trailed by two maids, her footsteps light on the marble floor. Her red gown whispered against her ankles as she moved. Her heart wasn't racing—but it wasn't still either.
The guards in front of Aldric's chamber stepped aside as she approached. No one said a word. One simply opened the door, and she stepped in.
He was alone.
The chamber was grand, yet cold. Wide windows opened toward the south, letting in the warm breeze. Aldric stood by the edge of a long wooden table, hands behind his back, eyes fixed on a map spread before him. His black robe shimmered faintly under the light. He didn't turn when she entered.
"You may leave," he said—to the maids behind her.
The door clicked shut.
Aurora stood still. Then—finally—he turned.
His gaze met hers, it wasn't hard or cruel. It was... searching.
"Come," he said, gesturing to the seat opposite him.
She obeyed silently, sitting slowly.
Aldric studied her for a moment longer, as if unsure where to begin.
"You looked…" He paused, searching for the right words. "Regal… the other night."
Aurora blinked. She hadn't expected that.
"…..Thank you, Your Majesty."
"I did not summon you to flatter you," he added—then glanced away as if second-guessing the sharpness of his own tone. "I wanted to… speak."
Aurora said nothing. She only listened.
He walked toward the windows, his back now to her.
"There are many in this palace who wonder why I allow you to remain," he said. "They don't know what I know."
Aurora's brow creased slightly.
"I can sleep… when you're near."
He turned again, his gaze heavy on her face.
"This… curse," he said. "It has ruled my life. I've seen all manner of healers, scholars, even witches in secret. But only with you… does the noise stop."
Aurora looked down at her hands. His voice had softened—but not her heart.
She felt no fondness. No pull. Only the same stiff awareness she always carried near him.
"Do you know why?" he asked.
She shook her head. "No, Your Majesty."
"Neither do I."
He came closer but stopped a few paces away.
"I do not trust easily," he said. "Nor do I indulge in attachments. But… you are not ordinary. I wish to know more about you."
She met his eyes, unsure if he wanted her to speak. She hesitated for a moment, then said calmly, "I was born in Elareth, in the slave quarters of the palace. I grew up cleaning stables and scrubbing floors. I have no spells, no power, no secrets—just survival."
His jaw tightened. She could see he wasn't used to being spoken to that plainly.
"And yet," he said quietly, "you quiet my curse."
Aurora didn't answer, only lowered her gaze.
He studied her a moment longer, then—unexpectedly—turned away again.
"I'll be assigning you new quarters," he said. "Closer to the east wing. I want you watched."
She stiffened. "Watched?"
"For your safety," he said. "And for mine."
It wasn't kindness, she realized. It was precaution. Curiosity. Perhaps fascination. But not care.
"I understand, Your Majesty," she said softly.
He gave a brief nod. "You may go."
Aurora stood, bowed, and turned to leave.
Before she reached the door, he spoke once more—quietly.
"Aurora."
She paused.
"You've given me something no one else ever could," he said. "But I won't force you to give me anything else. Not unless you choose to."
The words hung in the air.
She turned to him, bowed once more, and left without replying.
When she returned to her chamber, her maids swarmed her with questions—but she waved them off with a gentle smile.
She sat back at her window, picked up her journal, and stared at the blank page.
She felt nothing for him. No matter how his gaze lingered. No matter how his voice softened.
Her heart remained where it always had—in her chest, guarded like a locked door with no key.
-
It was barely past dawn when the knock came.
Aurora had just finished her prayers and was brushing her long white hair when one of her senior maids stepped into the chamber with a bow, flanked by two royal guards.
"Your Majesty," the maid said, slightly breathless. "The king has commanded you to take residence in the East Wing."
Aurora's brush paused mid-stroke.
"To the… East Wing?" she repeated softly.
The guards behind the maid nodded. "The chamber has already been prepared. We are to escort Your Majesty immediately."
Aurora blinked. She glanced around the chamber she'd called home since her arrival—simple, warm, and quiet. She had laughed here, cried here. She had stared out its window, dreaming of freedom.
She knew her chamber would eventually be changed, but she hadn't expected it so soon.
She stood without argument. "Very well."
Her maids quickly packed her belongings. They walked in silence, the guards leading the way, her maids trailing behind with trunks carrying her few possessions—most of them gifts from the palace.
The path to the East Wing was long, the corridors wider, the ceilings arched with golden trims. This part of the palace was reserved for high-ranking nobles and foreign royals. And now… her.
The closer they got, the quieter everything became—less maids, less chatter. The hush that only came with power and exclusivity.
Aurora kept her gaze forward, her face unreadable. But inside, she questioned everything.
And more pressingly… why her?
When the doors opened, Aurora stepped in—and froze.
Her new chamber was nothing short of breathtaking.
Sunlight spilled through tall glass windows, cascading over white marble floors veined with silver. The walls were pale ivory, embroidered with hand-painted flowers, and the ceiling arched like a temple dome, decorated with tiny crystals that caught the morning light.
At the center stood a grand canopy bed, its silk curtains a pale shimmering gold, flowing like water. The pillows were embroidered with soft blue thread, and the frame was carved with delicate vines and stars.
A vanity stood near the window, flanked by polished mirrors. An entire section of the chamber was dedicated to books and scrolls, with a cushioned reading alcove built right into the wall.
The chamber smelled faintly of lavender and citrus.
Her bath chamber was grander than any she had ever imagined—deep marble tubs, golden taps, and oils arranged in crystal vials.
Even the wardrobe was overwhelming. Her maids gasped quietly as they opened it to reveal silk gowns arranged by color and season, shoes lined neatly, jewelry boxes placed with precision.
On the dresser, a note awaited her. She walked over and picked it up.
'You will find peace here. Use it well.
— A'
No name. Just the letter.
Aurora set the note down, staring at it.
Her maids moved about the chamber in awe, admiring every detail.
"This is the most beautiful chamber in the palace," one whispered.
"The East Wing is where only the king's blood sleeps," another added.
They said no more, but their eyes held the same unspoken question: Why their lady?
Aurora walked to the window and looked out. From here, she could see almost all of Velmora. The towers, the gardens… and in the distance, the gate.
She touched the glass gently.
Not long ago, she was nothing.
A slave in Elareth.
Now, she stood here—in silk, with guards, servants, and a golden badge lying on her table. Tears poured down her cheeks.
Later that night she lay in her bed, looking up at the crystal-studded ceiling. The silk sheets were softer than anything she had ever felt. Her hair spilled like snow over the pillow, her hands rested on her stomach.
She wasn't thinking about gold, or dresses, or marble tubs.
She was thinking about why Aldric kept her closer now.
And what it would cost her.