Inside Aurora's chamber, a quiet bustle filled the air as her maids dressed her in a soft sea-blue silk gown, light and simple—just as she requested. The sleeves were loose, the embroidery minimal, and her silver-threaded sash tied loosely around her waist. He hair flowed down in waves, unadorned except for a single pearl pin on one side. She looked at herself in the tall mirror, but her reflection barely caught her attention. Her thoughts were elsewhere—deeper, heavier.
For weeks she had avoided the two other queens, timing her walks and garden strolls to avoid their paths. But today, she had no choice. She had been summoned to the Inner Court for a royal council meeting, one concerning the welfare of the villagers and the palace itself.
But what truly unsettled her was not Selene or Virelda—it was him.
King Aldric.
She has not seen him since the night he came to her chamber. He has not returned, nor sent word. She was content in that distance. But now, she will face him again… in a hall brimming with courtly souls.
A soft knock at her door pulled her back. One of her maids stepped forward. "Your Majesty… the court is ready."
Aurora nodded. With no words, she rose, her gown trailing gently behind her. Her maids followed at a respectful distance, all silent as they descended the polished marble corridor toward the Inner Court.
The massive doors swung open, revealing the large oval chamber—golden pillars, embroidered banners, carved thrones, and a scattering of noble lords in their long coats and glinting chains. At the center, the royal dais stood tall, the three queen thrones arranged beside the king's.
Aurora entered first among the queens. The lords bowed to her. It still surprised her sometimes—the way people bowed now. She responded with a polite nod and quietly walked to her designated seat.
Selene swept into the hall moments later, wearing a gown that looked more suited for a royal ball—crimson red layered with golden silk and high-collared embroidery that shimmered with every step. Her hair was swept up in a towering braid studded with gems. Her eyes scanned the hall until they met Aurora's, then narrowed. Without a word, she took her seat with a flick of her gown.
Moments after, Virelda arrived in an elegant deep green robe, understated but regal. She walked with poise, but as she passed Aurora, she flicked her eyes sideways with cold fury. The memory of Aldric dismissing her last request and defending this girl still burned in her chest. She sat stiffly, not sparing another glance at either woman.
The hall was bursting with murmurs. Then came a sudden silence—swift, unnatural, almost reverent—as though every soul within those walls sensed the King's nearness. And truly… he was.
The chamber doors opened. All rose to their feet as King Aldric entered, flanked by his right-hand man and two guards. Clad in deep navy robes, a black sash bearing the royal sigil across his chest, his presence commanded reverence.
But when his gaze found Aurora, something stirred within him—his heart faltering for the briefest moment, a sensation he had not escaped since his birthday ceremony.
His face betrayed nothing.
He walked to his throne and sat, gesturing the court to be seated.
The meeting began. Reports of border villages, updates from grain stores, trade adjustments… Aldric handled each swiftly and precisely, his voice firm and measured.
Then a man stood—a representative of the farmers. His garments, though clean, still bore the dust of the fields. He bowed low.
"Your Majesty," he began, "our livestock—the cows, the goats, even some of the palace horses—grow weaker by the day. They have grown thin, fevered, and their milk lessens. Some swell. We treated them once, but the illness returns, stronger each time."
Aldric leaned forward. "And you have tried other remedies?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," the man replied, bowing slightly. "We consulted healers and wise women of the herbs, yet none could halt it."
Another man—one of the royal stablemasters—stood up and added, "We fear it is the same affliction affecting the palace steeds. They no longer move with strength. Even the warhorses stagger."
A heavy murmur rippled through the hall, uncertain and uneasy. Eyes darted nervously. The threat of dying livestock meant more than hunger—it signaled ruined herds, weakened warhorses, and the stirrings of unrest among the people.
Aldric raised a hand, and the murmurs fell to a hush. "Does anyone offer a better solution?" he asked, his gaze sweeping the hall.
Silence.
Lords looked to one another, hoping someone else would speak.
Then… from the left, a voice—soft but clear.
"I do, Your Majesty."
Heads turned sharply. All eyes landed on Aurora.
She stood slowly. Her legs trembled, but she steadied them beneath her simple gown. The weight of gazes bore into her skin. Even Aldric turned, brows slightly raised.
"Come forward," he said, gently.
Aurora stepped into the center of the court. She clasped her hands tightly in front of her, swallowing her fear.
"In Elareth, we faced a similar illness," she began. "I was younger then, but I remember it well. An old village healer—wise in her ways—offered a remedy that saved most of our livestock."
"What was it?" Aldric asked.
Aurora took a steady breath. "She used a mixture of boiled neem leaves and garlic. The liquid was strained and cooled, then mixed with small portions of crushed wild pepper and given to the sick animals each morning for seven days. For external swelling, we applied a paste of ground basil and mustard seed."
There was a hushed murmur. The hall paused.
The farmer's representative blinked. "I have heard of that method," he said slowly. "But… it never occurred to me to try it."
Aldric nodded. "Then now it has. You have heard it. Prepare it. Begin tomorrow, and bring me a full report."
The farmer bowed, gratitude and embarrassment mixing on his face. "Yes, Your Majesty."
Aldric turned to Aurora, the faintest glimmer of something behind his eyes. "You may sit."
Aurora bowed and returned to her seat. Her legs shook harder than before.
Selene shifted, lips pressed tightly. Her eyes glared daggers.
Virelda watched without blinking, her fingers digging into the armrest of her throne. This girl had gained too much attention again.
The meeting continued, but Aurora's mind raced. I should not have spoken. What if the cure fails? What if I am wrong? What if they all blame me?
She bit her lip. Why did I speak? I could have stayed quiet, as always.
But something in her could not let the animals suffer. Not when she knew something that could help. Her eyes dropped to her lap. And for the rest of the meeting, she said nothing more.
But Aldric's eyes—unseen to all—drifted to her more than once.
The royal court had long dispersed. The grand hall now sat in silence, but the echoes of Aurora's voice—and her unexpected intervention—still clung to the marble walls like a whisper refusing to die.
But beyond those walls, in the golden and velvet-draped chambers of the queens, the ripples she caused were rapidly turning into storms.
Selene's Quarter….
The shrill sound of shattering glass rang through Selene's wing as her jeweled goblet smashed against the far wall, spilling crimson wine like blood across the white stone.
"I HATE HER!" Selene screamed, pacing her chamber with wild fury. Her fine gown had been loosened at the waist, her hair unraveling in long curls as two servants watched from the corners, wide-eyed and frozen.
"She thinks just because she was allowed to sit among us, she can speak?" she hissed, breath ragged. "She thinks she can offer remedies in front of the king? In front of me?!"
One of the servants dared a whisper. "Your Majesty… maybe—"
"Hold your tongue!" Selene snapped, and the servant cowered instantly.
She began tearing pins from her hair, one by one, flinging them at the floor as she spoke in a rapid, breathless rage.
"She better hope her foolish peasant cure fails," she growled. "And when it does, I hope His Majesty punishes her. Publicly. Then we will see how many animals she will be feeding dead."
Her voice trembled not from fear, but from the realization she could not control this girl—not with power, not with poison words. She marched to her mirror, staring at herself. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes bloodshot with frustration.
"She is not one of us," she whispered to her reflection. "And she will never be."
In Virelda's quarters, there was never screaming. Never throwing. She prided herself on dignity, poise, and being always a step ahead.
Until now.
With a violent sweep of her hand, everything on her polished rosewood table crashed to the floor—crystal vases, scrolls, inkwells, even a silver-framed mirror—shattering into chaotic ruin.
Her ladies-in-waiting gasped, backing against the wall. None dared speak. None had ever seen Queen Virelda lose control.
She stood by the window, both hands gripping the sill, nails digging into the wood. Her breath was slow, shallow. Her eyes, red from held-back tears and fury, gazed out at the flickering torchlights of the courtyard below.
"She is a ghost… a shadow," Virelda muttered to herself. "And yet she keeps stepping into the light."
She turned abruptly, her emerald gown trailing behind her like a storm cloud. "That girl—Aurora—she is not a slip of wind to be ignored. She is a threat. To me. To the crown."
She looked down at the golden shard of the broken mirror on the floor. In its cracked reflection, she saw her own face—no longer composed, no longer in control.
"She is soft. Quiet. Timid. But even His Majesty listens to her." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "He never listens to me that way."
Her silence afterward was more terrifying than her outburst. She stood still in the middle of the destruction, eyes burning with unspoken war.
Aurora's Quarters....
In her newly gilded chamber, softer and warmer than her old one, Aurora sat quietly by her window. The candle beside her flickered gently as her fingers played with the hem of her sleeve. All she could think about were the animals.
"What if it does not work?" she whispered aloud. "What if… I was wrong?"
Her voice cracked slightly. The chamber was silent, save for the rustling breeze and the occasional clink of dishes as her maids cleared the untouched food.
"My lady," Lira said softly, kneeling beside her, "you did what no one else in that hall could do. You gave hope."
"I gave expectation," Aurora replied. "And expectation can turn to blame."
Another maid approached, holding a soft blue shawl. "You spoke with truth. You raised your voice when no one else did. That must mean something."
Aurora gave a faint smile. "Thank you."
The maids huddled closer. One fetched sweet warm milk. Another brushed her hair gently. One of them tried to joke about Selene's overly dramatic dress that looked like she came for a dance rather than a court meeting. Aurora giggled faintly.
For a moment, the tension softened. But it did not disappear.
"Still," Aurora said after a pause, "I will not leave this chamber… not until we know if the cure works. I do not want anyone seeing me if it fails."
She folded her arms around herself. Because deep down, she knew, her place in the palace was still a fragile thread. All it would take was one mistake—one slip—for it to snap completely.
-
Night had fallen over Velmora.
The moon hung heavy and full, casting silver light through the tall windows of the king's chamber. The fire crackled low in the hearth, its glow painting warm hues across the dark stone walls. But King Aldric did not sleep.
He sat at the edge of his bed, shirt half-buttoned, hands loosely clasped, eyes fixed on the flickering flame. His sword rested by the wall, untouched. His guards were stationed outside, silent as statues. His right-hand man had long since retired.
Still, the king could not rest.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers threading through his hair.
Her voice. Her words.
"In Elareth, we faced a similar illness.... I was younger then, but I remember it well."
He replayed them over and over again in his head. Not just her words—but the way she said them. Soft. Steady. Almost unsure, but bold enough to speak.
He'd watched her rise from her seat, watched her walk—nervous, but unshaken—to the center of the courtroom. He saw the fear in her eyes, but it was not cowardice. It was the fear of someone who had known humiliation… and still chose to stand anyway.
That courage burned in his mind now.
He stood and paced slowly to his table, where scrolls lay unopened. Reports from the outer villages, trade manifests, soldier rotations. He brushed them aside.
He opened a smaller chest at the far end of the table. Inside, among sealed royal correspondence and ancestral pendants, lay the gift—the small, gold pendant Aurora had given him at his birthday.
He has removed the pendant days ago. But now, he picked it up slowly.
He studied it for a long moment, then slowly fastened the chain around his neck. He tucked it beneath his shirt, near his skin.
It was… warm. Not from heat, but from something else. A presence. A memory. A mark.
He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes half-closed.
This girl… this white-haired enigma… was doing something to him.
He had not summoned her since that night—not for lack of desire, but because he had been trained to keep his wants and weaknesses buried.
Love is soft.
Softness is dangerous.
Danger must be ruled, not entertained.
But every time he saw her, heard her voice, something in his chest stirred. And now she was becoming more than a quiet shadow. She was speaking. Being noticed. Making moves.
And the court had noticed.
He saw Virelda's clenched fists. He saw Selene's burning eyes. He saw… the shift. The weight. The ripple.
"I must act," he said, "I can no longer hold this within me."
He sighed and returned to the window, eyes scanning the darkness beyond the palace walls.