The grand court hall of Elareth was built of pale, glinting stone and high-arched windows that let in the silver light of the moon. But tonight, the hall felt colder than ever.
Servants lined the walls, heads bowed. Lords and ladies of the court sat in their thrones of bleached ironwood, whispering behind gloved hands. The royal family sat high on the dais—Queen Isadora in her pale velvet gown, lips tight with cruel amusement. Princess Evelyn lounged beside her, eyes dancing with spite. King Rael was slouched in his throne, eyes dull, breath shallow. He looked less a king and more a shadow.
Magnus stormed into the court with Iridessa dragged behind him, one hand clutched around her wrist. Miri trailed behind, forced between two guards, cheeks soaked with tears.
Gasps rippled through the hall. Iridessa's hair was tousled, her cheek red and beginning to swell. Her dress was torn at the hem, her dignity stripped bare.
Magnus flung her forward. She stumbled, then steadied herself, standing in the center of the court floor.
"She is a traitor," Magnus announced, voice booming. "Princess Iridessa has been sneaking out at night—stealing from our house, distributing food to the villagers without my permission."
"Lies!" Miri cried out, struggling against the guards. "She was helping—"
"Silence the servant," Evelyn snapped. A guard cuffed Miri, silencing her instantly.
Queen Isadora rose slowly, her eyes narrowing at Iridessa. "So. You admit to aiding the villagers?"
"I admit to feeding the hungry," Iridessa replied, voice clear though her body trembled. "Is that a crime in Elareth?"
"It is, when you defy your husband's authority," Isadora said, descending the steps slowly. "You are not in your father's kingdom anymore, girl. Here, obedience is your duty."
"You speak of duty," Iridessa whispered, eyes on the queen. "Yet you sit in silks while your people rot in dust."
A hush fell.
Isadora's hand twitched, but she held her tongue.
Then Evelyn stood, clapping slowly. "Spoken like a princess who has never starved. You parade around like a savior, but you forget—you married into this family. You wear our crown. Yet you shame us before the court. That will not go unpunished."
Magnus turned to the crowd. "Let it be known, my wife has acted without consent. She has endangered our control over the people. She is reckless. Disrespectful. She will be disciplined accordingly."
"Do you hear yourself?" Iridessa said, her voice growing stronger. "Do you even care how you sound? They were starving. I did what none of you dared to do."
A few murmurs rose in the hall—whispers of agreement—but they were quickly swallowed by the weight of fear.
Magnus stepped forward again, but this time, Iridessa did not back down.
"I was born a princess," she said quietly, lifting her chin. "And even though I am not one in your eyes, I still know what leadership means."
"Enough!" Evelyn hissed.
King Rael stirred at last, lifting his gaze just slightly.
"She must be punished," Isadora said flatly.
Lord Hale shifted in his seat. "And what form will this punishment take?"
Magnus glanced at his mother. Evelyn's smile grew.
"We will decide her punishment. But not here. Take her to the east tower." Isadora said.
"What about the servant ?" a soldier asked, nudging Miri.
"She knew," Magnus snapped. "Throw her in with her mistress. Let them rot together."
"No!" Iridessa said, suddenly frantic. "She was only obeying me. I ordered her to help. She knew nothing."
Isadora raised her brow, amused. "Oh, how touching."
Miri was weeping openly now, face hidden in her hands.
"And if she attempts anything else," Evelyn added, "perhaps we should consider a more… permanent correction."
Gasps rose.
Iridessa stood her ground, though her hands had curled into fists. Miri trembled behind her.
King Rael looked at his daughter-in-law. For a moment, his lips parted—like he might speak. But then he sighed and looked away.
The guards came forward, placing chains lightly on Iridessa's wrists, dragged them both away as Evelyn watched, eyes glittering with victory.
"Finally," she whispered. "She learns her place."
One of the lords—Lord Hale—lingered by the exit. He whispered to the other lord beside him, "They have grown too cruel. If the princess does not survive them... this kingdom will not either."
And with that, the chamber doors closed.
Two days later...
The doors to the council chamber creaked shut as the last of the royal lords stepped in. Though morning sunlight filtered faintly through the windows, a gloom lingered in the room—drawn in not by clouds, but by the burden of decisions that had festered too long.
At the head of the table sat Queen Isadora, chin raised, fingers drumming softly against her ivory armrest. Evelyn lounged beside her in a high-backed seat, legs crossed, her eyes glinting with cruel anticipation. Magnus stood leaning against the stone fireplace, arms folded. He had not said a word since entering, but the tightness in his jaw said plenty.
Across from them were the lords of Elareth—grey-bearded men in embroidered coats, the oldest and most influential of the king's council. Among them sat Lord Hale of Carrowen, the voice of reason and the only one bold enough to speak plainly in the presence of the queen.
"Twenty lashes for the princess?" he said at last, voice flat with disbelief. "Thirty for her servant? Forgive me, Your Grace, but this is not discipline. It is cruelty."
Isadora did not flinch. "She disobeyed her husband. She trespassed out of the palace nightly. She broke royal protocol and dared to redistribute the palace's food. Such rebellion must be punished."
"It was not rebellion," Lord Hale snapped. "It was compassion. She gave food. Water. She saved lives. Not with our food, but her kingdom food. If this court punishes that, what message do we send to our people? That mercy is a crime?"
Murmurs rippled among the gathered lords.
"Are you forgetting she is a foreigner?" Evelyn interjected. "We do not even know her loyalties. What if this was a calculated move to stir the villagers against the crown?"
"With respect, princess," said Lord Rowan, another senior member, "the people were already stirred—by hunger. I'd wager her actions prevented unrest, not caused it."
Queen Isadora's gaze swept over the men, cold and unwavering. "This is not a debate. The matter has already been discussed with the king."
But then a deep, gravelled voice rang out from the far end of the room.
"I am here," said Rael, who had entered without fanfare, supported by a cane and his weary breath. His robe trailed behind him like a faded banner. All eyes turned to him.
He approached slowly, nodding at the lords, ignoring his wife's stiff posture.
"I have heard everything," he said, lowering himself carefully into his seat at the head of the table. "The court has lost its sense."
Isadora's face stiffened. Evelyn paled. Magnus said nothing.
"She is a princess," Rael went on. "One of royal blood. Married into our family. And even if she were none of those things, she still committed no treason. Feeding the hungry, though it embarrassed us, is not reason enough to raise the whip."
Isadora leaned forward. "But she—"
"This is not a discussion," Rael interrupted, a rare sharpness in his voice. "I may be weak, but I am still king. And I will not let a guest in this palace be treated like a criminal."
Lord Hale bowed his head slightly. "Finally, Your Majesty."
Rael turned to the council. "Let it be known, the punishments are dismissed. Iridessa and her servant are to be released from the East Tower immediately."
Evelyn stood suddenly, mouth twisted. "She humiliated us! She—"
"Enough, Evelyn," Rael said wearily, but his tone held weight. "You have done more harm to this family's name than she ever has."
Silence fell. A silence thick with insult and revelation.
Isadora did not speak again. Her hands gripped the arms of her chair so tightly her knuckles turned white. Magnus remained against the wall, jaw clenched, his pride bruised but his authority overruled.
Rael rose, leaning on his cane. "This kingdom crumbles. If the royal blood keeps tearing itself apart instead of guarding its people, then we shall crumble with it."
He turned without another word and left the chamber.
The lords began to file out, satisfied.
Evelyn stared after her father, chest rising and falling in small furious breaths. "She will ruin us," she muttered under her breath.
"No," Isadora replied coldly. "Not unless we let her."
-
The heavy iron latch groaned as the bolt was drawn back. A soldier stepped aside, and the creaking door of the East Tower crept open, flooding the dim cell with morning light.
Iridessa blinked against the sudden brightness. Her back ached from the cold stone floor, and her lips were dry, cracked from days without proper water. Beside her, Miri stirred, her face hollow with exhaustion but still resting in a quiet loyalty that never wavered.
Two guards entered. One cleared his throat. "You are to be released. By order of the King."
For a moment, Iridessa did not move. She looked up, her mind sluggish to accept the words. Released? It did not seem real.
Miri slowly sat up. "Released?" Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Truly?"
The guard only gave a nod and turned away.
As they stepped out of the cold stone cell, the sunlight struck their skin like a warm blessing, and for the first time in days, they breathed air that did not smell of mildew and damp rot.
Miri stumbled, and Iridessa caught her. Neither of them spoke. It was once they reached the hallway leading back to the main palace that Miri's breath hitched. "My lady…" Her voice broke, and she turned her face, trying to hide the tears.
Iridessa gripped her hand. "We are free, Miri," she whispered. Her own eyes burned, but she refused to let the tears fall. "We are out."
Miri wrapped her arms tightly around Iridessa and sobbed into her shoulder, her body trembling with all the pain, the fear, the weight they had carried in silence.
Iridessa stood still for a moment, and then, she allowed herself to exhale. Her hands found Miri's back, and she held her, strong and steady. Her chin trembled, but her eyes stared ahead, the frost in her gaze slowly melting.
They did not speak further. Their tears did the speaking for them—tears not of weakness, but of survival.
As they walked back toward Iridessa's chambers, passing cold stares and muted whispers, their pace was slow but certain.
They had endured hunger, cold, fear. But they were still standing.
And Iridessa knew—this was not the end of the fight.
-
The door creaked open.
Iridessa looked up sharply from the window where she sat. The bruises on her wrists from the chains had not faded, and the cold of that stone place still clung to her skin.
She thought it was Miri.
But no—there stood Magnus, broad-shouldered, expression carved from cold stone. His eyes were darker than usual, burning- both with desire and wounded pride.
Her spine stiffened.
He stepped in without a word, shutting the door behind him with deliberate quiet. He unfastened his cloak and tossed it aside.
Iridessa stood slowly. "What do you want, Magnus?"
He ignored the question. His jaw twitched.
"You think you are clever," he muttered, stepping forward. "You think because Father spoke in your favor, you have won something."
"I was not trying to win," she replied calmly, though her hands were clenched behind her. "I was trying to help people. People your family ignores."
He was in front of her now. Too close.
"You embarrassed me in front of the court," he whispered, a bitter smile curling his lips. "Made me look like a fool."
"I did not —"
"You defied me," he said. "You disobeyed. You lied. So tonight, you will remember who your husband is."
Her breath caught. He reached for her wrist.
She tried to pull back, but he yanked her forward and kissed her harshly. There was no tenderness in his touch. Only conquest.
"Let me be—" she hissed, but he shoved her backward toward the bed.
Her heart pounded, and fear surged—she turned her face away as he pressed close. Her body tensed beneath him, but her voice remained cold and still.
"You are not a man, Magnus. Just a wounded boy wearing a crown too heavy for his head."
That made him pause. Just for a heartbeat.
But then he muttered, breathing heavy, "You will learn not to speak to me like that."
And he took what he wanted.
Later, long after he had gone, she lay on her side in the dark, facing the window again. Her body ached. Her soul did not.
Miri slipped in quietly, her eyes wide when she saw the wrinkled sheets and torn sleeve. "My lady…"
Iridessa sat up slowly, wincing but dry-eyed. "It is over," she said, voice flat. "He wanted to remind me who he was. But I will not forget who I am either."
Not a single tear slipped from her eyes. She only sat there, silent and still, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if holding in everything that wanted to break loose.
But Miri—Miri could not hold back. The moment she saw the bruises, the torn fabric, the dull sheen in Iridessa's eyes, her own tears began to fall. She knelt beside her mistress, hands trembling as she whispered, "I am so sorry, my lady… I should have stayed. I should have—"
Iridessa gently placed a hand on her maid's head, quieting her.
Still, Miri wept.
Moment later, Miri stared out the narrow window, past the moonlight pouring coldly into the chamber, a strange thought brushed her heart—Aurora.
Maybe, she wondered bleakly, maybe it is better she is far away. Better she is not here to witness all this rot. The hunger. The cruelty. The slow ruin of this kingdom. Better she remains untouched by Elareth.