The sun hung soft and golden over the palace garden, casting long warm shadows across the hedge-lined paths. Aurora sat on a low marble bench beneath the tall myrtle tree, her maids flanking her on either side as they peeled grapes and spoke in hushed giggles.
Lira leaned in, whispering something that made the other maids stifle a laugh. Aurora giggled with them, her laughter light and unguarded. A butterfly danced past, and the garden felt like a rare moment untouched by shadow.
Just then, the soft crunch of boots echoed through the path.
The women quickly stood, heads lowered in respect. King Aldric strode past, his navy cloak swaying, dark hair brushed back and glinting with gold in the sun. He nodded curtly to the group—but as he passed Aurora, he gave a small wink and the barest smile. Not enough to notice unless you were watching closely.
Aurora blinked, her cheeks heating. The moment he vanished from view, the garden erupted.
"Did you see that?" Lira gasped, grabbing her hand. "He winked! His Majesty winked at you!"
"I—I do not think he did," Aurora mumbled, flustered, but the smile playing on her lips betrayed her. Her hand reached up to her chest instinctively. Something fluttered in her.
She did not understand the feeling, not fully. But it was warm. And new.
She began to notice herself searching for reasons to pass by his chamber. Once, she said she needed a scroll from the royal scribe. Another time, she claimed she was looking for a specific book on Velomra's ancient harvest traditions.
One late afternoon, as sunlight poured golden through the palace windows, she walked into the quiet royal library—and there he was.
Aldric sat by the arched window, long legs crossed, a thick leather-bound book in hand. His cloak rested on the table beside him, and his sword belt had been unclasped and placed down. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms lightly scarred from war but noble nonetheless.
"Your Majesty," she said gently.
He looked up. His face softened.
"Aurora," he said, a low smile curling on his lips. "Please… come sit."
She hesitated, then nodded and walked gracefully to the other chair beside him. Her heart beat far too fast. As she sat, her eyes kept flicking to his profile. His sharp jaw, the light stubble, the deep lines of thought carved into his brow. His lips, quiet in concentration, and those piercing eyes that always seemed to know more than they should.
Has he always been this handsome? she wondered. Or… was I just blind before?
Aldric turned, catching her gaze. He smiled.
"Why are you staring?" he asked, voice gentle, touched with amusement.
Aurora blinked, shaken from her thoughts. "I am not," she said, cheeks warming.
He let out a quiet chuckle. "You are. But I do not mind."
Even his laugh stirred something in her chest.
Days passed, then weeks. And one morning, a messenger arrived in the early dawn—the king was going to the northern borders for a battle that had been brewing for months.
Aurora watched from the balcony as Aldric mounted his horse, Kael beside him. He turned and looked up at the palace.
But not at the queens watching from the other wing.
He looked up at her.
She did not wave. Neither did he. But something passed between them like wind through leaves.
And then he was gone.
His absence ached.
She walked through the palace with her head high. Not like before, when she'd tuck herself into the shadows, hiding from Selene and Virelda. Now, if she met them in the hallway, she bowed briefly and passed without flinching. If they dared speak, she answered them firmly, like a woman who had found something of herself.
"My lady is different now," one of the maids whispered to another as they brushed her hair one evening.
"She has found her wings," Lira said.
Aurora smiled faintly.
She did the tasks Ava gave her. She aided the palace feast preparations, even as the other queens watched her with thin, sharp eyes. Their dislike was clear, but so was their unwilling respect. Aurora was capable. Keen of mind. Soft spoken, yet firm when needed.
Then came the morning the trumpets blew—the king had returned.
Each queen received a scroll with his seal.
Aurora, holding hers, did not think. She ran.
Kael was speaking to Aldric when she rushed into his chamber. The king froze. His tunic was half off, caught over his head, when the door flew open.
"Your Majesty," she breathed, her voice trembling.
Aldric froze, startled. "Aurora—"
But before he could finish, she ran to him and wrapped her arms around his chest, burying her face in his shoulder. Her body shook as she sobbed quietly.
"I missed you," she whispered.
Kael stiffened, mouth parted. He cleared his throat and stepped back. "I take my leave," he said, bowing once before exiting.
Silence settled.
Aldric stood still at first, startled by the sudden embrace. Then, slowly, his arms rose, returning the hold with a quiet, guarded care.
"You missed me?" he asked, voice low.
She nodded against him. "More than I knew."
They stood like that for what felt like forever.
When she pulled away, her face was damp, her smile shy. "Forgive me… I did not mean to barge in."
"I am glad you did," Aldric said.
She smiled, shyness clear on her face. She bowed, turned, and exited the chamber, steps quick.
Aldric watched the door close, though his heart urged her to stay.
That night, Aurora lay in bed, heart fluttering like a trapped bird. She smiled to herself.
And in his chamber, Aldric lay awake, smiling too.
He would not go to her chamber tonight—not because he did not want to, but because something was beginning to grow between them. Something too precious to rush.
ELARETH KINGDOM.....
The heavy court doors opened with a groan, sunlight barely spilling in from the high-stained windows. The long drought had cast a dull grayness over the court of Elareth. Dust clung to the carved walls. The scent of parched earth and anxious breath filled the chamber.
Food was dwindling—again.
The nobles had gathered in full, robed in duller colors than usual, their silks no longer shining. Lords and ladies whispered, fans moved nervously, and the guards stood with stiff backs despite the hunger in their bellies.
King Rael sat on his throne, still gaunt, but more lucid than he'd been in weeks. To his right, Queen Isadora wore a stiff expression, her crown angled like a blade. Beside her sat Evelyn, cold-eyed, tapping her finger on the armrest. Prince Magnus lounged on the left side of the king, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Next to him, Iridessa sat quietly in her simple gown—her posture firm, her face unshaken.
She had written dozens of letters in the past month. Kingdoms far and wide, from the eastern coasts to the mountain cities, and they had answered. Some sent grains, others dried fruits, others water-storing sacks and medicinal herbs. The villagers had eaten. They no longer moaned with famine. Some hope had returned.
But it was not enough. And now, the food was running low again.
Voices filled the hall.
"We must ration again!"
"No—another rationing will spark riots."
"The villagers are growing restless!"
"She should know what to do!" someone whispered sharply.
Isadora's lips curled into a mockery of a smile. She leaned forward, her voice sharp but smooth. "Why do we not ask Iridessa? After all, she has proven to be a savior of sorts."
Evelyn snorted softly, hiding her laughter behind a gloved hand.
Lord Hale raised a hand. "Princess Iridessa has served this kingdom well. Let us not burden her with every storm that rises."
Magnus smirked. "Burden? She does not seem burdened. I am certain she will be delighted to save us again." His voice dripped with sarcasm as he glanced at Evelyn, who nodded encouragingly.
The court chuckled under their breath.
A hush followed.
Evelyn broke it with a sneer. "Has the cat got our princess's tongue? Has the miracle-worker run out of miracles?"
Iridessa looked up slowly. Her hands remained folded in her lap. Calm. Poised. But her eyes burned with quiet resolve.
King Rael, who had been silent through it all, finally lifted his hand. The hall fell silent.
His voice was dry but steady. "If Princess Iridessa has no more answers, she should not be forced. She has done much already."
Everyone turned to her.
She rose slowly, bowed to the king, then lifted her chin. Her voice was gentle—but strong enough to command the hall.
"Why do we not write to Velmora?"
A gasp rippled through the chamber like a cold wind.
Lord Fen dropped his scroll. A few guards glanced at each other.
"Velmora?" Magnus repeated, sitting up. "Damn your tongue."
Evelyn stood, her face a mask of outrage. "You wish to invite death upon our heads?! You would lead us to slaughter!"
Isadora's voice hissed from the throne. "Blasphemy! Elareth will never kneel to the bloodthirsty king of Velmora!"
"And yet… you sent your stepdaughter into their arms?" Iridessa said.
Isadora's eyes widened, but before she could speak, the king raised his hand once more. "Silence."
The hall obeyed.
Lord Hale, visibly nervous, adjusted his robe. "We… we have all considered Velmora before. But none dared. The stories, Your Grace. His ruthlessness. His wrath. No kingdom dares seek unnecessary favor from him."
Iridessa did not flinch. "Stories. Rumors. Has anyone here seen him carry out these terrors? Has he waged war without provocation? Yes, his rule is firm. But what if—just what if—Velmora proves to be merciful?"
She glanced around the hall.
"What if we are the first kingdom he chooses to help?"
The court murmured again.
"This is nonsense!" Isadora snapped.
"She wants us dead!" Evelyn shouted.
"She is mad," Magnus muttered.
King Rael exhaled slowly, rubbing the side of his temple. "It is bold. But not without logic." His eyes narrowed. "Still… we cannot afford the risk."
Iridessa's voice rose, quiet but firm. "It is the only way left."
There was a pause. Then, Lord Fenn stood. "She is right. The villagers are fleeing. If no one helps us now, there will be no Elareth left to rule."
Magnus banged his fist against the throne arm. "And what if things go south?! If he sees our plea as weakness? What then?!"
Iridessa turned, eyes blazing. "Then I will bear the consequence."
The hall stilled.
Evelyn's voice rang out. "There will be no one left to bear anything once Velmora descends upon us!"
Iridessa faced the king, placing her hand over her chest.
"Please. Let me try. I ask nothing but the chance to act on faith."
King Rael's gaze lingered on her—then shifted to his crumbling court, to his broken people.
Finally, he nodded once. "We will risk it."
Gasps. Murmurs. But no one challenged him further.
The meeting was adjourned.
The Queen's Chamber...
Evelyn paced like a wildcat. "She wants us dead! Father accepted it without thinking. That girl's blood is cursed, I swear it."
Isadora poured herself wine with shaking hands. "She is cleverer than I thought. And dangerous. I can feel it."
"She craves importance," Evelyn spat. "That is all she desires."
"She shall not be," Isadora whispered, dark as night.
That Same Hour – King's Chambers
Magnus slammed the door behind him.
"This is not right father!" he barked. "She has no right to gamble our kingdom!"
King Rael leaned back, sipping slowly. "She may have more right than you."
Magnus's face twisted.
Rael's eyes did not leave his son. "She acts. While you posture. She serves while you sulk."
"That foreign girl—!"
"That foreign girl," Rael said evenly, "has accomplished more for this kingdom in months than you have in all your years."
The words struck deep. Magnus's jaw clenched, but he said nothing more.
Meanwhile – Iridessa's Chamber.
Her chest rose and fell in waves. The silence around her felt louder than any court shouting.
She stood at the window, hands gripping the sill, staring out into the starless sky.
Miri crept behind her, soft-voiced, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. "My lady… are you certain?"
Iridessa did not turn.
"No." She closed her eyes. "But I have to try."
Miri hugged her from behind. "I am scared."
"I am too," Iridessa whispered, tears slipping down her cheek. "But if this fails… let it be on me."
Miri's grip tightened. "Then I will bear it with you."
Silence followed. Heavy. Warm. Strong.
VELMORA KINGDOM…
The winds of Velmora were thick with snow and distance when the letter from Elareth arrived—seven days after it had been written.
Aldric was in his private court, alone with Kael.
The great black pillars of the war hall cast long shadows across the floor. Aldric stood by the wide windows overlooking the far end of the mountains, the letter in his hand sealed with an unfamiliar crest—delicate and faded.
He opened it without haste, but as his eyes scanned the words, a stillness overtook him. Then he folded the parchment quietly and turned.
"Send for Aurora," he said simply.
Kael bowed and left.
Aurora came not long after.
The sunlight caught in her silver hair, gleaming like frost. She wore no crown, only a soft gown the color of early dawn. When her eyes met Aldric's, her lips curved into a gentle smile—and unexpectedly, Aldric chuckled. A low, boyish sound.
Kael blinked, brow furrowed in disbelief—and quiet amusement. The King… giggled?
He had seen Aldric break bones with a word, ride into battle leaving ash in his wake. But this? This soft-eyed warmth, this unguarded laugh?
Love, it seemed, softened even the hardest of men
He said nothing. Only bowed again and retreated to the edge of the chamber.
Aurora was ushered to sit across from Aldric. He handed her the letter. "It is from your kingdom."
She took it with both hands.
As she read, the life in her face began to wither. Her eyes dropped to the final line, then again, as if unable to believe it. Her fingers trembled just slightly.
Aldric leaned forward. "What do you want me to do?" he asked. "Whatever you ask—it will be done."
But Aurora did not answer right away.
Was it truly in her hands? Elareth's fate? Her once-cruel kingdom? It did not seem real.
Aldric noticed how long the silence stretched. He was about to speak when she looked at him—eyes shimmering.
Then she stood. Her breath hitched. And in one graceful motion, she dropped to her knees before him.
"Please," she whispered. "Whatever aid you may grant Elareth… let it be for the poor. For the villagers. For those who suffer in silence."
Aldric stood, startled. "Aurora—"
But she bowed her head. "They need your help, Your Majesty."
Aldric moved swiftly, kneeling to take her hands. "Then it is done. At first light, the carts will ride—and they shall not be few."
Her chest heaved with quiet sobs. She nodded—and hugged him. A quiet, fierce hug that spoke more than her words ever could.
That night, Aurora could not sleep.
She lay in her chamber, watching the moon drift. Thoughts stirred like restless wind. What had Elareth become now? Were the children still alive? Was Miri…?
Miri.
She sat up suddenly, heartbeat racing. She rushed to her chest, fingers fumbling. Beneath folded cloth and ribbon, she found it—the little bottle Miri had once tucked into her hand.
She clutched it to her chest.
-
The palace store was quiet at midnight. Torches crackled low. Dozens of large carts were already lined up—Velmora's finest soldiers preparing the journey to Elareth.
The soldiers straightened when they saw Aurora approaching.
"Your Majesty."
She nodded gently, then stepped forward. She moved to one of the sacks herself, fingers brushing the tied cloth. She bowed her head, both hands pressed together.
"Let the drought end," she whispered. "And let this reach Miri."
She slipped the tiny bottle deep into the sack, nestled beneath the grains.
She did not return to her chamber. She waited at the eastern balcony, where the mist still clung to the cobblestones. The horizon slowly softened into rose.
And then—the soldiers set forth, their carts bound for Elareth.
She watched, silent and teary-eyed, as hundreds of carts rode out beneath the rising sun. The banners of Velmora flapping in the breeze. Her hand pressed to her chest.