It began as a flutter in the kitchens — light, harmless, and almost forgettable.
"She came from the East, did she not?"
"Yes, Dhalmar."
"They say there are witches in Dhalmar. Perhaps she is one."
"Hush. That princess is sweet."
"Sweetness does not mean she hides nothing. And we all know witches are burned in Elareth."
"Enough!"
By the second day, the guards had picked it up.
"She was there the day the stream returned."
"And the grass turned green the next day."
"Coincidence?"
"Or magic?"
By the end of the week, it had reached the nobles' quarters in hushed tones between fans and goblets of wine.
"His Majesty listens to her too much."
"She is always so quiet. Do you not find that suspicious?"
"She charms the people. God forbid she charms the king as well."
-
Iridessa heard it, not directly but in the way conversations paused when she entered. The way chambermaids whispered faster when they thought she was out of earshot. The way even courtiers who once nodded now studied her from the corners of their eyes.
She did not speak of it, not at first. But that evening in her chamber, as Miri brushed out her hair in silence, Iridessa finally asked,
"You have heard it too, have you not?"
Miri hesitated, then nodded. "They say strange things… that you speak to the earth, that you willed the stream to rise. Some even call you a witch."
Iridessa met her gaze in the mirror, voice steady though her eyes were tired.
"It is Evelyn. Or Queen Isadora. Or… Magnus. They have tried everything else. This time they want fear to do the work."
Miri's eyes flared. "But that is wicked! They know you have done nothing wrong."
"That has never stopped them," Iridessa murmured.
"But witches are burned in Elareth… what if—" Miri's voice faltered, fear blooming in her eyes.
After a long pause, Iridessa added, "We must find the source of the rumor… quietly. And quench it."
-
For the next few days, Miri slipped between quarters under the guise of laundry and errands. She brought back half-whispers, broken threads.
"It always comes from somewhere else, my lady," she said. "They say 'someone told me,' but no one says who."
One servant claimed it started among the outer guards. Another swore it came from the steward's hall. A third claimed a noble lady had heard it from a Dhalmar merchant.
None of it led anywhere.
Iridessa walked the palace halls with her head held high, even as the whispers followed her like a second shadow. She smiled gently. Spoke softly. Never once lost her grace.
But alone in her chamber at night, she sat by the window long after Miri had fallen asleep, staring out into the dark. Her jaw clenched tighter each time a laugh echoed faintly from below — laughter that may have carried her name.
"They want me to break," she whispered once. "But I will not give them the joy."
She placed her hand over her heart. "Yet….. I am afraid."
-
The great hall of Elareth was heavy with breath and whispers. Sunlight streamed in through tall, dust-veiled windows, but the warmth did little to ease the cold tension that coiled in the hall. Iridessa stood silently at the center, cloaked not in silk or jewels, but in a composed stillness that only deepened the unease of her enemies.
King Rael sat on the throne, frail but attentive. The lords of Elareth gathered around the long stone table. Queen Isadora rose slowly, her voice slicing through the murmurs.
"My lords," she began, hands folded in her lap, "we have welcomed into our palace a woman not of our blood. A foreign princess, whose presence has stirred miracles and murmurs alike. The streams return. The fields shift. And no one asks why?"
She turned her gaze on Iridessa, sharp as winter ice. "I say it is witchcraft."
A gasp rolled through the courtroom like thunder.
Miri, seated on the edge of the chamber, went pale. Her hand clutched the hem of her gown, knuckles white. Iridessa, however, lifted her chin gently. Her eyes were calm. She did not flinch.
A lord to the left cleared his throat.
"It would explain how she convinced the mighty Velmora to send us food… No one has ever won their favour so quickly."
Iridessa spoke at last — steady, clear.
"My lords. I am no witch. I am the daughter of king Vernos of Dhalmar. And I wrote to Velmora in desperation when this kingdom began to starve. Which I discussed with you all before doing so. The food came because I begged for it… not because I bewitched it."
Princess Evelyn leaned forward from her seat beside her mother, her voice tinged with mockery.
"Rumors do not sprout from nothing, Princess Iridessa. There must always be a… hint of truth."
More lords muttered. Doubt began to twist itself into their expressions. But from the southern benches came a firm voice.
"I say we owe our survival to this woman," said Lord Merek of the Lower Reaches. "I recall when her land sent grain before we even wrote to Velmora . Dhalmar aided us when no one else would."
Another lord joined him.
"And now you speak of witchcraft? Of accusing their daughter of sorcery? Is that how Elareth repays kindness?"
The tension thickened. Isadora rose again, undeterred.
"This is not about kindness. This is about protecting the throne. We cannot allow a witch to linger in our court, influencing His Majesty… and possibly, the heir to this kingdom."
Her eyes flicked briefly to Magnus, cold and demanding. Then, louder, she declared,
"Repaying kindness, you say?" she sneered. "Then I propose Iridessa be sent back to Dhalmar. Banished, or burned as witches are in Elareth—before she brings ruin to us all."
A stunned silence fell, broken only by a sharp intake of breath from Miri. She looked to her lady, trembling. But Iridessa remained still, eyes forward. She said nothing of Aurora's voice in the wind, or the shattered bottle. She would not give them a reason to twist her truth.
Then voices rose — not in agreement, but in protest.
"Banished?"
"Burned?"
"She has done more for this court than Evelyn ever has!"
"She saved our people from starving. That is no crime!"
"A woman of Dhalmar fed us, and now we spit on her name?"
Isadora's face stiffened in fury, but her eyes turned to King Rael as if demanding he restore order.
The king raised one frail hand. Silence fell.
Then slowly, he turned his head toward Prince Magnus, seated beside Evelyn.
"Magnus," Rael said. "She is your wife. Do you believe her a witch?"
All eyes turned to the prince.
Magnus stood, adjusting his cloak. His mouth opened once, then closed. His eyes darted briefly to his mother… to Evelyn. They gave him that look—that familiar do not you dare glare.
But just then, from the end of the table, Lord Hale's voice rang out.
"The prince should defend his wife. A man who cannot protect his own cannot protect a kingdom."
The words pierced. They echoed.
Magnus faltered… then stiffened. He looked out over the lords — many of whom watched him with expectation, calculation.
He sighed. "No. I do not believe Iridessa is a witch."
A ripple went through the hall. Murmurs, raised eyebrows, nods of approval.
Evelyn's lips parted in disbelief. Isadora's hands curled tightly on the arms of her chair, knuckles white.
King Rael leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. "Then it is settled. Iridessa of Dhalmar is not guilty."
The court dissolved into movement.
Iridessa stood still, eyes steady as the lords began to file out. She did not look toward Magnus, nor Evelyn, nor Isadora. But her hand brushed briefly against Miri's as they turned to leave, and in that soft gesture, she gave her only comfort.
"We are still standing, my lady."
Iridessa nodded, tears running down her cheeks.
-
The courtroom was emptied, but the fury that filled Queen Isadora's chest remained sharp and alive. She stormed through the winding palace corridors with Evelyn close behind her, skirts swishing in tandem. Behind them trailed Prince Magnus, silent, tense, jaw clenched.
They entered one of the east-wing council chambers, rarely used — and the moment the door closed, Evelyn turned on her brother.
"How could you?" she hissed. "You sided with her—in front of everyone!"
"I did not side with anyone," Magnus said, brushing past them. "I said I do not believe she is a witch."
"Which is the same thing," Isadora snapped. Her voice cracked like a whip. "You humiliated us, Magnus."
Magnus turned to face them, his hands balled at his sides. The fire in his eyes had been quietly building all day.
"What did you expect me to do?" he asked. "Disown my wife before the entire court? With half the lords already restless and watching every move we make?"
Evelyn folded her arms. "You should have stood with your family."
"No," Magnus said flatly. "I should have stood with the lords. And I did."
He stepped forward, voice rising just enough to sting.
"If I had condemned Iridessa today, I would have lost them — all of them. Do you know what that means for me? For this family? We are already crumbling. If I lose their favor, I lose my claim to the crown."
Isadora's lips thinned. She stared at him, long and cold.
"So you chose her over your mother. Over your sister."
"No, Mother," Magnus said, his voice colder now. "I chose timing."
He exhaled deeply, stepped away, then added.
"Today was not the right time. But the moment she stumbles—no matter how small—we strike. And this time, the court will stand with us."
Evelyn's frown wavered. Isadora's eyes narrowed.
"And if she never stumbles?" the queen asked softly.
Magnus glanced at the door, his jaw tightening.
"She will. No one stays pure forever in a place like this." He looked back at them.
Isadora turned to the window, her face unreadable. Evelyn still fumed, but she said nothing more. The air between them was thick with bitter plans and unspoken rage.
Somewhere down the hall, laughter echoed faintly — servants perhaps, or lords still speaking of Iridessa's calm and poise.
Isadora's nails dug into the windowsill.