Aldric sat on the edge of his war table, brows furrowed in a rare moment of unease. Reports he received days ago—crops withering suddenly, animals vanishing near the eastern woods, strange sounds carried on the wind, and villagers claiming to hear whispering when the moon was high. Faint... beckoning.
He told Aurora everything.
And before dawn the next day, they rode out. No guards. No fanfare. Not even Kael, though Aldric left a quiet note behind in case they did not return by dusk.
They traveled alone.
Through the thinning forests of the east, where mist hung low and the trees grew too close. Aurora sat tall on her mare, her white hair braided and tucked into her cloak, her eyes sharp and alert. Beside her, Aldric kept pace, his expression unreadable but his fingers resting near his blade. Just in case.
They reached the quiet stream—a place that once sang with running water but now stood still, its surface blackened and sick.
Aurora dismounted. Something called to her.
She walked to the edge of the water and knelt. Her hand hovered over the surface… then she saw it. A black stone, pulsing faintly beneath the ripples. Her fingers did not tremble. She drew it out with ease, and as it left the water, the trees groaned softly, as if something had been broken.
Aldric stepped forward. "What is it?" he asked.
"An anchor," she whispered. "A dark witch's curse. Feeding off the land."
And then, her fingers lit with silver-blue flame. Words from the ancient dream book flowed from her lips, and as she spoke, the stone shattered in her hand with a high-pitched cry that faded into nothing.
The water stirred. Then cleared. Then began to move again—slow, cautious, but alive.
They rode back in silence, not out of tension, but out of awe. Something had changed. Something had been saved.
Just before reaching the city gates, Aldric pulled his hood lower and glanced at Aurora. "Let us pass through the village."
She nodded.
They moved slowly through the cobbled streets, where villagers bustled and bartered. No one looked twice. A few children ran past, chasing each other with laughter. Traders called out prices. Bread baked. Music played faintly from a corner tavern.
Aldric looked around—at the people, the life, the joy.
His heart ached with gratitude. And pride.
He looked toward Aurora, who rode just ahead, the edge of his lips tilted in a quiet smile.
By the time they returned to the palace, they separated without a word. There was no need.
Aurora entered her chambers to a chorus of excited voices. Her maids rushed toward her.
"My lady, you went to the village market without us?" one gasped.
"You must tell us what you saw!" another chimed.
Aurora only smiled as she pulled a cloth bundle from beneath her cloak. "I brought something for each of you."
Gasps of delight followed as she handed out trinkets—hair ribbons, beads, sweet pastries still warm. The girls swooned and giggled, touched by their lady's kindness.
-
The cavern pulsed with ancient, rotten magic.
Far beneath the earth, in a chamber lit by the cold flicker of green flame, the dark witches gathered. Hooded and cloaked, they circled the pool of black water that lay at the center of the chamber—its surface still, except for the occasional ripple that whispered of unseen movement beneath.
"She has ruined everything," one hissed, her voice low and sharp like cracked ice. "The dream spell—shattered. The stream—cleansed. The curse—interrupted."
Another, taller and broader in frame, struck her staff against the ground with a dull, thunderous thud. "He was almost ours," she growled. "The trance was deep. His soul had begun to bend. And then she came."
"She always comes," spat a third. "She feels the shift, she finds the crack, she seals it before it opens."
"She is one of them," the tall one said bitterly. "Elisa's blood. We should have seen it sooner."
"She is more than Elisa's child," said a cold, resonant voice from the far end of the chamber. The other witches fell silent immediately.
Their leader stepped from the shadows. A gaunt woman with skin pale as bone and eyes as black as a moonless night. Her name was never spoken—only whispered, feared. She wore no hood, only a crown of twisted silver thorns that glimmered with an eerie, oily sheen.
"She is Archon. I have heard… whispers," she said, her tone slow and controlled. "They say she dreams of the Ancient Tongue. That the old book opens itself to her."
The witches around the pool stirred uneasily.
The leader went on, her gaze fixed on the black pool. "She is no longer ignorant of what she is. And that… makes her dangerous."
"She must be destroyed," one murmured.
"No," the leader answered immediately. "Not yet. Not recklessly. Not like the fool who went after Aldric and never returned."
"But she blocks us at every turn!"
"She is not yet fully trained," the leader said. "And she is young. Her emotions lead her. Her attachments—especially to the king—make her vulnerable."
A cruel smile curved on her lips.
"We will not strike with fire and fury. We will lure her. Pull at the threads she loves. Let her unravel herself. That is the way to dismantle a legacy. Quietly. Thoroughly."
"But if she keeps interfering…"
"She will," the leader said darkly. "And for each interference, we will respond. For every stream she cleanses, we will curse three more. For every dream she shields, we will send nightmares to others. This is war. And war does not end with one little witch and a broken stone."
The green flames grew brighter, as though feeding on her words.
"But mark this," the leader said, voice now a low growl, "we do not underestimate her again. She is the Archon. She walks with light. But even light can be devoured by shadows…"
She raised her hand. The pool before them bubbled and twisted.
"Begin the next snare. One she will not sense until it is too late."
And beneath the earth, the dark magic stirred—hungry and waiting.
-
The morning sun warmed the stone path as Aurora and her maids strolled leisurely toward her private garden. Birds chirped, petals danced in the soft breeze, and the maids, giggling gently behind her, chatted about flowers and pastries.
Ahead, King Aldric approached, flanked by his guards. Regal in stride, confident in presence, he was speaking to Kael but glanced up the moment he saw her.
Aurora immediately bowed with practiced grace. Her maids dropped even lower, practically folding into the gravel.
"Where are you headed, Aurora?" Aldric asked, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
"To the garden, Your Majesty," she replied politely, voice serene.
Aldric nodded, eyes lingering a little longer than necessary. "Very well. Carry on."
He walked past with his entourage, and Aurora turned to continue her path—but then remembered something.
"Aldric!" she called instinctively.
Everything stopped.
Every guard turned.
Kael blinked.
A cupbearer bowing nearby dropped everything in his hands, eyes wide with shock.
Her maids gasped so hard one of them choked on her own breath.
Even the two noble ladies passing by froze mid-step and leaned their ears dramatically.
Aurora, realizing the horror of what she'd just done—nobody calls a king by his name—snapped her head toward the guards and her maids, still bowed so low their foreheads nearly touched the floor
"I—" she squeaked. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. That was a grave mistake. I—I deserve to be punished."
Aldric paused, a small smirk curling his lips. He turned and walked back toward her, casually—too casually.
He leaned close, whispering with teasing amusement, "Like you have not been calling me that before."
Aurora flushed, hissing softly, "But we are not alone!"
He chuckled under his breath and turned to the stunned audience of guards, cupbearer, and gossip-hungry bystanders.
Clearing his throat with royal grandeur, he declared, "You are pardoned, Aurora. Mistakes can happen."
Aurora dropped into another bow. "Thank you, Your Majesty. I deeply apologize and appreciate the graciousness shown."
With a final amused glance, Aldric turned and resumed his walk, guards falling back in place behind him.
Aurora turned to her stiff maids, who walked with her in shocked silence until one whispered, "My lady… we thought they'd drag you to the tower."
Aurora laughed.
But whispers had already taken flight. By afternoon, the palace halls buzzed.
"She called His Majesty by his name."
"No respect for the crown!"
"Or… maybe he likes it when she does."
In a dimly lit corridor, Selene stood fuming, her jaw clenched so tightly it looked carved from stone.
Virelda, seated by the window sipping wine, only gave a cool nod, her expression unreadable. "Fascinating," was all she said.
-
That night… In the privacy of Aldric's chambers, the two were curled in a nest of velvet and linen, the candlelight flickering soft gold over their shared laughter.
"I thought Kael was going to faint," Aurora giggled, legs tangled in his under the furs.
"I saw him blink twice," Aldric said with a grin. "That is as shocked as he gets."
"And your guards!" she laughed, covering her face. "They must not have believed their ears."
"I should knight you for the drama alone."
Aurora nudged him. "Next time I shall simply curtsy and call you Your Supreme Majesty Aldric the Fearsome, Lord of Cloaks and Reactions."
He kissed her forehead. "Simply do not do it in front of others. I prefer my council meetings without hissing."
They both laughed—two souls tangled not only by fate, but now by whispers, secrets, and joy.
-
Aurora was in her garden when the royal attendant arrived with a formal summons.
"Her Majesty Queen Ava would like to see you in her private solar, my lady."
Aurora dusted off her palms, handed a rosebud to one of her maids, and followed the attendant through the palace halls.
The Queen's solar was a warm chamber bathed in sunlight and scented with citrus and cedar. Queen Ava sat comfortably by the window, sipping from a small porcelain cup.
"Come in, child," Ava said, smiling like she'd been expecting her all morning.
Aurora curtsied politely. "Your Majesty."
"Sit, sit," Ava gestured. "You look….well."
Aurora nodded, unsure where this was heading. The Queen poured a second cup of tea and passed it to her.
There was a moment of silence.
Then Ava asked, in that signature soft-but-deadly voice, "Pray tell… when do you intend to bless me with a grandchild?"
Aurora blinked, the tea cup halfway to her lips.
"I—Mother?" she asked, unsure if she'd heard right.
Queen Ava's expression was warm, yet the eyes behind it gleamed with mischief. "Tell me truly, child. Has His Majesty shown you more than courtesy?"
Aurora nearly choked. She coughed violently, eyes wide with embarrassment, hand flying to her chest. "I… I—Mother—that is…"
"Oh, come now," Ava said with a knowing chuckle, patting Aurora's hand. "You are a woman. Use your charms, your gentleness, your wiles. You must coax him. You two are close, are you not?"
Aurora flushed so red her ears burned. She could only nod quickly, unsure if it was from secondhand shame or secret amusement.
"I shall leave it to you, then," Ava said brightly. "But I expect results—and soon. I have waited long enough to hear little feet running through these halls again."
Aurora stood, still flustered. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good."Ava said, already refilling her cup with tea.
As Aurora walked back toward her wing, she could not help the amused chuckle that escaped her lips.
She sauntered into Aldric's chambers without knocking, finding him alone at his table, poring over reports.
"Mother summoned me today," she said casually.
Aldric looked up, raising a brow. "Oh?"
"She asked when I planned to give her a grandchild."
He blinked. "She what?"
Aurora folded her arms, a sly smile on her lips. "Then she asked whether you have not been touching me."
Aldric burst into laughter, letting the scroll fall upon the table. "That sounds like her. Did she next advise the use of herbs?"
"She bade me employ my… womanly traits," Aurora replied, a faint smile playing on her lips.
"Do you wish for a child?" he asked, his voice softening.
Aurora stepped closer, her smile coy. "I did not speak such words."
She placed her hand on his shoulder, then swung her leg over him and settled into his lap.
Aldric's hands instinctively came to her waist, eyes never leaving hers.
"Should I be attempting to sway you now?" she teased, letting her fingers brush lightly across his chest.
He leaned in. "You would require little effort."
She pressed her lips to his—soft at first, then with a deepening insistence. His hand caught in her hair as she leaned forward, the papers upon his table long forgotten.
Within moments, the table witnessed more than just matters of kingdom.
And somewhere in her solar, Queen Ava likely smiled—well aware that her counsel was bearing fruit.