Evening had just begun to cast long amber shadows across Velmora when the letter arrived. It bore the crest of Elareth—dark ink stamped onto cracked wax, as if even the seal resented its sender. The courier who delivered it was breathless and dust-worn, but the message he carried was urgent.
Aldric received it in the council chamber, his advisors already dismissed. He read the contents in silence, his features tightening—not in grief, but in quiet calculation. Then, calmly, he turned to the guard at the door.
"Bring in Queen Aurora."
Aurora entered with her usual quiet grace, a soft rustle trailing her steps. Her eyes met his, curious but unreadable.
He handed over the letter "It is from Elareth," he said. "They sent word—your father has passed."
Aurora took the letter, but she did not read it. She merely stared, the seal already enough to ignite old fires in her memory. Her fingers gripped the parchment as if it carried weight heavier than ink.
The silence stretched between them. Aldric watched her closely, waiting.
"He never protected me," she said quietly. "Not once. Not when I was chained, not when I was whipped, not when they dressed me in rags to scrub floors while his banners fluttered above my head. I do not understand why they sent this."
Aldric stepped closer. "Perhaps," he said gently, "they have come to recognize what they failed to protect. Maybe it is an attempt—however late—to allow you to grieve your father."
Aurora gave a small, hollow laugh. "Can Queen Isadora and Evelyn truly recognize their own cruelty?"
She slowly read the contents of the scroll. "They invite me to pay my last respects," she said, her voice edged with bitterness. "It is not out of honor. I know them. They wish to see whether I will come crawling—tattered, forgotten. It would give them joy."
Aldric stepped forward. "So," he said softly, "will you go?"
"I must," she replied. "Not for them. But for me."
-
Velmora stirred before sunrise.
The courtyards echoed with the sound of boots and polished hooves. A full royal convoy had been assembled—over thirty riders in black and steel, their flags bearing the golden sun of Velmora. Two chariots gleamed at the front, followed by supply wagons, valuable items, and servants with gifts prepared for the mourning rites.
Aurora emerged from the palace steps in full ceremonial garb: a deep navy cloak trimmed with silver, her white hair bound in thin braids woven with velvet ribbon. Lira and Faye walked behind her, clothed plainly but with quiet pride.
Aldric waited by the lead chariot, his sword strapped across his back. "Everything you need has been prepared," he said. "Travel safely."
She met his gaze, steady and grateful. "Thank you—for this."
Beside him, Queen Ava stepped forward and fastened a brooch at Aurora's shoulder. "This belonged to my mother. She wore it when returning to lands that tried to forget her. I think it suits you."
Aurora bowed her head. "You honor me. Mother."
Then she turned, stepped into the chariot, and took her place.
From a high tower balcony, Selene watched with arms folded. Her lips pressed tight, eyes narrowed beneath a curtain of curls.
From another side of the palace, Virelda stood shrouded behind sheer drapes. Her gaze followed the convoy as it rolled through the gates—her face unreadable, eyes like stone.
The gates of Velmora opened wide, and they rode forth.
-
Days turned slowly, and soon, the day to return the king to the soil that birthed him drew near. A hush fell over Elareth as black banners fluttered from rooftops and stone spires, each one heavy with mourning—or the illusion of it.
In a quiet corridor far from the polished halls, a whisper reached Miri's ears.
She clutched the hem of her gown and ran, heart pounding against her ribs like a caged bird. She found her lady seated by the tall window, a book resting unopened on her lap, her fingers still and faraway.
"I heard they wrote to Aurora," Miri said, voice low and urgent. "They sent word to Velmora—asked her to come… but I am certain it was not out of kindness. They want to humiliate her, my lady."
A pause.
Iridessa sighed. "Even in death, the king's house chooses cruelty."
Miri's breath caught. "What if she comes, my lady? She would not know… she would not expect it."
"She will walk straight into it," Iridessa whispered, eyes turning to the hills outside. "I have never met her. But if she is who you say she is... I only pray she survives them."
-
A heavy stillness cloaked the courtyard as kings and envoys from neighboring lands arrived. Nobles in black silk and somber robes filled the stone square. Lords stood in clusters, speaking in murmurs, their expressions fixed in formal grief.
The pyre was set—wood stacked beneath the carved platform where the king's body lay, wrapped in layers of white linen and garlands of dried roses and nightshade. No coffin, only earth and flame.
The royal family entered in slow procession.
The queen, draped in black robes sewn with beads of onyx, her crown gleaming against her braided hair. Her son by her side, face drawn in solemn quiet, dressed in the embroidered mantle of heir. The princess glittered still in the folds of her mourning dress, her jewels hidden only slightly by her veil. And between them, Iridessa dressed modestly in black, took her place behind the heir—her face like still water, her eyes distant.
All stood. The rites began. Chants echoed. The fire was drawn closer.
But one kept glancing back, Evelyn.
Her eyes sharp beneath her veil, turned again and again to the back of the crowd. Her lips twitched, her fingers curled tightly in her sleeve. By now, Aurora should be here. She had calculated the days well—if the girl was still alive, she would crawl in by now, broken and ready -to humiliate her.
At the very edge of the courtyard, Miri stood silently, fingers pressed in prayer. Do not come, her heart pleaded. Do not fall into their trap.
Then—just as the torch was raised toward the edge of the wood—
A voice shouted from the back.
"Queen Aurora of Velmora!"
The chant died. Heads turned. Gasps rippled like a wave across the crowd.
She stood framed by the open gate, the sunlight catching on the dark folds of her gown. The dress was simple in cut but regal in fabric, flowing like ink over her figure. A silver belt glinted at her waist. Her skin shimmered golden in the light, smooth and untouched. Hair white as snowfall fell down her back, braided with black lace. Her eyes—piercing, glacial blue—glowed beneath the veil she lifted.
She walked forward. Unhurried. Unshaken.
And bowed.
First to the royal family. Then to the dead king, without a flicker of resentment in her gaze.
Murmurs broke like a dam behind her.
"Is that the slave girl?"
"She was in chains once…"
"Velmora? That cannot be…"
"She is … radiant."
Miri's eyes filled. She had not known what to expect—but not this. Not this quiet strength, this holy defiance wrapped in silk.
Iridessa watched with a soft, steady smile. The trap had failed.
Beside her, Evelyn breath turned ragged. Her eyes reddened. Her hand curled into a fist tight enough to crack stone.
The queen kept still, face smooth with court-trained calm, though the flicker of her lashes betrayed her unease. And the heir—his face gave nothing. He merely watched.
Aurora stepped back. The fire was placed beneath the wood, and the flames rose quickly, devouring linen and flower alike.
The people stood, reverent.
-
The fire had long turned to smoke and embers. The scent of charred flowers still lingered in the air when the guests began retreating to the Grand Hall, eager for wine, warmth, and stories to soften the sting of mourning.
Aurora entered last, flanked by her maids—Faye and Lira—who moved behind her with the quiet grace of trained shadows. Her gown flowed like liquid ink against the marble floors, and her presence drew the chamber's pulse toward her. Every gaze was pulled in her direction, she dazzled.
From kings cloaked in wolf-fur to lords draped in mourning gold, all came toward her—offering hands, bowing heads, speaking in low voices of potential alliances. Many mentioned Aldric by name, hopeful smiles tugging at their mouths.
"If you would speak to him, Your Majesty," one prince murmured, "I believe Velmora would listen."
"My kingdom would be pleased to win the favor of His Majesty Aldric," another said. "If you speak well of us, I am certain he will be swayed."
Aurora gave only the softest nods, her tone gracious, but distant. She had already caught sight of someone earlier—someone she had not seen since—Miri.
Just before the rites, she'd seen her slip through the crowd like a shadow at dusk. She had been standing beside a veiled lady, delicate and unfamiliar, and then disappeared.
Aurora thought of going after her. She remembered every hallway, every servant path that looped behind the halls. But then she paused. Let the palace come to me, she thought. Not the other way around.
So she stayed where she was.
Faye and Lira lingered at her shoulders, their eyes constantly moving, reading the chamber. Behind their subtle smiles was sharp vigilance. They knew the terrain was not friendly.
Across the chamber, Eve was watching. Watching with the rage of a wolf denied prey. Her stare burned into Aurora's every movement. But now—now that the attention had shifted fully—she could not take it.
One by one, the guests who once fawned over her began crossing the hall toward Aurora. Words of admiration once hers now belonged to another. She could feel it—her throne of influence slipping.
Her jaw clenched. Her hands trembled. Then she turned abruptly and stormed from the hall.
Isadora saw it. She had noticed Eve's growing agitation but said nothing. Though her heart burned with equal resentment, she remained still. Composed. For the guests.
Magnus, meanwhile, stood silent among the nobles, but his gaze was not on Aurora, nor the shifting tides of power. His eyes kept darting around the crowd, scanning faces. He was looking for one person.
Iridessa.
But Iridessa was no longer among them.
Hours earlier, before the rites even ended, she had quietly retreated to her chambers, her limbs heavy, her head pounding with a quiet ache she could not name. Miri had gone with her.
The two now sat in the quiet of the bedchamber, Iridessa resting against silk cushions, Miri perched at the edge of the bed with flushed cheeks and dancing eyes.
"She was radiant," Miri whispered, recalling Aurora's entrance for the tenth time. "My lady—Evelyn clenched her fist so hard, her rings must have dug into her palm."
Iridessa laughed softly, her breath catching in delight. "Good."
"She looked nothing like what they expected," Miri continued, face glowing. "No scars, no chains, no rags. She walked like a queen born, my lady."
"She is," Iridessa said, "and beautiful, just as you described."
Then the door slammed open.
Magnus stormed in, eyes ablaze. "Why are you not by my side?"
Miri sprang to her feet, head bowed low, heart pounding in her chest.
Iridessa rose more slowly, her face calm despite the pain. "I was unwell," she said. "I needed rest."
But Magnus was not listening. In three long strides, he was beside her, his hand seizing her wrist.
"You will not shame me before kings," he snapped, dragging her toward the door.
"Magnus please—"
"You will stand by me. Now."
And just so, he drew her out. Miri followed swiftly.
Aurora had moved from the center of the hall by now, stepping toward a quieter corner, her hands folded before her. And there—she saw her again.
Miri.
She was behind the same lady, the one Aurora had glimpsed at the funeral, standing beside Magnus with an unreadable expression. Aurora tilted her head slightly. His wife? she wondered.
She did not move closer. But she did not look away either.
Their eyes met across the hall. And both of them smiled.
It was small. Silent. But full of the memories.
-
Later, when the guests had begun to disperse, Aurora slipped out of the great hall. She led Faye and Lira through the castle's old wings—the ones that did not glitter with marble or firelight.
She walked slowly, pointing out the places she once belonged to.
"There," she said softly, "is where I used to scrub dung off boots."
"That stable was where I slept one winter."
"That corridor—my punishment corner."
Faye and Lira followed in silence, eyes wide. They knew their lady had suffered before, but never knew it was this cruel.
As she passed the rows of silent servants, each one paused. They bowed instinctively; none dared meet her gaze—not now, not after what they had witnessed.
-
In Evelyn chambers, envy festered.
She lay curled up on her bed, crown tossed aside, tears staining her pillow—not from grief, but fury.
"It should have been me," she spat. "I should have gone to Velmora. I should have been queen."
Isadora stood at the window, her posture tight. "No one knew she would survive."
"But I said it," Eve snapped, sitting up. "I said, what if the Velmoran king falls for her? And you—you said he would not. You said he could not."
Silence.
Evelyn turned toward her mother, eyes glistening. "Look now. She is blooming. She is ruling. Kings are kissing up to her like she is gold."
Isadora's jaw clenched. "That slave-born girl dares rise…"
-
When Aurora and her maids finally returned to the emptying hall, the torches had dimmed and the laughter had died.
But one presence still lingered. Miri.
Aurora's steps quickened. She saw Iridessa beside her. And without hesitation, she called out.
"Miri."
Miri turned. Her breath hitched.
She ran into Aurora's arms, sobbing openly.
"You did not die," she whispered. "You did not die."
Aurora held her close. "Neither did you."
They stood for a moment—past and present meeting in silence. Then Miri wiped her eyes and turned, pride shining in her gaze.
"Aurora," she said, "this is my lady, Iridessa, Prince Magnus's wife. She is kind… she took me in as her personal handmaiden."
Aurora's eyes widened slightly. "Really."
Iridessa nodded gently. "And you… are everything I hoped to see."
Aurora smiled and stepped forward. "Then allow me to thank you. For keeping her safe."
"I did little," Iridessa said humbly. "Miri did more for me than I for her."
Faye and Lira approached quietly, and Iridessa gave a nod of respect.
"These are my maids," Aurora said warmly. "Faye, Lira—meet Miri and Princess Iridessa."
They bowed.
And together, they retreated to Iridessa's chambers.
There, the fire was warm and the curtains drawn. They sat on soft cushions, Miri between them, speaking in hushed tones of what had passed.
Aurora listened closely, then shared stories of Velmora too.
The night grew late.
And in that chamber, friendship, loyalty, and the echo of old hope rose once more.