The gates of Velmora loomed beneath the mid-morning sun, golden pennants rippling as bells rang—a welcome reserved for royalty. Aurora's carriage slowed, soldiers falling into formation.
Captain Darion bowed. "Welcome home, Your Majesty."
Home. The word warmed her as she made her way to Queen Ava's chamber.
The receiving chamber glowed with light and jasmine. Queen Ava rose as Aurora entered.
Aurora crossed the marble floor and sank into a deep curtsy. "Mother," she said softly. "I have returned."
Ava's eyes traced her from head to toe. "So I see. And whole." She took Aurora's hands, holding them a heartbeat longer than courtesy required. "You have been gone longer than I wished."
Aurora's lips curved faintly. "And yet you watched over me from afar. I am grateful, Mother—for your care."
The Queen's gaze lingered, searching her face. "We will speak of Elareth later. For now, let the palace see that its Queen has returned."
Aurora inclined her head. "As you wish."
Ava released her hands but did not step back, and in that closeness lay an unspoken understanding.
-
The corridors of the eastern wing breathed her name before she reached her doors. When Aurora stepped into her chambers, a dozen heads lifted at once—lamplight catching on hairpins and silver trays as her maids surged forward in a rustle of skirts.
"My lady!"
"You have returned—"
"The palace was too quiet without you—"
The older maid reached her first, hands clasped, eyes bright.
"We longed for you," she said, voice thick with relief. "We tended your garden every morning, my lady. But the roses sulked. They have been waiting for you."
Aurora's laughter came soft and clean, like water shifting over stone. "Then we will go to them after sundown. But first—draw a bath. I must greet His Majesty."
At once they scattered: copper kettle to the brazier, oils uncorked—orange blossom, sandalwood—steam coiling through the bathing room as warm water spilled into the marble tub. A linen screen was unfolded, towels warmed, footwear set.
They undressed her with practiced care, lifting the dust of travel from her skin and hair. Fingers moved through her pale strands, combing them until they gleamed; a simple comb of mother-of-pearl slid into place. They dressed her in a dove-grey gown with a narrow belt and sheer sleeves, a choice that whispered, I have arrived, but I am not here to dazzle. A final veil of perfume misted over her wrists and throat.
Faye stepped back to admire their work. "Perfect."
Aurora laughed, then she slipped out, the door closing softly behind her.
Inside, the chamber burst into excited murmurs. Faye and Lira began telling every detail of what had happened in Elareth to the others.
Their laughter was bright and quick, like sparks from the brazier.
-
Across the palace, in the king's work chamber, Aldric stood over a low table scattered with maps and a half-finished dispatch. The windows stood open to a square of afternoon light; the scent of sun-warmed stone drifted in. Commander Kael waited a respectful pace away, helm tucked under his arm.
"For days," Kael said, voice carefully neutral, "Your Majesty's smiles have been rationed like winter grain." A faint, almost daring pause. "It is…good to see them return."
Aldric's mouth curved despite himself. "Impertinent."
"Polite observation, sire."
"Mm." He tapped the edge of a seal against the table, eyes not quite on the map anymore. "You are relieved by it?"
"I am," Kael answered simply. "The garrison sleeps lighter when Your Majesty's shoulders are not carrying the whole mountain alone."
Aldric breathed out, a sound close to a laugh. Before he could answer, a knock sounded—soft, then firmer.
A guard's voice from the hall: "Your Majesty—Her Highness seeks audience."
Aldric did not hide the way his expression lifted. "Admit her."
Kael glanced toward the door. "I will see myself out." With a ghost of a smile, he added, "A polite observation—I will be unavailable for the next hour." He slipped through the opening doors and vanished.
Aurora entered, the light behind her making a pale halo of her hair. She paused only long enough to incline her head.
"Your Majesty."
"Aurora," he said, already crossing the space between them.
They met in the center of the room, and the first touch became an embrace—close, sure, all the long days compressed into a single breath. She felt the steadiness of him; he felt the soft drum of her heart. Neither spoke for a few beats. There was nothing to explain about absence.
When they parted, his hands remained at her waist, as if the world might try to take her back. "You are home."
"I am." Her eyes searched his face. "And you smile again."
"For cause enough." His thumb traced a gentle line at her hip. "Tell me everything about your journey."
They settled near the open window. A servant arrived bearing a tray—spiced lamb cut thin, herbed rice, flatbread still warm, olives, and chilled pomegranate sherbet misting the glass. Wine was poured. Aldric dismissed the boy with a nod, and the chamber fell still.
Aurora set the tale before him, piece by careful piece, as one might lay stones upon a board.
"Aurum and ash," Aldric murmured when she was done. "They summoned you to be scorned, and instead were made small." There was no triumph in his voice—only measure, and a quiet thread of pride.
"How fare things here?" Aurora asked.
"Here," he replied evenly, "the palace held its breath and kept its composure. Little has changed." He lifted a piece of lamb and set it upon her plate. "Eat."
They shared the meal with the easy familiarity of those who knew each other's rhythms.
-
The long table in the royal breakfast hall gleamed under the filtered light streaming through high arched windows. Silver goblets caught the morning sun, and the scent of honeyed bread and spiced tea hung warm in the air. Servants moved silently, laying out fresh fruit, roasted meats, and delicate pastries dusted with sugar.
Aurora was already seated near the head of the table, in the place of honor beside the empty chair reserved for His Majesty. She wore a pale blue gown, her white hair falling freely over her shoulders.
Selene entered first, the rustle of her crimson silk gown breaking the hush. She smiled—sweetly on the surface, but her gaze lingered just a heartbeat too long on Aurora.
"Ah, you are up early, Aurora," Selene said, gliding into her seat across the table. "I trust Velmora's beds were kinder to you than Elareth's?"
Aurora offered a polite smile. "Velmora is home, my lady. It is always kinder."
Selene's lips tightened ever so slightly before she reached for a goblet of water.
The soft chime of bracelets preceded Queen Virelda's arrival. She came in with her head high, the golden embroidery of her gown glinting in the morning light. Her maids trailed behind, carrying an air of quiet superiority. She took her place opposite Aurora, one seat down, arranging her skirts with deliberate care.
"My, how the palace hums since your return, Aurora," Virelda said smoothly, lifting a spoon of honey to her tea.
Aurora met her gaze without flinching. "I shall take that as a compliment, my lady."
"Compliment," Virelda repeated, stirring her tea slowly. Her tone remained neutral, but the flicker in her eyes betrayed more.
A servant poured fresh juice for Aurora. The clink of glassware was the only sound for a few moments, until Selene spoke again, a little too lightly.
"While you were away, we did our best to assist His Majesty with his affairs. The palace must run smoothly, after all."
"Indeed," Virelda added, pride lacing her voice. "Some of us even took up work at his side. His Majesty values such dedication."
Aurora's smile did not waver, though her hands remained folded neatly in her lap. "Then Velmora was well cared for in my absence. That gladdens me."
The reply was calm—so calm that it robbed both queens of an easy opening to press further.
Just then, the heavy doors opened, and His Majesty entered, dressed in dark blue, a faint trace of a smile on his face when his eyes found Aurora. The subtle shift in the room was unmistakable—Selene's posture stiffened, Virelda's fingers tightened around her cup, and Aurora simply inclined her head, welcoming him.
"Your Majesty," they chorused in greeting, bowing their heads.
Aldric sat, and at once servants filled his plate. He glanced at the spread before them. "It seems the kitchen has outdone itself this morning."
"Perhaps the cooks were inspired," Virelda said smoothly, "by certain… returns to the palace."
Aurora felt his gaze linger on her before he replied, "Perhaps."
The conversation shifted briefly to minor court matters, but the undercurrent never faded. Selene asked Aldric if he had read the proposal she sent last week. Virelda subtly mentioned the scroll she had helped him complete in Aurora's absence. Each remark was a reminder of their efforts to be noticed.
Aurora listened, speaking only when addressed, her calm presence a quiet contrast to the calculated sweetness in the others' tones. Still, whenever Aldric's eyes found hers, there was a small, knowing curve at his lips that neither Selene nor Virelda could mistake.
By the time the meal ended, the air between them was heavier than the rich scent of honeyed figs. The queens rose together, offering graceful farewells, but each left with a different weight in her chest—Selene's edged with irritation, Virelda's tight with defeat, and Aurora's steady, unshaken.
Selene's chamber...
Silk swatches lay forgotten on the couch, half spilling to the floor. Selene paced, her skirts swishing furiously with every turn.
"Did you see it?" she demanded of her two ladies-in-waiting, her voice rising. "The way His Majesty looked at her? As if the rest of us were invisible—"
Her servant tried to speak, but Selene cut her off, flinging a hand toward the door as if warding off some unseen insult.
"And she sat there, hair shining like moonlight, spoke half a dozen words, and suddenly the whole table bends toward her! What is she—what spell does she wield?"
One of the ladies murmured, "Perhaps it was simply fondness."
"Fondness?" Selene scoffed so loudly it startled the other woman. "Fondness is for pets. That was no fondness—that was possession. His Majesty has claimed her, and he does not even bother to hide it."
She seized a silk scarf from the couch, twisting it in her hands until the fabric wrinkled. Her eyes burned red with fury.
Virelda's chamber....
The ink on her desk was still drying from the letter she had abandoned after the meal. Virelda sat perfectly still, staring at it. Her maid hovered nearby, uncertain whether to speak.
She leaned back in her chair, fingers brushing the rim of her wine cup. "I have given him my counsel, my time… I have stood beside him in matters of the realm when she was absent. He rewarded me with gold, with gratitude. And yet—one glance at her, and all of that is… gone."
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint scratching of quill on parchment somewhere down the hall.
Virelda's voice dropped to a whisper, sharp with bitter truth. "There is no path into his heart now. She has barred it to all others… without so much as lifting a hand."
She sighed heavily.
-
The garden was still, the air sweet with the faint scent of late-blooming lilies. Aurora sat on the stone bench beside the small fountain, her fingertips trailing idly through the cool water. The soft hum of bees and the whisper of leaves above her were the only sounds—calm, soothing, untouched by the noise of the palace.
She closed her eyes, breathing in the quiet.
Then—
A sharp, distant shout split the air.
Aurora's head snapped toward the sound. Footsteps pounded against the gravel path, and a young maid burst into view, skirts bunched in her fists, face pale.
"Your Majesty—" the girl gasped, bent over, clutching her side.
Aurora rose at once. "What happened?"
The maid swallowed hard. "His Majesty—he collapsed in the council chamber… he—" Her voice trembled. "He was vomiting blood. They have taken him to his chamber."
The words struck like ice through Aurora's chest.
She did not think. She did not breathe. She ran. Her footwear scraped against the stone, skirts tangling at her ankles as she hurtled down the corridors. Servants and guards flattened themselves against the walls as she passed.
By the time she reached the royal wing, the air was thick with tension. The doors to the King's chamber stood open, soldiers stationed outside. Lords clustered in the hallway, speaking in low, urgent tones.
Inside—
Queen Selene was already there, her face streaked with tears, clutching the bedpost as if it were the only thing keeping her standing. Queen Virelda stood farther back, silent, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had whitened.
On the bed lay His Majesty. Aldric's face was pale, a sheen of sweat dampening his brow. The royal physician knelt beside him, murmuring instructions to his assistants as they mixed remedies.
Aurora stopped in the doorway, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her legs weakened beneath her, and she sank to her knees, unable to move any closer. Her heart hammered so violently it felt as though it might break through her ribs.
A sudden rush of movement—Queen Ava swept in, her expression sharp with fear. She went straight to the bed, took her son's hand between both of hers, and pressed her forehead to it.
Aurora's throat tightened painfully. Tears welled, blurring her vision. The chamber seemed to fade into a haze of voices and movement, but all she could see was him—still, fragile, so unlike the man who had held her just the night before.
A single tear slid down her cheek.
-
Far from the gilded towers of Velmora, deep within the hollow heart of the Blackwood, a circle of flames flickered against the shadows. The trees stood like silent sentinels, their twisted branches curling inward as though to listen.
Seven hooded figures gathered around the fire, their laughter low and sharp, like knives scraping against stone. The air reeked of burnt herbs and something older—something foul.
One of the witches tossed a handful of black powder into the flames. The fire hissed, flaring green for a heartbeat before settling back into its bloody glow.
"He fell," one crooned, voice dripping with malice. "The mighty king of Velmora brought to his knees before his council, choking on his own blood."
Another chuckled, tracing lazy circles in the air with her clawed finger. "And the palace runs in panic like ants whose hill has been crushed."
Their leader stepped forward—her eyes glinting silver in the firelight. Her smile was slow, cruel.
"Let them call their healers. Let them pray to heaven." She spread her arms, the firelight catching the curve of her wicked grin. "Even his white-haired witch-Queen will fail him. Never will she undo what we have done."
A ripple of laughter rolled through the circle.
"For this is no common poison," the leader continued, her voice rising with pride. "It is death in its purest form, brewed from the root that drinks the lifeblood of the earth. A killing poison—no cure, no mercy."
The witches began to chant, their voices weaving together in a sound that seemed to make the very ground tremble. Overhead, the moon slid behind a veil of black clouds.
And in the fire's heart, the flames twisted, shaping themselves into the image of a crown—before it crumbled into ash.