After what feels like an eternity, the throne room doors groan open at last.
The Grand Chamberlain steps out, stiff as protocol, and gestures for us to follow.
Behind us, I can feel the Captain's eyes—sharp, suspicious, unblinking.
We were right: King Ciallmhar and Queen Bànrion are anything but calm.
Aileen walks forward.
Stops before the twin thrones.
Bows.
We fall in beside her, mirroring the gesture.
"Your Majesties…" she begins.
The Queen answers first, her voice tight, her eyes shimmering.
Even before she speaks, it's clear—our presence is the last thing she wanted.
"What brings you here, Princess?"
Aileen waits a moment.
Almost… studying her.
"You seem troubled, Your Majesty. We saw the black banner. Has something happened?"
The Queen breaks.
Just—breaks.
Not a royal tear slipping down a composed face.
No.
Full, shaking sobs.
Something truly devastating must've happened.
"M–my daughter… my little girl…"
All right.
A child is involved.
We need to understand what's going on.
"Please, Your Majesty," I say gently. "Try to breathe. Tell us what happened. If we can help you, we will."
She and the King exchange a look—half doubt, half hope.
Then the King speaks.
"Yesterday was our daughter Majory's birthday. She was playing in the amateur Pallafiocco tournament with her friends. Her team won. They were laughing, celebrating… everything was normal. And then—during the refreshments—she vanished."
He swallows hard before continuing.
"At first we thought she'd wandered off with her friends. But the guards hadn't seen any of them. We searched all evening… and late at night I found a Pallafiocco lying outside the old underground entrance. I feared they'd gone inside and gotten lost. Those dungeons… they're a labyrinth. I never wanted her near them. But then—"
The Queen trembles.
There's more. Something worse.
"The entrance is gone!" she suddenly cries, voice cracking. "It vanished! The prophecy has started—there is no other explanation! My child, my child…"
She turns on her husband with a gaze sharp enough to cut stone.
"Why did you insist on that name? Why?!"
The King, ashamed and helpless, pulls her close.
Then he looks at us.
"Can you help us?"
I glance at Aileen. Then at Grogher.
Both nod.
We're all thinking the same thing.
Aileen steps forward.
"Before anything else… you should know why we've come. Perhaps our missions intertwine."
The royals straighten, alert.
"We're listening."
Aileen tells them everything—from the beginning to the purpose of our journey.
Shock widens their eyes.
"The Seven Secrets… we haven't heard those words in ages," the Queen whispers.
The King leans in, the questions already burning.
"How could such a disaster happen? Who was that knight? From what kingdom? In centuries, no one has dared attack yours, Aileen. You must know the legend—destroying the Pergamena is madness!"
Everyone knows, apparently.
Everyone except me.
"But that's exactly what happened," I blurt, unable to hold it in. "And rebuilding it is our only hope."
Aileen follows up smoothly.
"It may sound like a harsh exchange but… if we find your daughter and bring her back safely, will you grant us your Secret?"
Good move.
Perfect timing.
The King and Queen share another look—this one steadier.
"We will."
"Then we'll need the full prophecy," Aileen says. "Every detail."
The Queen gestures.
A servant approaches with a massive ancient tome.
The King flips through it and hands it to Aileen, finger marking a page.
"Thank you. We'll return it soon."
"Thank you for coming," the Queen says, dismissing us. "You may go."
Not so fast.
"Wait. Not so frrrast."
Good, Grogher.
I would've said the same.
The royals—and Aileen—stare at him.
"Can we trrruly trust your worrrd?"
The King stiffens.
"Of course you can!" he snaps.
Sure.
Like that's ever been true with gnomes.
"We're pleased to hear it," I say calmly.
And I summon a glowing parchment, letters traced in molten gold.
"Then signing this won't be a problem, right? Just a precaution. Once your signatures are on it, you cannot go back on your promise… or your princess returns to exactly where she is now."
I keep my tone sharp.
They must understand: we are not here to be fooled.
Aileen looks at me like she barely recognizes me.
She'll understand later.
Just—please—don't contradict me now.
…
She doesn't.
Good.
Silence thickens in the room.
…
Finally, the Queen lifts her hand—shaking—and her signature blooms on the parchment.
One down.
"Your turn, King Ciallmhar," I say evenly. "We're not leaving without both signatures."
Beside me, Grogher looks ready to cave his skull in with a single swing.
Sign, King.
It's your best option.
…
Why do gnomes move at the speed of moss growing…?
At last, the King signs.
"That will do."
Grogher and I bow and step back.
Aileen bows too—flustered, but following our lead.
The Captain returns and escorts us out toward the stables.
-----
Once we've retrieved the animals, the Captain leaves us alone.
Only then does the tension drop from my shoulders—and the questions rush back in.
"So… the Magic Bond. Why?" I look at Dorcha and Grogher. "Was it really necessary?"
Dorcha meets my eyes like he knew this was coming.
"We know gnomes a little too well," he says. "Mountain gnomes negotiate with my stepfather all the time. They cling to their riches. They bargain. They lie. These here aren't the same, true… but they're still gnomes. Did you see that castle? When they smell gold or power, they become dangerous. A kingdom's Secret is priceless—maybe the most valuable thing they own. We couldn't take risks."
"So you're telling me that even if we rescued Majory, they might've gone back on their word and refused to give us the Secret?"
"Exactly. Or stalled us. Or trapped us in another 'trial.' And another. And another. For leverage… or entertainment. Now they can't."
"You're amazing!" I burst out.
Raertha must feel my excitement, because my fingers tug his mane a little too sharply.
He snorts, rears, and bolts straight toward a clearing he'd clearly had his eye on.
Behind me, Dorcha and Grogher shout my name—alarm, panic, the whole package.
Knees!
Hold on or I'm done for.
A laugh escapes me.
Honestly, he and I aren't that different.
Raertha stops, perfectly pleased with himself, and lowers his head to graze.
We've landed in a gorgeous clearing—a round pond scattered with lily pads, a massive cherry tree leaning over the water, soft pink blossoms drifting down like feathers.
I turn.
There they are—my two knights—charging toward us on Hercules and Sidae as if riding into battle.
"Aileen!"
They don't even realize I'm already on the ground.
I can't help it.
The moment they reach me, I burst into laughter.
"What did you think happened? Raertha just needed to stretch his legs!"
They exchange a look—half worried, half irritated, half relieved.
(Yes, that's three halves. With them, it fits.)
I know I'm reckless.
But maybe that's part of why they care.
I settle under the cherry tree and pull out the tome.
"Ready?"
"Go on," they say, already focused.
I clear my throat and dive in.
When I reach the part about the witch Fheall, Dorcha stops me.
"You think she's the same Fheall Aeltiàfisar mentioned?"
"I wondered that too. It's possible…"
"More than possible," Grogher rumbles. "It says here she was feared above all in the Two-Rainbow Kingdom: General Fheall Mcotgan, the mightiest witch. The Master described her as a Gnoma and a war commander—too much of a coincidence."
Dorcha nods.
"And the Master's friend is the only Fheall recorded in history with that reputation. It has to be her."
If that's true—
"Then we just need to find her, bring greetings from the Elves, and ask her to break the curse!"
Grogher shakes his head.
"It won't be that simple. This spell is rare. Only the cursed can break it."
Dorcha grows thoughtful.
"There is one other witch powerful enough to counter it… but asking her is impossible."
"The Queen of the Orcs?" I ask.
He shakes his head.
Impossible… but stronger than Urchoicha?
"Teallach," he murmurs. "The dark fairy. Even my stepmother fears her."
My breath catches.
Someone like that actually exists?
Dorcha takes my hand—steady, grounding—and lays out the truth.
"If the curse can't be reversed, Majory has only one way out: she must kill the boy she loves."
Absolutely not.
"That's insane! But—what if she isn't even in love?" I protest, heat rising in my chest.
"Then she will wander the tunnels until death takes herrr," Grogher replies.
"And her friends too? All of them? No. No, there has to be another way!"
Anger sparks through me.
Why must they always sound so cold when things get hard?
Dorcha's voice softens—painfully calm.
"There isn't, Aileen. Not one that Grogher or I know. Our best chance is speaking with Witch Fheall. She's the only one who might know another path."
"She won't help us! She cast the curse—why would she undo it?"
Grogher cuts in, tone like a blade:
"Have you another idea?"
I falter.
"…No."
"Then we go to her."
"But where do we even find her?"
Dorcha already has the answer.
"She's the oldest, most powerful witch in this kingdom. Someone will know her whereabouts. We'll start at the nearest village and ask."
I hesitate.
All the certainty I had earlier is gone.
Even Grogher looks unsure now.
Dorcha, however, remains a rock.
He swings onto Hercules, takes the reins, and looks back at us.
"Come on. Mount up."
I climb onto Raertha.
Grogher onto Sidae.
Dorcha rides ahead—and once again, we follow.