Aelira woke with the taste of iron at the back of her throat.
The room was quiet—too quiet. No early footsteps. No distant bells. Even the shadows lay flat and obedient along the corners of the ceiling, as if pretending they had never moved at all.
She sat up slowly.
Pain answered, dull and deep beneath her ribs. Not enough to stop her. Enough to remind her.
Last night wasn't nothing.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and froze.
A thin silver thread glimmered faintly across the floor, stretching from the doorframe to the window—delicate, almost beautiful.
A ward.
New.
Her fingers tightened in the sheets.
So the palace had felt it.
Mara entered minutes later, eyes wide, movements careful. "Your Highness… there are inspectors in the east wing. Royal mages."
Aelira kept her voice even. "For maintenance?"
Mara shook her head. "For assessment."
Assessment was worse.
"They're placing wards," Mara whispered. "Strong ones."
Aelira nodded once. "Thank you. That will be all."
When the door closed, she exhaled slowly.
Kael had warned her.
Silence is preparation.
The summons came at noon.
Not from the queen.
From the Council of Wards.
The parchment was formal, impersonal, stamped with authority older than the throne itself.
Attendance required.
Aelira dressed carefully again—simple lines, muted color, nothing that invited attention. The ring settled coolly against her finger, muffling the hum beneath her skin.
As she stepped into the corridor, she felt it.
Pressure.
Kael stood at the far end, arms crossed, gaze sharp.
"They felt it," he said quietly as she approached.
"Yes."
"You pushed too far."
She met his eyes. "I stopped in time."
He didn't argue. "Next time, you don't get a next."
They walked together—public distance maintained, private understanding intact.
The ward chamber was circular and cold, stone etched with symbols that crawled if one stared too long. Three senior mages waited within, robes heavy with authority.
Princess Aelira stood alone at the center.
"Last night," one of them said, voice echoing, "a surge was recorded. Minor, but… irregular."
Aelira inclined her head. "I was asleep."
Another mage studied her ring. "You wear a dampening focus."
"By recommendation," Aelira replied. "For my health."
The mages exchanged glances.
"Wise," the third said. "We will be monitoring you."
Aelira smiled politely. "Of course."
Monitoring was a cage made of courtesy.
That evening, Kael found her where he shouldn't have—on the narrow balcony outside her chambers, the city lights flickering far below.
"They're narrowing the net," he said.
"Yes."
"They'll provoke you," he continued. "Fear. Stress. Isolation."
Aelira rested her hands on the railing. "Then they'll be disappointed."
Kael watched her profile, the calm set of her shoulders. "You can't anchor to me again."
"I know."
"If it happens—" He stopped.
"If it happens," she said softly, "I'll fall back. Not forward."
He nodded once.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Aelira added, almost casually, "But if they force my hand—"
Kael's voice was steady. "Then I'll clear the room."
She smiled faintly. "I thought you didn't like improvisation."
"I don't," he replied. "I like outcomes."
Above them, unseen, a window shuttered softly.
Queen Seraphine watched the balcony from the darkness of her solar, fingers tapping once against the glass.
"So," she murmured, "you felt it too."
Her smile was slow. Calculated.
"Good."
Because the next move would not test Aelira's power.
It would test her heart.