Chapter Eleven
The palace had not returned to normal since the guard's death.
Fear slithered along the corridors, coiling itself around pillars, whispering behind every door. Even after the blood was scrubbed from the stone and the body removed, everyone knew that something unnatural had occurred—something that could not be explained by steel or poison.
By midmorning, the palace had changed. Guards moved in tight formation, their hands never straying far from weapons. Doors that had once stood open were questioned before being crossed. Servants moved quickly, heads bowed, voices reduced to whispers that vanished the moment anyone approached. Every corner of the palace seemed alive with apprehension.
From my chamber window, I watched the courtyard below harden into something unfamiliar. Where musicians had once gathered beneath lanterns, armed men now stood rigid, eyes sharp, hands resting near their weapons. Even the fountains seemed subdued, their water reflecting an uneasy light.
I did not move immediately. My eyes swept the palace below, memorizing guard rotations, noting who lingered too long at gates, who whispered to whom. Every shadow could be a threat. Every voice could carry suspicion.
Inside my chamber, my confidante waited. Her eyes were sharp, assessing, as she stepped closer, aware that every word might carry danger.
"They have discovered the body," she said softly. "They think it was some curse or enemy act. The palace whispers already—about death, about power, about… you."
I did not flinch. My hands rested in my lap, warmth beneath my skin pulsing faintly, restrained but alive.
"They will search," I said, voice calm. "Every corridor, every chamber. They will look for the source of the power. They will not see me."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "You cannot linger in uncertainty. If they sense anything—any slip—they will act. The king will suspect, the guards will hunt. You must plan carefully."
I smiled faintly, a dangerous edge to it. "I am planning. Always."
We spoke in careful tones, plotting routes, analyzing movements, anticipating every guard rotation. Every window, every corridor, every shadow in the palace had been mapped in my mind. Every flicker of light, every whisper of footfall, was accounted for.
"And the warmth?" she asked quietly, nodding toward my hands.
I flexed my fingers slowly. "It waits. But it listens. The palace does not know what is already awake."
She swallowed, unease apparent. "Do you think you are ready?"
I did not answer. I only let my eyes linger on the distant corridor. Freedom, power, and survival hung in delicate balance. One mistake, one exposure, and everything would collapse.
By midmorning, the council convened. The atmosphere was thick, suffocating, every whisper and glance a thread in the palace's tense web.
Generals argued in low voices. Advisors speculated about intruders and magical attacks. The king listened, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the table. His patience thinned with every unanswered question, every theory that led nowhere.
"I want answers!" one general hissed. "A man dies in our palace, no blade, no poison, no trace—and we are to wait in silence? This is an affront to the crown!"
"The palace is haunted by something we cannot name," another advisor said, eyes darting. "It is power. Wild. Untamed. And it is close."
"The one who wields it must be stopped!" the general snapped. "If the king allows this to continue unchecked—"
"Silence!" the king commanded. His voice cut through the chamber like steel. "We summon the witch. That is our only recourse."
The council fell silent.
Magic was tolerated when distant, ceremonial, controlled. But this was different. This was fear calling for understanding—and the witch's knowledge was the only thing powerful enough to answer it.
I felt the warmth beneath my skin stir. Steady, calm, aware.
She is coming.
Hours passed. The palace prepared as though for siege. Protective symbols were etched into doors and walls, salt scattered across thresholds. Torches burned unnaturally bright, day or night. Servants moved quickly, whispering to one another. The tension was palpable. Every step of the witch's coming felt like a drumbeat in the chest of the palace itself.
Finally, she arrived.
She walked slowly, staff in hand, robes simple, hair silvered. No smoke, no lights, no fanfare—yet the palace seemed to lean toward her, every shadow stretching as if to bow in recognition. She stopped at the center of the chamber, her eyes scanning the council with sharp precision, silencing even the whispers.
"My king," she said, bowing slightly. "Why summon me at this moment?"
The question was deliberate, unsettling. Her eyes did not shift from the king. "I know why you call me," she continued. "Yet still you call. Tell me—what do you hope to find in my answers that you cannot already see?"
The chamber fell silent. No one dared respond.
The king opened his mouth, then closed it. The mistress, hand resting on her belly, stepped forward.
"This palace has been shaken by events we cannot explain," she said, voice smooth, persuasive. "We summoned you because… we need guidance."
The witch smiled faintly, a curl of amusement—or warning—touching her lips.
"Truth comes in many forms," she said. "Some speak plainly. Others speak in shadows. I speak in parables, because the tongue can reveal what the eye cannot yet comprehend. Listen carefully, for only the attentive will understand."
All eyes turned to her. Some leaned forward, eager for clarity.
She raised her staff slightly. "The fire walks where you do not look. The seed sleeps beneath what you think is stone. The palace guards its children, yet one among them stirs with warmth not born of candle or hearth. The crown weighs heavy, but the weight does not decide who carries the light."
A murmur ran through the council.
"The prophecy," she said softly, "has begun to awaken. And yet it is in the building, hidden from sight. Not in chamber, not in cradle, but in the walls where silence hides its steps."
The king's brow furrowed. "Explain! What building? Who—what—"
"Do not ask for more," the witch interrupted, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "The words you seek are not for your ears. Only this you may understand: the power is here, within your walls. The rest remains unseen, untouchable, until it is ready to reveal itself."
The council exchanged frustrated glances. The generals shifted uncomfortably. The king's jaw tightened, hand clenching on the table.
The mistress's eyes gleamed. She stepped forward, voice gentle but firm. "The prophecy is clear enough," she said. "Royal blood awakens with power. That power belongs to the crown, and the crown alone. If any stir of danger arises, it is because the one destined—the child I carry—moves within the design of fate. None other could hold such power. None."
She let her hand rest upon her belly, letting every eye in the room understand her certainty.
The witch's eyes flicked to her briefly but said nothing. She only shook her head.
"The palace is full of whispers," the witch said finally, "yet only those who look beyond the obvious will see the truth. The power walks quietly. It listens. It waits. The seed in the dark will speak in time, and when it does, it will choose its path."
The king's confusion deepened, torn between fear, hope, and the mistress's conviction. "So… the prophecy—this child you claim—this is what the stirring is about?"
"I say only what is written," the mistress insisted, voice unwavering. "The prophecy cannot lie. The child I carry is the destined one. All else is speculation, fear, or falsehood."
Orders followed swiftly. Additional guards were assigned to the mistress. Physicians and advisors surrounded her chambers. The palace bent itself around the future she had claimed.
The witch, escorted from the chamber, paused at the door. Her gaze swept the room one final time, searching, sensing. When her eyes passed in my direction, they did not accuse. They softened ever so slightly, acknowledging the presence of something she could feel but not yet name.
She did not know.
But she sensed me.
And the warmth beneath my skin pulsed gently in response—not wild, not violent, but aware.
That night, the palace slept uneasily. And I sat alone in my chamber, hands glowing faintly, knowing the fire was awake and ready, though unseen.
They believed destiny rested in certainty.
They did not see the fire
the fire already awake.
They did not see me.
Not yet.