The morning sunlight crept through the tall windows of Aveloria's chamber, spilling soft gold light across the floor. The air smelled of lavender oil. The maids were already at work before she was fully awake, pulling open wardrobes, shaking out gowns, and holding up fabrics for her approval.
Aveloria sat quietly before her mirror, her hair half braided, watching her reflection more than the fluttering chaos around her. Her eyes looked tired. The dinner days ago had left her restless, with the arguing and the tension, Lucien's quiet warning. The kingdom felt different now, heavier somehow.
"My lady," said one of the maids, holding a pale green gown trimmed with pearls. "His Majesty requested your presence by the third bell. This would look fitting for the council gathering."
Aveloria nodded absently. "That's fine."
They moved quickly to prepare it, helping her into the gown's under-layers when the chamber doors opened without warning.
Rowena stepped inside. The maids froze. She was dressed in soft pink satin, her hair arranged in perfect waves that framed her smiling face. "Oh, I hope I'm not intruding," she said sweetly. "Father said the council meeting is today. I want to help my sister prepare."
Aveloria turned in her chair. "You didn't need to."
"I wanted to," Rowena said, walking closer. "You always seem so distant during mornings like this. We could spend a little time together. It's been so long."
The maids glanced between them, uncertain. Aveloria gestured lightly. "You may leave for now."
They hesitated, then curtsied and slipped out.
When the door shut, Rowena's smile widened. "You always make them nervous."
"I don't mean to," Aveloria said. "They just…work better when no one's watching."
Rowena walked to the bed where the chosen gown lay spread. She picked up the green fabric, running her fingers along the pearls, then wrinkled her nose. "This? Really? You'll look like a winter ghost."
Aveloria frowned. "It's fine. The color is—"
"Boring," Rowena interrupted, tossing it aside carelessly. "You need something that reminds them who you are. Something alive."
She went to the wardrobe and dug through the gowns until she pulled out a dark red one, bold, embroidered with gold threads that sparkle a lot. She held it up to Aveloria's frame. "This one. It's stronger. More fitting for an heiress."
Aveloria looked at her reflection again. The color did stand out, but it also screamed for attention, something she didn't want today.
Still, she didn't argue. "If you think so."
Rowena smiled, clearly pleased. "Let me help you."
She moved behind her, unfastening the ribbons of Aveloria's nightdress with delicate fingers. The touch felt invasive. Rowena hummed softly while she worked, a tune Aveloria couldn't place.
"You must feel so overwhelmed," Rowena said casually. "All those suitors…or should I say mates? It must be hard knowing everyone's watching your every move."
Aveloria's stomach tightened. "It's part of the role."
Rowena tilted her head, feigning innocence. "But still…four mates? I can't even imagine. Do you really plan to accept them all?"
"That's not your concern," Aveloria replied calmly.
Rowena's tone turned lighter, almost teasing. "Oh, I'm only curious; everyone in the palace talks about it. The council thinks it's dangerous, the servants whisper that it's fate. But you…you haven't said anything. Not even to Father."
Aveloria met her gaze in the mirror. "Because it's not for anyone else to decide."
Rowena pretended to adjust the gown's strap. "So, you have decided?"
"I didn't say that."
Rowena faked a smile. "You're cautious. I admire that. But you'll have to make a choice sooner or later. I mean, if it were me…" She let her words trail, then added softly, "I'd probably reject them all. Or pick one. The strongest one. The others would be too much trouble."
Aveloria kept her expression steady. "Is that your advice?"
"Of course," Rowena said sweetly. "If you reject them all, no one can claim you. You'd be free to rule as you please."
Aveloria turned to face her fully. "And you think that would make everyone happy?"
Rowena shrugged lightly. "Happiness isn't the point, sister. Power is."
The word hung between them. Aveloria studied her for a moment; her tone's warmth didn't match the sharp glint in her eyes.
"Thank you for helping," Aveloria said, stepping back. "But I can manage from here."
Rowena blinked in mock offense. "Oh, come now. Don't be cold. I only wanted to help."
Aveloria gave her a small smile. "You have. I'll see you at the meeting."
Rowena's lips tightened just slightly before she smiled again. "Of course."
She followed Aveloria toward the door. But as they stepped into the hallway, Marek appeared, leaning casually by the entrance, his hair tied back, dressed in his usual mix of arrogance and charm. He grinned the moment he saw her.
"Your Highness," he greeted, holding up a small chest. "A token of apology for the other night. I thought these might please you."
He opened it just enough for her to see the glint of jewels, sapphires, rubies, and gold trimmings. Beautiful things that reminded her too much of the last time he'd given her gifts right before his betrayal.
The air seemed to thin. Her throat tightened.
Rowena gasped softly. "They're beautiful." She stepped closer to Marek, smiling up at him. "You must have gone through a lot to find pieces like these."
Marek's smile stayed fixed on Aveloria. "Only the best for her."
Aveloria forced a polite nod. "They're lovely. But I have a meeting with my father."
"I'll walk you," Marek offered quickly.
"That won't be necessary." Her voice came out colder than she intended. "The king doesn't like delays."
Rowena touched Marek's arm lightly. "I could keep you company while she's away," she offered. "You shouldn't waste such effort waiting outside."
Marek's polite smile turned sharp. "No, thank you."
A flicker of irritation crossed Rowena's face before she quickly masked it with another smile.
Aveloria could feel the bond's pull beneath her skin, that maddening heat that came whenever Marek was near. It took every ounce of restraint not to let it show. She looked past him, forcing her focus on the hallway ahead.
"If you'll excuse me," she said softly, and walked away without another glance.
She didn't look back, even when she could feel his eyes burning into her.
****************
Outside the palace walls, somewhere deep into the forest, a glow flickered between the trees in the thick heart of the forest.
Eirene moved slowly through the darkness, her cloak dragging across damp earth. Her lantern's light was weak, casting her face in uneven shadows. She didn't look like the elegant queen she presented by day. Her skin was dull, her hands trembling slightly as she pushed past branches and vines.
She stopped at a narrow clearing, the kind no guard ever patrolled. A stone altar stood, cracked with age, covered in moss and ash.
Eirene placed her lantern on the ground and pulled something from her cloak: a small, black jar sealed with wax. She set it carefully on the altar, then unrolled a piece of parchment covered in strange runes.
Her voice was low, trembling at first, then steady. "By the binding of night, by the curse of flesh, I call upon the shadow that never sleeps."
The wind shifted, and the trees creaked like bones. She sliced her palm with a silver blade and pressed it against the stone. Blood ran into the cracks. The air thickened, and the low flicker of the lantern went out.
A shadow began to move within the clearing, slow, curling, almost alive. It rose from the ground like smoke, but darker, heavier. Eirene didn't flinch. She opened the jar and poured out its contents: black dust that shone like ash and blended metal mixed.
"Restore what has been taken," she whispered. "Bind me again. Make me whole."
The shadow drifted toward her, wrapping around her arms, neck, and face. For a moment, she gasped, her eyes went wide, her veins darkening beneath her skin. Her breath hitched painfully as the thing seeped into her.
Then, suddenly, she stood straight again. Her skin regained its color. The dark spots that had marked her hands disappeared. She looked younger, smoother, alive again.
A slight, twisted smile touched her lips. "Restored by the shadow."
From behind the trees, there was low rustle. Someone was there.
She didn't turn. "You're late."
A figure stepped out from the shadows, cloaked, hood pulled low. The air around them felt cold. It was not supernatural but deliberate, practiced.
"Did you do it?" the figure asked. The voice was low, masculine, but the face remained hidden.
Eirene nodded. "The bond has begun to awaken. The power is shifting toward her. The Priestess was right, the prophecy is unfolding faster than expected."
She reached into her cloak and pulled out a sealed scroll. The parchment was bound with black thread and stamped with the royal crest.
"Take this," she said. "Deliver it to the outpost. It must reach the Circle before dawn."
The figure accepted it without a word.
Eirene's gaze hardened. "Tell them this: Anoth vel d'rahen." Her voice dropped to a whisper as she spoke in the old language, each word cutting through the night like a knife.
The chosen have risen.
The figure gave a slow nod, turned, and disappeared into the woods without a sound.
Eirene stood there for a while, listening to the forest breathe again. Her pulse steadied. Her lips curved a bit, not with joy but with something darker.