The warmth of my brothers’ laughter still clung to me as I left their side, yet the corridors of the palace felt colder than they had only moments ago. The glow of the feast was fading, like candle smoke in a draft, and in its place a new heaviness seemed to settle on every stone.
The lords who had filled the hall with toasts and declarations of loyalty were scattered now in smaller knots, their voices lowered, their eyes darting to shadows. I heard them before I saw them—those hushed, slippery whispers that moved like snakes along the marble floors.
“Vanished, just like that.”
“No trace? Impossible.”
“They say he fled. Cowardice—or guilt?”
Adrian.
I slowed, my hand brushing the carved edge of the archway as their words reached me. Duke Lanovo’s son, the man who had once carried himself as though the crown were already fitted to his brow, was nowhere to be found. His absence was like a hollow note beneath the night’s celebration.
For a moment, my chest tightened with something sharp and uncertain. Guilt—because I knew better than anyone the weight of Adrian’s shadow, the closeness that had once pressed in on me, suffocating. Fear—because the memory of his hands on me, his voice thick with jealousy, still bled into my thoughts.
But most of all, I felt suspicion bloom, cold and steady. He had always wanted too much. Power. Control. Me.
I turned away before the lords could notice me lingering, the silken hems of my gown brushing the floor as I made for the grand hall. The laughter of the feast still echoed faintly there, caught in the vaulted ceiling like the ghost of a happier world. But the joy of the night was fractured now, and I could feel the cracks deepening.
Something was shifting in Valara. And Adrian’s disappearance was only the beginning.
By the next morning, the glow of the feast had dulled into a gray quiet. The great hall stood empty, its banners limp against the stone, its tables cleared of wine and venison. Only the faint smell of smoke and spices lingered, a reminder of the celebration already swallowed by duty.
I stood beside my father at the long council table. The light through the tall windows was pale and sharp, making the shadows beneath his eyes seem deeper. He had not slept, I knew, though he would never admit it. His hand rested heavily on the carved falcon at the head of his chair, as if he needed its strength to hold himself upright.
We had been speaking softly, the kind of talk only grief allowed—fragments of my mother, of her gentleness, of how the world seemed thinner without her in it. My father’s voice had caught once, just once, before he drew himself back into the iron composure of a king.
It was into this fragile quiet that the doors of the hall creaked open.
The sound carried too far, too loud in the cavernous chamber. A figure strode forward, robes of deep crimson trimmed with silver thread that caught the light like a blade. His steps echoed in deliberate rhythm, announcing his purpose before he spoke.
A messenger from Theros.
I felt my stomach clench. Weeks ago, their envoys had promised Valara sacred volumes—texts said to hold histories of the goddess Maerial, knowledge long thought scattered or lost. My father had spoken of them often, his voice careful, hopeful. A gift, he had called them. A gesture of peace between kingdoms.
But the man who bowed now did not carry tomes. His hands were empty, save for a single scroll bound in black ribbon.
“Your Majesty,” he said, his voice smooth as poured oil, “I come bearing word from the Council of Theros.”
My father did not gesture for him to rise. He only inclined his chin, face carved into the expression of a king who already expected betrayal. “Speak.”
The messenger’s eyes swept the room once, brushing over me with a flicker of curiosity, then returning to the King. He unrolled the scroll slowly, as though savoring the moment, the crackle of parchment loud in the silence.
“The Council bids Valara return to Theros what was lent to you: the body of your late Queen.”
The words struck like stone to glass. My breath left me in a sharp, involuntary sound, though I pressed my lips closed at once.
The messenger went on, unbothered by the shift in the air. “Furthermore, the sacred volumes promised in good faith shall remain in Theros until this request is met. Only upon compliance will the Council honor the exchange.”
My father’s knuckles whitened against the falcon. He said nothing at first, and in that silence I felt my pulse thrum like a drumbeat in my throat. My mother—reduced to a demand. A bargaining piece.
I stepped forward before I could stop myself. “Why?” The word left my mouth like a blade, too sharp, too quick. “Why would Theros ask such a thing? She is our Queen. Her home is here.”
The messenger turned his gaze to me fully now, eyes cool, amused, as though I were a child playing at council. “The Council believes her body to be bound to matters beyond your understanding. There are rites that must be seen to. Safeguards.” His lips curved, not quite a smile. “You, above all, should know the dangers of leaving such power untended.”
Heat surged in my chest, shame and anger and fear warring all at once. Did they know? Could they?
My father’s voice cut through, low and edged like steel. “No. Valara does not yield its dead to foreign hands. My Queen remains here. Always.”
The messenger lowered his scroll, bowing again, though this time there was no respect in the gesture, only cold finality. “Then Theros will withhold what you seek. Knowledge will remain ours, until you come to your senses.”
He turned and left with the same deliberate rhythm, each step a wound against the stone floor.
When the doors shut behind him, the silence was heavier than any feast hall after its fire had died.
I stood unmoving, my hands curled into fists at my sides. Their motives rang false. This was not about honor, nor about rites. Something deeper pulled at the strings—something they feared, or coveted, hidden in the pages they withheld.
And in the shadow of my mother’s death, Theros’s demand settled like a storm on the horizon.
The echo of the messenger’s steps had barely faded when the lords began to stir, cautious and hesitant at first, then in murmurs that spread like wildfire through the hall. The empty chairs from the banquet loomed around us, and yet their voices felt louder than any feast, carried by the weight of intrigue and the uncertainty that followed.
“They refuse? The King actually refuses Theros?”
“Dangerous, yes, but expected. Valara’s pride never yields.”
“They won’t give over her body? This could spark an incident—Theros does not forget slights.”
The whispers crawled through the stone walls, brushing against my ears like the soft hiss of serpents. My fingers brushed against my father’s arm instinctively. He stood straighter at the council table, but I could see the strain beneath the kingly mask—the lines of his jaw, the deep shadow under his eyes, the faint tremor of his hand that only I noticed.
I stepped closer, tentatively placing my hand on his broad shoulder. “Father…” I murmured.
He glanced at me, his sharp emerald eyes softening just for a heartbeat. Relief, gratitude, and grief collided there, raw and unguarded. He exhaled slowly, a shudder passing through his frame as he lowered himself to the nearest chair. “Kira,” he said, voice husky, “you understand, don’t you? Theros… they are not wrong to care for her. She was theirs once. My wife…” He swallowed hard, words catching like stones. “…and they wish to claim her again.”
I felt the weight of that, of my mother’s roots in Theros, the life she left behind for Valara, the years she gave up willingly, for duty, for love, for me. My throat tightened. “I know, Father. I… I just can’t imagine handing her over.”
He nodded, shoulders heavy with grief. “Neither can I, my little waterbug. Neither can I.”
Before I could respond, he opened his arms slowly, almost hesitantly. I stepped into them, feeling the familiar weight of his loss, the ache of our shared sorrow. My face pressed against his chest as the tremors of unspent grief shook me. He held me tightly, as if holding on could somehow make the world right again.
“I never thought I’d see this day,” he whispered into my hair. “The day I would stand in the halls of my kingdom, refusing the people of my wife’s homeland… refusing her family. And yet here we are. I would not betray her memory, Kira. Not for all the crowns of Valara.”
I shivered against him, the warmth of his embrace mingling with the cold knot of dread in my stomach. “We’ll keep her safe,” I said quietly. “We’ll make sure she stays with us. Always.”
His fingers stroked my hair, lingering against the back of my neck. “Always,” he repeated, voice breaking slightly. “Even if the world disagrees. Even if Theros comes to claim her.”
I pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, a rare and vulnerable sight. “Father,” I said, voice trembling, “do you think… do you think they’ll try to force us?”
He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know, Kira. But know this—we will not bow to fear. Not now. Not ever. Your mother… she chose this kingdom. She chose us. And I will honor that choice with every ounce of strength I have left.”
I let out a long, shaky breath and leaned back into his chest. For a moment, the chaos of the court, the demands of Theros, the murmur of suspicious lords—all of it faded. There was just my father’s warmth, just the pulse of his heart beneath my ear, and the promise that we were not alone.
“I wish she could see this,” I whispered, voice tight. “See us… see Valara standing together.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, sorrow and pride in the gesture. “She does, Kira. She sees everything, always. Even now.”
Outside the hall, the murmurs of the lords continued, growing louder, more speculative, and more dangerous. But within this small circle, father and daughter shared a quiet, desperate understanding. The world could stir, the enemies could plot, and the shadows of war could linger—but for now, we had this moment.
I finally pulled away, resting my hand on his forearm, eyes scanning the hall. “We’ll have to think carefully,” I said, voice steadying despite the weight in my chest. “Theros won’t give up easily, and neither can we. There’s more to this than their letters and demands. Something they want… something they fear.”
He nodded grimly, jaw tight. “Yes. And we will uncover it. Together. Always together, Kira.”
I pressed my forehead against his shoulder one last time, feeling the stubborn heat of our shared grief, the fragile resilience of our bond. Outside, the court buzzed, but for a heartbeat, there was no world beyond this embrace—just father and daughter, just memory and promise, just a kingdom standing on the brink of forces it could not yet see.
I finally let go of my father’s forearm, lingering just long enough to feel the stubborn warmth of our grief, before stepping back. The hall still buzzed faintly with whispers and murmurs, but I no longer felt their sting so sharply. With a soft sigh, I nodded to him, a quiet agreement passing between us without words. “I need a moment,” I whispered, and he simply nodded, the ache in his gaze mirroring my own.
I moved slowly through the quiet corridors, my boots silent against the polished stone. The sun had shifted, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch across the walls like pale fingers. I reached my room at last, the familiar space offering a small haven against the storm of politics and expectation beyond its doors. Closing the door behind me, I let out a deep, shuddering breath.
Fennie had tidied the room while I was away, and the soft rustle of fabrics and the faint scent of lavender greeted me, comforting and grounding. I sank into the chair by the window, letting the warmth of the sun touch my face as I finally allowed myself to relax. My shoulders loosened, and for a brief moment, it almost felt safe to breathe again.
And yet, the moment did not last. My mind wandered back to the messenger from Theros, to their demand for the return of my mother’s body and the exchange of the sacred volumes. Something about their request had felt… off. Too formal, too pointed, too insistent. Their words carried weight beyond courtesy or mourning.
I pressed my fingers to my lips, thinking, tracing the invisible edges of their intentions. Why now? Why after everything? The request for my mother’s body… they did not speak of grief, of respect, or even of ceremony—they spoke of possession.
The knot in my stomach tightened, a pulse of unease threading through my veins. There was something beneath their demands, something I could not yet see clearly but instinctively knew was dangerous. My gaze drifted to the sunlight spilling across the floor, highlighting the shadows at the corners of the room. The warmth could not reach them. I had to think. I had to be ready.
I sank further into the chair, letting my head rest against the back, eyes closing as the weight of suspicion pressed down on me. My mother’s face lingered in my mind, Maerial’s whispers threading through memory, the traces of divinity mingling with grief. And beneath it all, a quiet, insistent truth: Theros did not simply want her body back. They wanted control. They wanted power.
And I would not give it to them.
The soft rap on my door pulled me from my thoughts, a gentle yet insistent rhythm that I recognized immediately. “Kira?” Kai’s voice carried through, low and steady, though I could hear the faint edge of tiredness in it. My chest tightened. I had hoped to be alone, to let the quiet of my room and the fading light cradle me for just a little while longer, but the sound of him always brought an unspoken comfort I couldn’t deny.
“I’m here,” I whispered, my voice catching, as I moved to unlatch the door. He leaned slightly against the frame, casual in his posture but watchful, as if measuring the moment before stepping fully inside. The evening light spilled through the window behind him, brushing his features in gold and shadow.
“You’ve been in here all day,” he said softly, stepping closer, but not too close. “I thought… maybe you’d like some company.”
I hesitated, biting the inside of my cheek, and then nodded. “It’s been… a long day,” I admitted. My fingers lingered on the doorframe, though my gaze sought his for reassurance.
He didn’t say anything at first, just moved to sit across from me, the chair creaking softly under his weight. Silence settled between us, the kind that spoke of understanding without needing to fill the space with words. Finally, I broke the quiet.
“Today… the council, the envoys from Theros… they want to take her from us, Kai. They want to take Mother.” My voice trembled, and I could feel the sting of unshed tears. “I can’t let them.”
Kai’s expression softened, though his eyes remained distant, focused on some point beyond the room. “I know,” he said quietly. “I won’t let them either.” There was a calm conviction in his tone, a steadiness that felt both comforting and strange. It wasn’t the sorrow I expected, not the kind I carried in my chest, but it was enough for now.
I leaned back in my chair, letting the tension in my shoulders ease fractionally. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep everyone at bay,” I admitted, my voice nearly a whisper. “They’re relentless… and I feel like no one truly understands what it means to lose her. To have her taken…”
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re not alone, Kira. I’m here.” His words were simple, yet they anchored me more than I could have anticipated. There was a pause, the room quiet but warm in its familiarity.
We talked then, slowly, about everything we could speak of without unspooling too many threads of grief. About the council meeting, the day’s events, and the threats looming over our family. He didn’t dwell on Mother’s passing, not in the way I did, but the steadiness in his presence allowed me to release some of the weight I had been carrying.
As the night deepened, the room grew dim, the golden light fading to silver-gray under the moon’s gaze. Our voices softened, words tapering off into silence, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of the curtains or the faint sound of the palace settling around us. Eventually, exhaustion won over, and we both sank back into our chairs, side by side, talking in half-whispers until sleep claimed us.
I woke briefly, eyes half-closed, and found his hand resting lightly near mine, a small reassurance in the dark. For the first time in days, I allowed myself to feel a fragile sense of safety, if only for the night.
And yet, even in the quiet of my chambers, my mind returned again and again to the looming threat beyond our walls. Theros’s demands were more than formalities; their motives, hidden and insistent, pressed against the edges of my thoughts. I pressed my fingers to the cool wood of the windowsill, letting the moonlight trace the lines of my hand. I could feel it—something more was coming, something dangerous, something I could not ignore.
Kai murmured something unintelligible in his sleep, and I let my head fall against the chair’s back, whispering to the shadows, “I won’t let them take her. Not her. Not her memory. Not her body.”
The room settled around us, but in the quiet, the fractures beneath the surface of our world seemed to hum, waiting for the dawn to reveal the true scope of what was to come.