Elara stood alone in the center of the courtyard, unmoving as the carriage bearing her sister disappeared through the distant gate. The breeze toyed with the ends of her cloak, but she didn't shiver. Her eyes, narrowed and gleaming with something unreadable, remained fixed on the path long after the dust had settled.
From behind the hedges, the old gardener paused mid-rake, frowning slightly. He wasn't a man given to gossip, but something about the way she smiled just then chilled him to his bones. It wasn't grief or longing he saw.
It was satisfaction.
A slow, curling smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. A smile that seemed to say everything is going exactly as planned.
The gardener had seen that smile before. Not in Elara's demeanor, but in the faces of those who had set their mind to something dangerous, something inevitable. It was the kind of smile that often came right before a storm. Or perhaps after it.
The old man tightened his grip on the rake and glanced away quickly, pretending not to notice, and returned to his work. Some things were best left unspoken.
As he finished gathering the leaves into neat piles, he couldn't help but glance over at Elara again. She was still standing there, but now, there was nothing but a soft breeze and the faintest echo of her steps as she moved further into the shadows of the house.
By the time he glanced back up again, Elara had vanished—gone, as if she'd never been there at all. The lingering chill in the air, however, seemed to tell him that she was only just beginning.
---
As the carriage rumbled through the towering gates of the palace, Xandria took in the breathtaking sight before her. The palace rose like a monument of power and grandeur, its towering spire—also known as The King's Ascend, a symbol of royal authority—pierced the sky with its gilded tip. The ancient stone walls bore intricate carvings of past kings and warriors, their solemn faces forever etched into the kingdom's history.
Massive banners embroidered with the kingdom's sigil swayed in the breeze, their deep crimson hues a stark contrast to the pristine white marble of the palace. Statues of mystical beings—the guardians of the royal bloodline—lined the grand staircase leading to the entrance. Their stone eyes seemed to assess all who approached.
Beyond the main hall, a sprawling courtyard stretched in every direction, adorned with fountains spilling crystal-clear water into pools lined with enchanted lilies that glowed faintly in the dusk. The scent of jasmine and burning incense drifted through the air, mingling with the distant hum of palace life: guards exchanging orders, courtiers whispering secrets, and the faint melodies of a bard's flute.
As the carriage moved deeper into the palace grounds, the weight of history and power pressed down upon Xandria. The beauty and splendor of the place felt suffocating, a gilded cage she was being led into.
The carriage came to a stop before the grand entrance. Xandria did not wait for Maltherion to disembark first. She stepped down, ignoring the stares and whispers. Straightening her dress, she tried to hide her nerves and climbed the steps leading to the palace doors.
The moment her foot touched the first stair, the head of the nearest statue turned toward her—and then the rest followed. She gasped and stumbled back with a frightened shriek. But before she could hit the ground, strong arms caught her.
Maltherion.
She quickly righted herself, adjusting her gown, only to hear a chuckle behind him. Regan, the ever-watchful shadow, stood smirking.
"How did that happen?" she muttered, more to herself.
"Ancient magic," Regan replied. "They recognize strangers."
Xandria murmured an "Oh" and tried the stairs again. The statues turned once more, and she let out a quieter squeak. Regan almost laughed, but one cold glare from Maltherion silenced him.
She climbed the staircase, careful to keep her distance from the statues. At the top, the guard opened the door to the palace.
Inside, the magnificence deepened. Endless corridors adorned with murals told stories of conquest, betrayal, and destiny. Gilded sconces cast warm golden light across smooth marble, while massive windows framed with silk curtains illuminated polished floors. The scent of incense and ancient power lingered in the air—faint, but familiar. It had been there since the festival. She could feel it, but couldn't trace its source.
The throne room's doors opened. The domed ceiling shimmered with celestial patterns, as if the stars themselves had been trapped there. A crimson carpet stretched from the door to the throne—a towering piece of gold and obsidian.
When she turned around, she was alone.
Maltherion and Regan were no longer behind her.
Tension twisted in her chest, a reminder that this place was not built for her comfort. She continued forward, now heading for the west wing. The halls grew darker. Curtains were drawn, and no candles were lit.
As she wandered, trying to find her way, she collided with someone solid.
She staggered back, rubbing her forehead—and the candles suddenly blazed to life in a chain of golden light, illuminating the entire hallway.
"Magic," she whispered.
"I'm guessing you know more than it seems," came Maltherion's voice. He was the one she had bumped into.
"You're a sorcerer," she accused, stepping back.
"Sorcerer isn't quite the word I'd use," he said with a smirk, moving toward her.
"Then explain the fire. I can smell the magic on you." She instantly regretted saying that.
"So I'm not the only one with magic," he teased.
"I don't have magic. I'm human. And you… you're not."
"We'll see about that, Alexandria," he said casually as he turned and walked deeper into the corridor.
She remained rooted to the spot, heart thudding.
What did he mean by that?
Her family was human. She was human. Apart from her dreams, she had never seen herself as anything but.
"Come with me," Maltherion called over his shoulder.
She felt the strange pull again—the one that compelled obedience. But now, it felt stronger. More commanding. It unnerved her.
Still, she followed, each step careful.
"You can't escape, even if you try," he said suddenly.
She froze.
"How could you know what I was thinking?" she asked.
"So you were thinking of escaping," he smirked.
"Maybe I was."
"I advise you not to," he replied, voice edged with warning.
"Why?"
"Because you can't resist the Grand Gias."
Those words hit her like a storm.
The Grand Gias. It was real. It was what she had felt back in her father's house. Maltherion had felt it too.
And that terrified her even more.