Chapter 21
Shadows Across Two Kingdoms
The hour was late, and yet the palace of Ardon did not sleep.
Above the land, high where the clouds thinned and the stars seemed close enough to pluck from the heavens, the capital of Ardon floated in its brilliance. Manors gilded in silver drifted upon enchanted foundations, tethered by chains of crystal to the mountain's heart. At its summit loomed the palace, vast as a city, its golden towers crowned with banners that never knew stillness, for the wind here was sharp and constant.
The palace was a monument to pride itself, and within it, chambers glimmered like treasure-halls. Floors of marble veined with gold, walls hung with silks dyed in the deep colors of rare stones, chandeliers blazing with candles enough to light the night like day. Yet despite such grandeur, one chamber stood quieter, almost solemn, though no less splendid: the queen's private apartments.
There, Queen Selene of Ardon stood upon her balcony, gazing at the heavens.
Her gown, a flowing green of velvet that shimmered like forest leaves after rain, caught the starlight. A silver girdle clasped at her waist, while her hair long and black as raven's wing fell loose upon her shoulders. Her crown, wrought with emeralds, lay discarded upon a table beside her, as if the weight of rule pressed too heavily to be worn in solitude.
Selene's green eyes, famed across Ardon for their beauty, seemed softer now than when she wore them before the court. In public, they were sharp, commanding, cruel if needed. Alone, they were searching, restless, as though she sought in the stars answers that no counsel could give.
The city below was alive even in darkness, its lamps glimmering like fireflies, its people moving in markets that never slept. Yet the queen's gaze was far beyond roofs and streets. She looked instead upon the silent sky, where constellations watched her as they had watched kings and queens before her.
Her sigh broke the stillness.
"To rule is to be caged," she murmured, the words for no ear but her own. "Even here, above the world, I am chained… unless I break another's chains."
The words had scarcely left her lips when the chamber door creaked open without sound.
A cloaked figure entered, face hidden deep within a hood. His steps were noiseless, yet they carried the weight of certainty, as if he belonged in places others feared to tread. He halted near the balcony and bowed his head, though not deeply; it was the bow of one who acknowledged power but did not revere it.
"My queen," he said, his voice low and coarse, like stone dragged across stone. "How fares the plan to seize Veridia?"
Selene turned from the stars. Whatever softness lingered upon her face vanished, replaced at once with the cold poise she wore before her court. Her beauty was sharper than any blade, and in her eyes was no trace of doubt.
"The plan unfolds as I desire," she replied. "The king is already mine to command. He believes his every thought his own, yet I have planted them there. His pride blinds him, and pride is the easiest chain to fasten. He speaks of conquest as if it were his will — yet it is mine."
The cloaked figure inclined his head faintly, shadows shifting with his movement. "And the spy within Veridia?"
"He plays his part well," Selene said, her lips curving in a smile too thin for joy. "He is trusted. Soon he shall act, and when he does, the Houses of Veridia will be cast into turmoil. They will gnaw at one another like wolves starved in the snow. Their queen will be too burdened by her own to see the knife at her throat."
The figure's voice darkened. "Then the second phase begins?"
Selene's eyes glimmered. She stepped closer, her voice lowering, almost intimate in its venom. "Aye. And once it begins, there will be no return. Let Veridia think itself safe. Let its queen speak wisely and her brother play the fool. When their eyes open, it shall already be too late. Ardon shall have its cause, and its war."
She turned once more to the balcony, her gaze climbing skyward. The stars above seemed endless, yet she felt their weight, as though they looked down to witness her oath.
"The night is patient," she whispered. "So too shall we wait. But when dawn comes, Veridia shall burn."
The cloaked man said nothing, for nothing more was needed. He bowed, slipped back into the shadows, and was gone. Selene remained, still and silent upon her balcony, until the candles guttered low and the night winds rose to sweep her hair about her shoulders. Her green eyes, that could captivate or condemn, held fast to the heavens.
Far away, in Veridia, another pair of golden eyes could not find peace.
Kai, prince of Veridia, walked the stone corridors of Aethelgard with uneven steps, his hands clenched at his sides. His sister's words haunted him: that the Golden Eyes were curse, not gift; that each glimpse tore at the soul; that chains bound them both to a fate they could not break.
He ground his teeth as he passed torch after torch, their flames shivering in the night's draft. His reflection flickered in their light, the gleam of gold in his irises like twin embers smoldering against the dark.
"Chains," he muttered. "Always chains. But chains can be broken. I'll not be bound as she is."
He quickened his pace, breath rising. The air grew cooler as he stepped out into the training courtyard, where ten conjurers moved in disciplined rhythm. Their voices called, their hands swept, and the elements bent — fire leaping in arcs, water weaving through air, earth rising to shield, wind swirling in gusts. They were young, yet already hardened, chosen from across the realm to serve queen and kingdom.
At his arrival, motion ceased. Ten conjurers straightened as one, guards at the gate stiffened, and all bowed low.
"My prince," they said in unison.
Kai's lips twisted. He lifted his hand. "Enough. Spare me titles, else we waste the night."
They hesitated, then obeyed, returning to their training. Yet their eyes followed him still, curious, wary. They had heard tales of him — the boy with golden eyes, brother to the queen, reckless as flame yet untouchable.
Kai ignored their stares. His gaze swept the yard until it found the man he sought.
Blackwood.
The warlord stood with arms folded at the edge of the grounds, his great frame half-hidden in shadow, watching the conjurers with the stillness of a predator. His face was stern, carved with lines of battle, his dark cloak hanging heavy upon his shoulders. He did not bow when Kai approached. He only inclined his head, as a wolf might to one of its packs — not master, not servant, but comrade.
"Blackwood," Kai said, halting before him.
"My prince," the warlord replied, his voice deep as stone shifting in the earth.
Kai's jaw tightened. "We ride tomorrow."
A pause. Blackwood's brow arched, faint but sharp. "We?"
Kai met his gaze, unflinching. "Aye. There is something I must learn. Something my sister will not speak. I will not wait upon whispers and riddles while the world moves. At dawn, we ride."
The silence between them was long. Blackwood's dark eyes studied him, weighing boy against prince, defiance against duty. Then, slowly, the warlord nodded once.
"As you will."
Relief flickered across Kai's face, though he masked it quickly. His golden eyes gleamed in the torchlight, bright and reckless. "Good. At dawn, then. Keep it quiet. No eyes but ours."
"As you command."
The night deepened. The conjurers' shouts rang through the yard once more, their power flashing against the dark. Above them, the moon sailed high, silver as a blade.
And so, in Ardon, a queen wove shadows with her whispers. In Veridia, a prince gathered fire in his heart. Between them stretched a silence waiting to break — the silence before war.