The chains dug deep into her wrists, a cold metal kiss that hadn't stopped burning since sunrise.
Elira didn't flinch as she was dragged through the soaked grasslands by the royal guards of Dravaryn, but every step pulled at her cracked feet, leaving behind a trail of blood and mud. The storm overhead had been growling for hours, dark clouds pressing down on the world like a curse, and yet, it was the silence that unnerved her more. The soldiers surrounding her spoke in hushed tones—if they spoke at all—as though fearing that even their voices might awaken the thing they believed her to be.
A ghost.
A witch.
A weapon.
No longer a princess. Certainly not human.
She was wrapped in a ragged gray cloak, torn at the hem, and too thin to warm her. Her once-golden hair, dulled by time and dirt, clung to her skin like wet thread. Her hands, bruised and trembling, were bound with enchanted cuffs glowing faintly with suppressive runes. They pulsed in time with her heartbeat—a cruel reminder of the power sealed inside her, the power that had destroyed everything.
The power they hated her for.
She kept her chin high, though. Her breath steady. Even if her legs trembled, even if her throat was dry from hours of silence and cold, she would not break—not in front of them.
Not again.
She'd already broken once, six years ago.
They didn't get to see it twice.
A shout cut through the rain. The soldiers straightened instantly, forming a path as a black horse approached at a steady canter, its hooves slicing through the flooded earth like it was nothing. The man atop it wore no banner or royal colors, only a dark cloak that rippled in the storm. His helm was shaped like a wolf's skull, forged from polished obsidian.
The prince.
Elira's fingers curled instinctively at the sight of him.
Kael of Dravaryn.
Crown Prince. Warlord. Enemy.
The man whose kingdom had hunted hers to ruin.
He dismounted with a quiet grace that said more than any grand entrance could. He didn't bother with greetings or inspection. He walked straight toward her, ignoring the soldiers, ignoring the storm, and stopped only when they stood face-to-face.
She looked up.
Barefoot. Shackled. Dripping wet.
But unbowed.
Their eyes locked.
His were steel gray—cold, deliberate. No spark of cruelty, but no softness either. He didn't gawk at her like the others. He studied her like one might study an ancient weapon pulled from a battlefield—curious, cautious, calculating.
"So, it's true," Kael said at last, voice low and smooth, like a blade sliding free of its sheath. "You're still alive."
Elira didn't answer.
He circled her slowly, and though she refused to follow his movement with her gaze, she could feel the weight of him behind her like a shadow.
"The forgotten princess," he said. "Locked away in the caves of Maelgard like a cursed relic… and yet, here you stand."
Still, she said nothing.
Kael came to a stop in front of her again. Rain dripped from his hair, sliding down his sharp cheekbones. "Did your people really think the world had forgotten you?"
Elira lifted her chin. "Did yours forget why I was chained?"
The corner of his mouth lifted, though it wasn't quite a smile. "They remembered. That's why they kept you alive."
He turned to the soldier nearest him. "Unbind her."
The man stiffened. "Your Highness, the cuffs—"
"Do it."
The guards hesitated, then approached with visible reluctance. As soon as the runes deactivated, Elira felt her magic stir—a flicker, a whisper, like something waking up after years of forced slumber. Her muscles tensed. Her vision sharpened.
The soldiers stepped back as if she might explode.
But she didn't.
She stayed perfectly still.
Kael nodded, satisfied. "You've been quiet for six years. I want to hear you speak."
Elira looked him in the eye and said, "You're still afraid of me."
He arched a brow. "I fear what can't be controlled. And you… have no leash."
"You're wrong," she said softly. "You just can't see it."
Another pause.
Rain thundered around them, but the stillness between them was louder.
"You'll speak before my war council tonight," Kael said, turning on his heel. "They'll decide whether you're useful—or disposable."
The guards moved to restrain her again, but Kael raised a hand.
"No chains."
A few jaws dropped.
"She's a prisoner," someone dared to say.
"She's an asset," Kael replied. "Treat her like one."
And with that, he mounted his horse and rode ahead.
They didn't shackle her again, but five guards walked tightly around her as they made their way toward the towering shadow of Veylor Fortress—a black stone monstrosity etched into the side of a mountain, wreathed in cold mist. The fortress was as infamous as the prince who ruled it. It was said to have never fallen in war, not because of its defenses, but because of the man who commanded it.
Inside, the halls were narrow and unwelcoming. Stone walls, iron sconces, not a single tapestry to warm the space. This wasn't a palace. It was a cage built for kings.
They led her to a small chamber in the eastern wing. Not quite a dungeon—but not a guest room either. The bed was simple. The walls bare. The air smelled faintly of steel and smoke.
They left her there, locking the door behind them.
Elira walked to the window and looked out across the barren northern landscape. The rain was still falling, but in the distance, she could see torches—hundreds of them—lining the cliffs, like eyes watching from the dark.
So this was it.
Not her trial.
Her beginning.
The knock came an hour later.
Not a servant.
Kael.
He stepped inside without asking permission, and when their eyes met again, she saw something new in him: interest.
"You didn't try to run," he said.
"I don't waste energy on things that don't work."
He tilted his head. "You're more reasonable than I expected."
"You haven't seen me unreasonable yet."
He didn't smile, but his eyes sharpened.
"Tonight's council will be full of men who want you dead," he said plainly. "They believe you're a threat to our peace with Ilyria."
"There's no peace," Elira snapped, sharper than she intended. "Only control."
Kael studied her for a moment, then stepped further into the room.
"What do you want, Elira?"
The question caught her off guard.
She didn't answer right away.
What did she want?
Revenge?
Redemption?
To be remembered?
To destroy the people who cast her out?
She met his gaze. "To matter."
His expression didn't change, but something in the air shifted—like recognition.
"Then prove your worth tonight," he said. "Survive the court, and I'll give you purpose. Fail, and you'll be executed quietly."
He turned to leave.
But her voice stopped him.
"Do you always make your threats sound like offers?"
Kael glanced over his shoulder.
"No," he said. "Only when they are."
The war council chamber was wide and circular, lit by a dozen roaring fireplaces built into the walls. Thick stone columns lined the perimeter, and at the center was a large blackwood table carved with a map of the continent. Men in armor and robes stood around it, voices raised, tension thick.
They all fell silent when Elira entered.
No one moved.
She walked calmly, her chin high, every step echoing across the chamber. No chains. No guards holding her leash.
Let them see the girl they buried.
Let them see the mistake.
Kael stood at the head of the table. "Gentlemen," he said, "allow me to reintroduce Princess Elira of Ilyria."
One man—a high-ranking general by the look of him—scoffed. "She's a relic. A cursed thing dragged from the dirt."
"She's alive," Kael said. "And possibly the last magical bloodline that can stand against what's coming."
"The prophecy?" another voice scoffed. "That's just old superstition."
"Maybe," Kael said. "But we're running out of armies. I'd rather place my bet on a ghost that can burn than a memory that can't bleed."
He looked at Elira.
And for the first time, so did they.
She stepped forward, slow and deliberate.
Her voice rang out clear and sharp.
"I'm not here to beg. I'm not here to serve. But if you think I'll sit quietly while you debate my usefulness, you've misunderstood what you pulled from the dark."
She laid both palms flat on the blackwood table.
"I may be chained by history, but I am not broken. I've survived betrayal, silence, hunger, and exile. Your war isn't what frightens me."
The room was dead silent.
Only the crackling fires dared to move.
Kael stepped forward. "Then show us what does."
Elira met his eyes.
And smiled.