Elira hated court days more than she'd ever hated chains.
Chains were honest.
They didn't pretend. Cold iron. Brutal weight. A clear message—you're not free.
But court?
Court was a velvet trap, all soft smiles and silken lies. A place where people bowed with polished civility while sharpening daggers behind their backs. Where truth didn't matter—only appearances.
And today, after ten years of silence and exile, Elira was walking straight into that viper's nest. Wearing violet.
And scars.
She stood in front of the mirror in her new quarters, adjusting the long-sleeved gown. The fabric clung to her waist and shoulders, elegant but bold. She had pinned the sleeves back just enough to expose the faint, silvery burns circling her wrists.
Marks they'd given her.
Marks they couldn't erase.
Let them look. Let them see what they did.
Let them wonder what she had become.
A knock.
"Enter," she called, not turning from the mirror.
Kael stepped in, already dressed in black and silver. His cloak swept the floor behind him, sword strapped to his side, collar high, every inch the Crown Prince of Dravaryn.
His gaze swept over her. Not leering. Assessing. Then he looked her in the eyes.
"You're not wearing the court colors."
"I'm not part of their court," she replied.
"You will be."
She finally turned from the mirror. "Then they'll learn I don't follow traditions made to keep people in their place."
Something faint flickered at the corner of his mouth. Approval, maybe. "Good," Kael said. "That's why I'm bringing you."
The court chamber was carved in stone as dark as volcanic ash, vaulted and echoing, lit with cold flame sconces and filled with the hum of hushed voices. Dravaryn's banners hung above the long obsidian table, where nobles sat with goblets and scrolls, their expressions stiff with suspicion.
They turned as Kael entered.
They froze when Elira followed.
Some blinked in disbelief. Others narrowed their eyes, jaws tightening, hands pausing mid-sentence.
A noblewoman with ink-black hair—Lady Rhyess—leaned in and whispered to her neighbor, "Is that the exile?"
Not softly enough.
Elira tilted her head and smiled, voice cutting clean across the room. "You might want to speak louder. My hearing only sharpens when I'm annoyed."
Rhyess flushed, mouth snapping shut.
Kael gestured to the empty seat beside him—one that usually belonged to the war advisor.
Elira understood the message.
So did the room.
She sat in silence, spine straight, expression unreadable. Not challenging. Not pleading.
Present.
Kael rose to address the room. "This isn't a ceremony. This is war council. More villages vanish by the day. Our scouts bring reports we can't explain. Something is stirring in the east—something none of us have the tools to stop."
"Disappearing villages?" Lord Helric scoffed from down the table. "You think bedtime stories are stealing our people now?"
"They do," Elira said evenly, "when someone digs them out of the earth."
Heads turned.
Kael didn't stop her. He stepped back and let her speak.
Elira walked to the table, standing over the map. "Three sanctuaries near Duskwind Forest were built along ancient ley lines. Most of you don't remember, because the knowledge was buried. But whoever we're dealing with—they remember."
Helric's face darkened. "You speak of forgotten magic, but you offer no proof you're not the one behind these… hauntings."
Elira turned her gaze on him—sharp and unyielding. "You think I staged all this? Slaughtered six men, melted their weapons, scorched the ground with forbidden spells—all just to stroll back in and offer a warning?"
"I think chaos follows you," he snapped. "And we've enough of that already."
"She saved my life," Kael said calmly. "In a cave we shouldn't have left alive. I trust her. You'd be wise to start learning how."
Lady Kareth, seated farther down, stood slowly. "Even if her words are true… we don't have the manpower to chase ghosts. The eastern regions are already vulnerable. If we stretch thinner, we open the border to Ilyria again."
"I don't need an army," Elira said. "I need knowledge."
Kael gave a nod to the spymaster. The old man produced a scroll and passed it down the table to her.
"We've mapped out ruins and sanctuaries east of the stronghold," Kael said. "Some were lost to time. Others erased on purpose."
Elira scanned the list.
Her pulse quickened.
One name stood out—Vael'Harth.
Not a ruin. A myth.
Said to be the final temple of the old god-kings. The place where the Undying Crown made his pact with the void.
She looked up. "This one. I need to go there."
"You're not seriously suggesting—" Helric started.
"She's not suggesting," Kael cut in. "She's leading."
Gasps broke the air like shattered glass.
"You'd send her in command?" Lord Varric asked, stunned.
"She's the only one who's uncovered anything of value," Kael said. "If she fails, we lose a chance. If we do nothing, we lose everything."
"And if she dies?" Helric demanded.
Kael's voice was ice. "Then she dies fighting for us. Not locked in a cell."
The court dispersed in a flurry of rustling cloaks and muttered protests.
Elira lingered, staring down at the map.
Kael joined her quietly.
"You didn't have to defend me," she said.
"Yes, I did."
She looked up. "Why?"
"Because I'm not afraid of you."
That stopped her.
"I'm afraid of them," he said, nodding toward the now-empty chairs. "The ones who smile while they poison the water. I'd rather stand beside a storm I can see coming."
They were close now. The warmth of him brushing against the cold edge of her armor.
"You trust me?" she asked.
"I trust your rage," he said simply. "And your pain. They're honest."
She didn't flinch when he reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her face. His fingers were rough. Warm.
"I won't let them chain you again."
Her throat tightened. "I won't let anyone chain me again."
For a breath, they stayed like that—caught in something neither of them dared name.
Then Kael stepped back.
"We leave before dawn. Vael'Harth is dangerous. The longer we wait, the darker it gets."
"You're coming?"
"Always."
That night, sleep refused to come.
Elira lay awake in her bed, the map clutched tight in her hand, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Vael'Harth.
If the Undying King's power still lingered, it would be there.
And if someone was trying to wake him…
She had to stop them.
She turned her head toward the narrow window. Moonlight spilled silver across the stone.
Then—soft.
Too soft.
Laughter.
It wasn't in her head this time.
It echoed.
Faint, ancient… familiar.
Elira.You remember, don't you?
She sat up sharply, breath caught in her throat. Her magic pulsed under her skin, wild and hot.
The air in the room felt wrong.
And for the first time in years… she wasn't sure she was alone.