As before, Selene recovered slowly.
Three days passed before the color returned to her cheeks, three days before she could stand without swaying—and by then, royal summons had already arrived from the palace.
Lyra hated that familiar weight in her stomach. Every time Selene faltered, every time she needed days to recover, Lyra's mind whispered the same fear: What if one day she doesn't?
She pushed it down. A General did not indulge fear.
The throne room blazed with polished marble and banners, a theater of power. The King sat high upon his gilded seat, flanked by councilors, advisers, and the lords of surrounding towns. Even Gessa had been summoned—her broad shoulders set in silent readiness.
When Lyra and her warriors bowed, a hush settled.
"The reports," the King began, voice echoing against stone. "Mages. Five of them. Mages we believed were extinct."
A wave of murmurs rippled:
Mages.
Five.
The King's expression darkened.
"Lieutenant—what powers did they wield?"
Shawn stepped forward. "Fire and ice, Your Majesty."
"Continue."
Shawn's eyes flicked briefly toward Lyra before he spoke again.
"They were after Selene. It seems her blood can… rejuvenate the plant."
Another wave of murmurs.
Her blood.
Witchcraft.
Unnatural.
The King's gaze sharpened, pinning Lyra like a spear.
"I hear this girl is under your protection, General. Were you hiding this from me?"
Lyra's jaw locked.
"No, Your Majesty."
Selene suddenly stepped forward. The accusation in the King's tone stung through her—not because of herself, but because Lyra stood accused.
"Your Highness," Selene said, voice gentle but steady, "I have no memory of who I was. I did not know I had this power."
The King's brows lifted, intrigued rather than soothed.
"Your blood made a withered plant bloom."
Before Selene could respond, a lord stood.
"Sire, she will bring danger to the kingdom!"
Murmurs erupted—
Witchcraft.
Mage-bait.
Kill her before they come again.
And then someone shouted—
"Kill her!"
Before Lyra could draw breath, Gessa's chair scraped harshly across the stone as she stood.
"Enough," she snapped.
Her voice held no crown—only years of command, dirt, blood, loyalty.
"This is the King's court, not a mob's gallows. No blood will be demanded here on rumor and fear alone."
But another voice rose.
"Her power could be of use to us!"
"A study! Controlled experimentation!"
"One of the mages escaped—he may return. We have no idea how many exist!"
"Do you want to doom the realm?"
"A blood that can restore life to a dying plant—imagine what it could do for humans. Strength, longevity—"
Lyra's eyes flared with fury.
"No one touches Selene," she said. The words weren't loud—but they struck like steel. "She is not to be studied."
The chamber shifted.
That was no petition.
That was a challenge.
"Her or the kingdom?" someone spat.
"Where is your loyalty, General?"
Lyra's pulse hammered. She could taste the threat—use Selene, cage Selene, bleed Selene. She could see the future forming: restraints, blood drained, fear dressed as patriotism.
Her hand drifted toward her sword.
She could feel herself shaking—not from hesitation, but from the terror of losing Selene to anything she couldn't fight.
But then—
Selene stepped closer.
She didn't grab her—just let her fingers brush against Lyra's wrist, grounding her.
A small, invisible tether between them.
"Lyra," she whispered, "I'm here."
Lyra didn't look at her. Couldn't.
But she felt the tremor easing under Selene's touch. Her fist loosened; the leather-stiff tension bled out of her shoulders. The sword slid back into its sheath with a soft, decisive click.
Not rage.
Not panic.
Command.
And Selene felt it—the shift. The woman who shook now stood unbreakable again.
Then a new voice—not shouted, not panicked—cut through the tension.
Princess Rayah rose from her place beside the King. Her expression was thoughtful, diplomatic.
"Father," she said softly, "I believe Selene is not a threat to the kingdom. She is a potential asset. If she agrees, we may study her abilities—but only to the limits she sets. Cooperation, not imprisonment."
She glanced from Selene to Lyra—friend to friend, plea to protector.
The King leaned back, considering.
"Daughter… always diplomatic," he murmured approvingly. "Very well. I require more research before judgment is passed. I will speak with my advisers."
His voice carried finality.
"For now—dismissed."
And the gavel of power fell.
But the eyes on Selene's back said:
This is only the beginning.
And Lyra's steady breath beside her said:
Let them come.