The palace gates groaned open with a shriek of iron, far louder than they should've been at this hour. Past midnight, when even shadows were asleep and nothing moved without reason, there was quite a chaos by the palace entrance. My carriage rattled in behind other carriages, its wheels dragging a trail of dust. It carried with it the weight of everything that had happened, with blood still drying on my skin and chaos clinging to my breath.
From inside the carriage I could barely registered the startled gasps that rose from the guards on night watch. The sudden, pounding of boots, the shout of someone calling for a physician, I was unable to register everything clearly. Faces blurred past my windows, white with alarm, but all I could focus on was the sting and pain in my body and the smell of iron, blood and dust. And a night that refused to end.
The carriage door, if it could still be called that swung open with a groan. Callisto and the few soldiers who remained had done what they could to piece it back together for the return, but it bore the marks of battle just as deeply as we did. Splintered wood held fast with rope, wheels patched crudely with iron nails hammered in haste. It was less a carriage now than a stubborn skeleton dragging us across the last stretch of road.
We had little choice. With the attack, with the wounded piling in the dark wilderness, and with our dwindling supplies, speed mattered more than comfort. The city had to be reached whether the carriage could endure or not.
Rough hands reached in to steady me, but I pulled myself down with trembling fingers clutching the frame. Torn silk fluttered at my ankles, catching on the edges of the dilapidated door as I stepped down from the carriage. My gown once pristine now hung in ribbons, stained and torn. I was dimly aware of the way it whispered around me, like remnants of a nightmare still clinging to my skin.
Talia had her arms wrapped tightly around Renna, holding her as if she might fly apart. Her lips were moving whispering something soft, something soothing to her.
There were voices all around, overlapping in a panicked blur.
"Oh my lord! The princess—"
"Someone fetch a doctor.....no, no call a healer, that would be faster!"
"Gods, look at her—"
"Her hair—her face—"
My ears were still ringing from the aftermath. Distant and hollow, as if the world had been dropped underwater. The courtyard lights blazed too bright, with too many torches. I squinted against them, blinking fast. My fingers wouldn't stop shaking.
A guard rushed forward, horrified. "She's bleeding!"
"Stand back!" snapped Callisto. "Give her air!"
I barely registered the words. I couldn't tell who said what. Only that it all felt like too much and too loud. The world spun around me. The stone beneath my borrowed boots felt uneven, like it might tip me sideways. A firm hand caught my elbow, yanking me back into focus. My brother's voice cut through the haze, sharp with concern. He was saying something, I couldn't tell; probably telling the guards to stand back, to make way but the words blurred into noise. I wasn't listening.
Every single eye in the courtyard was fixed on me, their stares heavy with judgment and concern. But before I could take another step:
"Elinessa!"
A sweet voice sliced through the murmurs. It was a voice I knew , too emotional to be formal, the voice of my mother. The Queen.
She came rushing down the marble steps, the clatter of her heels echoing through the silent courtyard. Her skirts were gathered in trembling hands, her jewels now tilted precariously from the haste of her descent. I had never seen her like that until now. Her eyes widened in horror as they swept all over me scanning the blood on my skin, the dust in my hair, the torn remnants of what had once been a fine silk gown now trailing behind me like the aftermath of a war.
Her hands hovered helplessly before finally they cupped my face. I could see the sheen of tears forming in her eyes, threatening to spill despite the steel she always wore before others.
"M-my lovely child, what happened? Who hurt you? Look at me, answer me!"
Her voice cracked halfway through the question.
"I—I…" My throat worked, but the words drowned in the cotton-stuffed haze.
Her eyes darted to the guards, wild. "Why are you all standing there? Bring the healer now!"
She turned sharply then, her gaze snapping to Callisto, who stood at my side, his grip steadying me, holding me upright when my own legs threatened to give way.
"W-What happened to your sister—?" her words trembled, rising in pitch. "Who did this—? Where were you"?
I was still standing in the eye of the storm. Everything felt muted, like someone had stuffed the world with cotton. The torchlight blurred. Even the whispers around me blurred. The queen's voice faded into the background. My head swam, my limbs turned to water. And then my knees gave way.
The last thing I heard before the world fell into shadow was her voice again, louder this time, sharp with panic, crying out my name.
"Elinessa!"
And then, nothing. Only darkness surrounded me.
************************************
The clang of steel rang sharp and clear across the clearing, echoing through the cool hush of dawn. Morning mist still clung to the edges of the trees like a fading dream, but the training grounds were already wide awake. Swords crashed against shields, boots pounded into packed dirt, and voices shouted over each other.
At the center of it all stood Drayce Vortalis. Bare-armed, his black long hair damp with sweat, he moved like a creature carved from war itself, a weapon disguised in mortal form. His strikes were swift, brutal, unerring. Not a single movement wasted. Every pivot of his foot, every arc of his blade, was executed with deadly clarity, as if he were not practicing but surviving.
His opponent much taller, older, and was already soaked through with exhaustion stumbled back under the relentless barrage, his sword wavering, his chest heaving as he struggled to keep up.
But Drayce didn't relent. His voice rang out, low and hard as iron:
"Again."
The soldier tried, raised his blade and attacked but was promptly disarmed by a single merciless sweep. His weapon clattered into the dirt. He dropped to one knee, chest heaving.
Before the defeated soldier could fully catch his breath, another figure stepped into the clearing, wrapped in a scout's leathers, dust on his boots and tension in his shoulders. He moved with careful timing, waiting for the lull between strikes before approaching the center of the training ring. He bowed quickly.
"Your Majesty."
Drayce didn't turn immediately. He drove his sword point-first into its scabbard, the steel vibrated like a struck bell. Only then did he lift his head.
"Speak."
The scout shifted uneasily. His eyes flicked to the soldiers around them, then quickly back to Drayce.
"It's Lord Rhiven, Your Majesty."
Drayce's brow arched just slightly.
"What about him?"
The scout swallowed. "Lord crossed into Elarion territory two nights ago. He said he wanted a little... fun inside Elarion's walls."
A ripple of disapproval swept through few of the gathered soldiers. Someone muttered something under his breath, a couple of others snickered at the remark.
Drayce's gaze cut toward the voice, and silence fell instantly. His attention snapped back to the scout.
"Go on."
"He's been captured."
Drayce stilled. The sword in his hand lowered, as if he hadn't decided yet whether this news was cause for concern... or amusement. He then added
"Captured? "