Hearts of Ash and Ivory
The palace of Aelthar rose from the cliffs like a jewel carved into the bones of the world. White stone walls gleamed beneath the morning sun, their towers adorned with banners of emerald and black—the colors of House Thorne. Below, the city of Calveris bustled with life, its people unaware or unconcerned that within the high tower of the keep, a prisoner of war was being led through its halls.
Seris Virelle's chains clinked with every step.
The guards flanked her without speaking, their helms shadowing their faces. She didn't look at them. Her gaze roamed the palace walls—the intricacy of the mosaics, the inlaid runes, the scent of lemon oil and steel. She committed everything to memory.
A prison could still be mapped.
They passed a colonnade where noblewomen strolled in laughter. Seris caught the edge of a curious glance before the woman averted her eyes. A rebel, in chains, being paraded through the court? Scandalous. Dangerous. Delicious.
Let them look, she thought. Let them fear.
At the top of a wide staircase, they stopped
The guards parted, and the doors opened.
"Inside," one barked.
Seris stepped through into a room unlike the others—less grand, more practical. Tall windows let in light and wind, rustling the maps pinned to every wall. A long table occupied the center, cluttered with scrolls, blades, and an untouched plate of fruit.
And there he stood again. Kael Thorne.
He didn't wear a crown. Just a loose green tunic, the sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms corded with muscle. His sword belt was slung low, and a folded map sat beneath one hand.
His grey eyes met hers.
"Leave us," he said to the guards.
They hesitated.
"She's shackled," Kael added without looking away. "If she tries anything, I'll handle it."
The guards left.
Silence fell.
Seris refused to break it.
Kael moved to the side of the room and poured two cups of wine. He placed one on the table near her, then took a long sip from the other.
"I assume you can speak."
She tilted her head. "Only to those who deserve answers."
He chuckled once. "So you're bold and delusional."
"I've been called worse."
Kael leaned against the table's edge. "You should know, Seris Virelle, that you've become something of a symbol. The Ghost of Eleran. A myth for the rebels. A nuisance for the Crown. My mother wanted your head sent to every province on a pike."
"But here I am," she said, eyes narrowing. "Still breathing."
"For now," he replied.
Another silence.
Then Kael stepped forward, holding out a key. With a sharp twist, he unlocked her shackles.
Seris didn't move, didn't rub her wrists or lunge for his throat. She just stared at him.
"Why?" she asked coldly.
"Because I want you to feel what it's like to walk freely," he said, stepping back, "before you realize how much it costs."
They gave her a room in the west wing of the palace. Not a dungeon, but not luxurious either. A small window overlooked the ocean. The bed was hard, the food plain. No weapons. No visitors. Guards at the door.
But it was enough.
Enough to plan.
Enough to survive.
On the third day, she was summoned again.
This time, the Queen sat in the room.
Queen Vaelira Thorne was not old, but time had sharpened her instead of withering her. Her gown shimmered with threads of silver, and a blood-red jewel burned at her throat. Her gaze was colder than Kael's, more calculating.
"So," the Queen said, folding her hands. "This is the rebel girl."
Seris bowed her head slightly—not out of respect, but strategy.
Kael stood nearby, his expression unreadable.
"I've read your file," the Queen continued. "Daughter of the High Warden. Trained in covert tactics, fluent in three dialects. Accused of orchestrating the Fall of
Denmoor."
"I didn't orchestrate it," Seris said. "I executed it."
Kael's jaw tightened.
Vaelira smiled faintly. "Arrogance will not save you."
"No," Seris agreed. "But it might keep me entertained while I'm your prisoner."
The Queen rose. "You will remain here until we extract what we need. Cooperation might earn you clemency. Defiance will earn you... less."
Seris raised an eyebrow. "And your son? What does he earn for harboring a rebel?"
The Queen turned to Kael with a look that was almost pity. "He is learning the cost of mercy.
That night, Seris sat at her window, watching the sea devour the horizon.
She thought of her father's voice, cold and proud. "Never forget who they are, Seris. Never forgive."
She remembered the fire, the screams, the shattered look in her mother's eyes before the Queen's men dragged her away.
She would not forget.
But Kael complicated things.
He visited again the next day. No guards. No threats. Just a quiet conversation over bread and soup.
He asked about her childhood.
She refused to answer.
He asked about her fighting style.
She quoted poetry instead.
He asked what she wanted.
And for once, she didn't have an answer.
Later, Kael sat alone in the training yard, striking at a wooden dummy with slow, brutal precision. Sweat soaked his shirt. His sword gleamed with oil.
General Harth approached.
"You're playing with fire, my prince."
Kael didn't stop.
She's more than she seems."
"She's dangerous."
"So am I," Kael said, striking again.
"You're risking the Queen's trust."
Kael paused, blade raised. "I'm not interested in her trust. I'm interested in winning."
"And you think keeping a rebel princess in your palace will help that?"
Kael's eyes glinted. "Maybe not. But understanding her will."
That evening, Seris found a note under her plate.
Come to the eastern terrace at midnight. No guards. No blades. – K
She almost ignored it.
Almost.
But curiosity is a powerful poison.
At midnight, she stepped onto the terrace overlooking the sea.
Kael stood at the railing, back to her, hair tousled by the wind.
"You didn't bring guards," she said.
"I said no guards."
"And no blades?"
He turned. "Not on me."
She kept her distance.
"Why am I here?" she asked.
"To talk."
"You have a strange idea of courtship," she said dryly.
He laughed. "Who said anything about courtship?"
"Didn't think this was a friendship either."
Kael leaned back against the railing. "I wanted to see who you are when you're not hiding behind daggers."
"And?"
"You're still hiding."
She walked closer, arms crossed.
"You want honesty? Fine. I think you're a hypocrite. You claim to be better than your mother, but you still wear the same crown."
"And you claim to fight for justice," he said, "but you spill blood without mercy."
She flinched.
He didn't smile.
"I know what war does to people," Kael continued. "What it's done to me. But if we keep letting it define us, we become the very monsters we fight."
For a long time, neither spoke.
Then Seris said, "Why are you really keeping me here?"
Kael looked at her.
"I don't know," he said softly. "Maybe I'm hoping you'll prove me wrong."