The river that cut through Rosehollow shimmered with late-afternoon light, its waters moving lazily beneath the willows. Liora Thervaine sat astride her horse at the bank, letting it lower its head to drink. Her hands rested lightly on the reins as her gaze drifted over the ripples.
Rosehollow was always a calm place. With gentle valleys and gardens that smelled of roses in spring. But today, Liora felt a restlessness she couldn't shake.
I can't get over this strange feeling today…
Liora swung lightly down from the saddle, her boots pressing into the soft earth with a muted thud. She gathered the reins in her hands, guiding the horse toward a tall sturdy tree. The animal snorted softly, its breath misting in the cool air as she looped the reins around a low branch, knotting them with a tug.
Her steps carried her to the riverbank. She crouched down, skirts whispering around her ankles, and leaned closer, green eyes tracing her reflection in the ripples.
Her long chestnut hair, loose in soft waves, framed a face that was both delicate and striking. The sunlight touched the faint mole beneath her left eye, a mark that drew the gaze subtly, giving her expression a softness that belied her will.
She studied the water's surface in silence, the reflection staring back at her. A young noblewoman, slender but not fragile, dressed in pale riding clothes that carried dust from the road.
For a moment she searched the rippling image, as though expecting to see something other than herself gazing back.
I should go back soon. But I do not want to. The weather is so nice today...
Liora extended her hand toward the river, fingertips grazing the cool surface before sinking just beneath. She swirled the water slowly, moving her hand left to right, watching the ripples scatter across the current. The reflection broke apart, stretching and bending with every motion.
Suddenly she felt a shiver. A faint wind brushed against her cheek, carrying with it a sudden stillness, as though the world itself had paused. The warmth of the sun drained, the hum of insects stilled and when Liora blinked again, she was no longer in Rosehollow.
A void stretched in every direction, black and soundless.
No light.
What is this? Where am I?
Her breath caught as she looked around confused.
She took a few steps into the darkness and in it, a familiar figure appeared.
"Grandmother…?" She asked.
The old woman, Mariselle, stood before her, silver hair gleaming as though it carried its own light.
Her bearing was calm, but there was sorrow in her eyes.
"My dear Liora…"
Liora's chest tightened.
"Grandmother, what is happening?"
"The time has come Liora."
Mariselle extended both hands forward approaching Liora with care.
The time… time for what? Is this…
"This… this is the inheritance, isn't it grandmother?"
Mariselle nodded slowly.
"The power can never die my child. It was with me from my mother, and now it must be given on."
Liora hesitated, her pulse quickening.
"But… why me? Why not aunt Verena? She has always wanted it. Or Selina… she would take it gladly. I know mother never wished for this, but me? I never thought you would give it to me."
Mariselle's smiled and with a care she grabbed her hands.
"Because wanting power is not the same as being able to bear it my dear child. Verena's hunger would consume her in time. Selina's vanity would do the same. You may not see it yet, Liora, but you are the perfect choice for this. I have dreamt it so many times…"
Tears stung Liora's her eyes.
"And if I fail? What if I can't learn how to use it properly?"
"Then you will fail as yourself. That is still better than living as another's shadow."
Liora's breath shook.
Mariselle's grip was warm.
"Trust in yourself Liora. Remember everything you saw and read."
She squeezed her hands gently and the empty space around them trembled, green threads of light now spilling from their entwined hands.
Mariselle's expression softened.
"From this day forward, you are a Magessa. Remember that. Whatever happens, face it, endure it and conquer it."
Her voice grew lower.
"You must also be aware of one thing that I have not shared with you yet. Where there is a Magessa, there will always be a sorcerer my dear. They are drawn as shadows to light, equal in strength. It is not a choice, but a law older than crowns and empires.
"A sorcerer?"
"Yes. When I received this power, I too was bound. Your grandfather was a sorcerer. The only man who ever stood beside me, and the only one who could have undone me."
Liora's eyes widened.
"Grandfather…?"
Mariselle's smile was faint and wistful.
"Yes. The bond gave both of us strength. And in time, all the magic flowed from him to me. This happens to all that possess the powers of a Magessa."
The light between their hands flared brighter, almost searing.
Liora's breath caught.
"Grandmother… does this mean…?"
The faintest smile touched Mariselle's lips, though her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
"Yes, child. The gift does not linger in two vessels. As it awakens in you, it departs from me. My time is done."
Liora shook her head quickly, grip tightening on her grandmother's hands.
"No! Don't say that! You've always been strong. You've guided us, held us together. I still need you —"
"Hush, my Liora." Mariselle brushed her thumb gently across her granddaughter's knuckles, though the weight in her voice deepened. "You will need me less than you think. And when the world tries to break you, remember that you carry me within you now. My strength, my sight, my heart. They live on in you."
The words pierced deeper than the rush of magic. Liora's tears spilled freely, falling into the void like drops into endless water.
"I don't want to lose you."
"I know child…" Mariselle's smile grew faint. "But I will always be in your heart."
Liora felt her grandmother's warmth pulling away, not just into her body but into her very soul.
Her heart pounded, torn between awe and grief.
This is really happening… she's leaving this world...
"Grandmother!"
Mariselle's figure trembled, flickering like smoke. She held tightly to Liora's hands, eyes locked on her granddaughter's face. Then, her gaze shifted past Liora's shoulder. Her expression faltered, sorrow cutting deeper than the fading of her own body.
"Your bond… is here."
Liora froze, afraid to look, but she felt behind her the weight of a presence stepping though the darkness, tall, sharp, suffocating. Her grandmother's grip tightened, as though shielding her from what stood beyond.
Mariselle's voice quavered, soft yet heavy with regret once the figure was clear in her eyes.
"Him… Of all fates, I had not wished this for you, child."
From behind, a low, commanding voice cut through the void.
"You know we cannot stop this. Get it over with already."
Liora's chest seized. She couldn't turn, not yet, not while her grandmother's hands still clung to hers. Mariselle closed her eyes, pain and resolve mingling across her features. When she opened them again, she looked only at Liora, her gaze fierce and unyielding even as her form wavered.
"Be strong, Liora. Be wiser than I was. And above all… follow your heart, no matter how much it hurts."
Her warmth slipped away. The light dissolved from Liora's hands. And then, Mariselle was gone.
The void felt colder now.
Liora's fingers trembled in the emptiness, the weight of her grandmother's last words pressing heavy against her chest.
Only then did she turn.
He stood a step behind her. Tall, broad-shouldered, every line of him cut in shadow and silver light. Black hair framed a face of sharp aristocratic angles, his silver eyes catching the void's faint glow like twin moons. He was not merely handsome; he was devastating, the kind of beauty that felt like he was not human.
Her breath caught, confusion knotting in her throat.
Who is he? My bond? Why… why do I feel as though he has always been waiting here?
He didn't give her long to wonder. His voice was deep and resonant, each word deliberate.
"Raise your palm," he said.
Liora flinched, instinct telling her to refuse, but her body betrayed her. Her hand lifted, trembling in the air.
He raised his as well, and their palms hovered inches apart, not touching, yet burning with an unseen force.
His hand is so big compared to mine.
A glow suddenly surged between them. Silver streaks entwined with threads of green, coiling and sparking like living fire. The space shook around them, the void itself bending to the command of their joined power.
Liora's heart raced. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, caught in the searing pull between them.
His gaze never wavered, cold and merciless as it pierced into her.
At last, he spoke again.
"I will be seeing you soon."
The light seared against her skin, then vanished. And with it, so did he.
***
The world shattered around her.
Liora's lungs seized as if she had been drowning, and then sound rushed back in. The water lapping against stone, the rustle of willow branches, the snort of her horse shifting its weight.
She was back by the river. Back in Rosehollow.
Her hands were trembling. Her skin tingled, as though the phantom glow still burned across her palms. She pressed her fingers to her chest, but the thundering in her heart refused to calm.
"Grandmother…"
The word cracked in her throat. The void was gone, but she knew. The power pulsing faintly inside her, unfamiliar and alive, told her everything she didn't want to admit.
Mariselle was gone.
No. This can't be.
Her breath came shallow and fast. She rushed to untie the reigns and jumped on the horse, turning sharply toward the road. The horse lurched forward, hooves striking stone as she urged it into a gallop. Trees blurred past, the wind catching strands of chestnut hair, but she didn't slow.
Her vision stung, not from the speed but from tears she couldn't stop. The closer she rode to the manor, the heavier the ache grew, until the tall oaks lining Rosehollow's estate came into view.
She barely remembered leaping from the saddle. Her boots struck gravel, skirts gathered in her fists as she ran through the gates and across the garden paths she had known since childhood. The front doors of the manor loomed, already half-open, the household in disarray.
And when she stepped inside, she saw the truth waiting. Maids weeping in the hall, her mother pale and stricken, her aunt Verena clutching her cousin Selina's hand too tightly.
At the center of it all, on a bed of linens drawn hastily to the parlor, lay Mariselle.
Liora's knees threatened to give way.
The parlor smelled faintly of smoke and roses, though neither could mask the grief surrounding the walls.
Helene Thervaine stood nearest to the bed, one hand covering her mouth as though holding back a cry. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, fixed on her mother's still form. Verena Duskveil, by contrast, dabbed at the corner of her eye with a kerchief, though her jaw was tight and her gaze sharp. Beside her, Selina Duskveil, clutched her mother's hand, but her cousin's eyes flicked more toward Liora than the bed, studying her with suspicion.
The weight of the room pressed in.
Liora stepped forward, her voice breaking.
"She's really…"
Helene turned then, rushing to her daughter, pulling her into a trembling embrace.
"She's gone, Liora. She just left us quietly in her sleep. I… I didn't even know it was coming…"
But Liora knew.
She felt it humming beneath her skin, the strange current of warmth and power still unsettled inside her. And though no one else could see it, Verena's eyes narrowed as though she sensed something happened.
"You knew, didn't you? You were with her," Verena said suddenly, her tone too sharp for the moment.
Liora froze.
"I wasn't—"
"Tell the truth!" Verena pressed, stepping closer, her kerchief lowering. "I know how this works. Mother didn't appear to me. She didn't choose me. Nor my daughter."
Selina's lips parted, her eyes widening in surprise, then hardening in resentment.
"That can't be true!"
"Enough!" Helene snapped, surprising them all with the steel in her voice. She held Liora's hand tightly, as though shielding her. "Not tonight. We will not tear each other apart on the day we bury her."
The room fell into uneasy silence. Only the faint crackle of the hearth filled the void where
Mariselle's presence had once been.
But Liora knew that nothing in her life would ever be the same.
***
The funeral came swiftly, as was custom in Rosehollow. The manor's great hall was draped in muted silks, candles lining the floor like stars drawn down from the heavens.
Nobles from nearby estates came to pay respects, their condolences whispered as much for appearances as for sincerity. Every bow, every murmur of sympathy, was followed by another glance toward Liora, the girl who stood nearest the bier, green eyes rimmed with grief, chestnut hair braided in mourning black.
And behind those glances, whispers stirred only from people who knew the truth about Mariselle.
"The old Magessa is gone…"
"They say she chose one of them…"
"Not Verena? Then who?"
Liora felt them watching, though none dared ask directly.
Beside her, Selina shifted restlessly, her face arranged in practiced sorrow, though her hand twisted the hem of her sleeve. Verena's gaze lingered not on the bier, but on Liora herself, sharp and weighing, as though daring her to falter. Helene stood pale and silent, enduring the condolences with stiff composure.
When the time came, Liora stepped forward. Her hands trembled as she placed a single white rose across her grandmother's still chest.
"Goodbye, grandmother," she whispered, the words meant for no one else. "I'll… I'll carry you with me."
Her throat tightened.
She bowed her head, but as she did, the faintest hum stirred again in her blood. The echo of silver threads, the weight of unseen eyes. And for a moment, she wondered if the man from the void was still watching her.
***
The days after the funeral were heavy with silence. The halls of the manor felt emptier, the air still carrying the absence of Mariselle's presence.
But grief was not the only thing that filled the manor. Verena's eyes followed Liora everywhere.
At meals, she questioned her in veiled tones.
"So, did mother say anything specific to you? Anything at all before she passed?"
Selina's bitterness was less restrained.
"If she chose you, then it isn't fair. I've prepared for this my whole life. Why would she give it to you?"
Liora deflected what she could, but the questions clawed at her, because she had no answers herself. She had not asked for this power, nor the bond that came with it. It had been thrust upon her.
Her mother, Helene, tried to shield her whenever she was present.
"Enough," she said firmly more than once, her voice trembling but resolute. "Liora has suffered enough without you two prying. Mother's passing was hard on all of us."
But tension only grew.
***
The study around him had vanished in an instant. One moment he had been alone, quill scratching against paper, the next, a violent pull came, and the void opened.
Cassian stood in the dark between worlds, the endless silver threads humming faintly in the black.
It seems another one has died.
He had been here before, in other moments of binding, but this time it was different. The air burned sharper, alive with something that unsettled him.
And then he saw her.
A girl. Young. Chestnut hair tumbling loose, eyes wide and green as cut glass. Trembling hands clasped between those of Mariselle. He knew the name, whispered in closed circles he'd dismissed as rumor, but the sight before him left little doubt. The inheritance was being passed and the young girl was its vessel.
Cassian narrowed his eyes, studying her.
So… this is what fate drags before me. A slip of a girl…
Yet even as he thought it, he caught something else in her. The set of her jaw, the way she lifted her chin even as tears welled in her eyes.
Fear, perhaps...
When Mariselle's fading gaze found him, sorrow clouded her face.
"Him… Of all fates, I had not wished this for you, child." The dying Magessa whispered, as though she had wished for another.
Cassian stepped closer, silver fire burning in his eyes, and his voice rang across the void.
"You know we cannot stop this. Get it over with."
The transfer came swift. Threads of green flaring between them, striking through the girl's form like lightning. Mariselle's shape wavered, fading with a final look of grief and pride.
The girl turned then, startled, her green eyes colliding with his. For the briefest instant she seemed to forget her fear, caught instead by him.
Weak.
"Raise your hand."
She obeyed, trembling but resolute.
Their palms did not touch, but the air between them glowed, searing threads of light weaving from him to her. And with that, the bond sealed, final and irrevocable.
Cassian studied her face in that glow. A girl too young, too untested, yet already braver than most who had stood before him. Something coiled low in his chest, equal parts irritation and… interest.
Hmm… Maybe not that weak.
"I will be seeing you soon."
And then the void shattered, leaving only the echo of her green eyes seared into his mind.
Cassian's breath tore back into his lungs as he snapped upright in his chair. The firelight of his study swam into view, the scent of parchment and wax replacing the cold nothing of the dark.
"Your Grace!"
A white-haired man stood at his side, one hand braced against the carved desk. His voice was steady but edged with urgency.
"You collapsed. Your eyes went glassed. What happened? Shall I fetch the physician?"
Cassian drew in a slow breath, his gloved hands flexing once against the armrest before he pushed himself to his feet. He moved past the man, unhurried. His steps carried him to the tall windows, where the storm-gray light of Silvermourne pressed against the glass.
"Gareth, it happened again," he said at last, his voice low.
Gareth's brow furrowed, but he held his silence until the meaning struck him. His pale blue eyes widened, the faintest ripple of shock breaking his discipline.
"You… are bound again."
Cassian's gaze lingered on the bleak landscape beyond the window.
"Yes."
The single word was quiet, but it carried like a blade drawn.
Gareth exhaled slowly.
"And the girl?"
Cassian's hand lifted slightly, fingertips brushing the cool glass as though he could still feel the warmth of her trembling palm through it.
"Young. Too young. But… brave." His lips curved faintly, without warmth. "She lifted her hand without question. It is done."
A silence settled between them, filled only by the steady crackle of the fire. Then Cassian turned from the window, his long coat whispering against the stone floor.
"Prepare to leave immediately," he ordered. "Bring her to me."
Gareth bowed his head without hesitation.
"At once, my lord."
Cassian's gaze hardened, silver eyes glinting like a wolf's in the dark.
This time… fate will not escape me.
***
On the eighth day after the funeral, the quiet broke.
Liora was in the garden when the sound of wheels and hooves drew near. She lifted her head to see a dark carriage rolling up the gravel drive, flanked by riders in silver-trimmed black. Its polished wood gleamed like obsidian, the crest of a silver wolf, snarling, with fangs bared, worked into its doors.
The household gathered quickly, drawn by the sight. Verena and Selina stood at the steps. Helene paled, her hand gripping Liora's arm as though bracing for a blow.
The carriage halted.
The door opened, and a man stepped out. His hair, white against his darker cloak, caught the afternoon light like frost. A silver clasp fastened his mantle, and his eyes, cool and assessing, swept the gathered family before settling on Liora.
When he spoke, his voice was calm and soft.
"By command of His Grace, Archduke Cassian Veyronn of Silvermourne, I come to escort Lady Liora Thervaine to his palace."
Everyone froze. Liora's mind reeled.
The Archduke? Silvermourne? Why me?
Helene's gasp beside her was enough to confirm it. She knew the name. They all did. Even Verena and Selina, who had been so quick to scorn, fell silent, shock and fear twisting their expressions. Only Liora stood unmoving, her heart pounding as a single image flashed before her mind's eye. Silver eyes in the dark.
The silence dragged, heavy and suffocating.
"No…" Helene whispered, her voice barely audible. "It cannot be."
"The Archduke? Why would he send for her?" Verena's eyes cut toward Liora, venom hidden behind a mask of composure.
Selina's mouth twisted.
"It must be a mistake. Surely it isn't her—"
But the white-haired man at the carriage door did not waver. His expression was carved from stone, his gaze fixed on Liora as though the others were no more than shadows.
"There is no mistake," he said evenly. "His Grace has called, and Lady Liora Thervaine must answer."
Helene's voice broke, desperation spilling through her grief.
"She is only a girl! She has never left Rosehollow—"
"Her age is of no consequence," the man interrupted, his tone unflinching. "A bond was formed between His Grace and Lady Thervaine. You know this as well as I."
Liora's heart thudded in her chest.
Bond.
Mariselle's words echoed in her mind, colliding with the memory of the silver eyes.
The man stepped forward, bowing stiffly.
"My lady," he said, his voice formal and stern. "I am Gareth Rivers, sworn to Archduke Cassian Veyronn. By his command, I am to escort you to Silvermourne at once."
The world tilted beneath her feet.
Helene's hand slipped from Liora's arm as though the strength had drained from her body. She swayed where she stood, her face pale, her lips trembling with words she could not speak.
"No… it is too soon for her to leave…" she whispered hoarsely.
Verena's voice cut through the air, too quick, too sharp.
"If the Archduke has called, then it is law. Rosehollow has no power to deny him." Her gaze lingered on Liora, hard and gleaming. "You should be grateful, niece. Few are ever noticed by Silvermourne."
"Grateful?" Helene snapped, her sorrow twisting into fury. "Do you not see? She's being taken from us!"
Selina crossed her arms tightly, her expression now caught between envy and fear.
"Better her than me," she muttered under her breath, though her eyes betrayed the sting of being passed over.
Liora's chest ached, but her voice failed her. She could only stand still as Gareth Rivers bowed again, his white hair gleaming in the sun.
"Prepare yourself, my lady," he said, calm as ever. "We depart before nightfall. We have a long road ahead."
***
The manor was a whirlwind of motion. Servants moved in and out, carrying trunks, gathering garments, packing hastily under Helene's strained directions. Verena excused herself from the chaos, claiming exhaustion, though her lingering look made clear she wanted no part in helping.
Selina hovered only briefly, then vanished as well, unwilling to watch the commotion.
Liora stood in her chamber, numb as gowns were folded into cases, as jewelry boxes were latched shut. The world she had known of gardens of roses, quiet rides by the river, her grandmother's warm hand on hers, was being stripped away with each item carried to the carriage.
"My lady."
The soft voice came from the doorway. Ella, her companion since childhood, stood there with her hands clasped. Her honey-colored eyes were red from crying, though her chin was lifted stubbornly.
"I have decided. I am coming with you."
Liora blinked, startled.
"Ella… no, you don't have to. This... this isn't your burden."
But Ella shook her head firmly, stepping forward.
"I have already discussed it with my father. You've never left Rosehollow. You shouldn't go alone. Wherever you're taken, you will need someone beside you who remembers you as you are. Please, my lady… let me come."
Something in Liora's chest cracked. She stepped forward, clutching Ella's hands tightly.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I don't know what I'll face, but… if you stay by my side I am sure everything will be alright."
***
By evening, the carriage stood ready in the drive. The silver wolf crest caught the fading light as the last of Liora's trunks were fastened inside.
Helene embraced her daughter tightly at the threshold, tears streaming openly now.
"Remember who you are, Liora. Promise me. Don't let them turn you into something you're not."
"I promise, mother. Everything will be alright."
"I will come visit you as soon as you accommodate. Write me as often as you can."
"Yes I will. Everyday if I can. Promise."
When she pulled away and looked back at the carriage, at Gareth Rivers waiting with unwavering composure, she wondered if such promises could truly be kept.
She climbed inside, Ella following close behind. The door closed, and the wheels turned.
Rosehollow slowly fell away behind them. Ahead, Silvermourne.
***
The carriage swayed gently, the rhythm of hooves and wheels filling the silence. Liora sat stiffly on the cushioned seat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Across from her, Ella smoothed her skirts nervously, stealing glances at her mistress as though searching for words of comfort she did not know how to speak.
Outside, riders in black and silver flanked them, their armor catching the last rays of daylight. Liora tried not to look, but every glimpse of the silver wolf crest on their mantles made her chest tighten.
At last, she forced her voice through the quiet.
"Ella. You could still return. No one would think less of you."
Ella shook her head immediately, her eyes fierce despite the tremor in her hands.
"I told you, my lady. I am coming with you no matter what. Wherever this takes you, I won't let you face it alone."
Liora's throat tightened. She managed a small nod, though her heart still ached.
"Thank you."
The carriage slowed and stopped. The door creaked suddenly, both girls startled as it opened from outside. Gareth leaned in, his eyes studying Liora.
"Are you comfortable, my lady?" His tone was polite, but the words carried no softness.
Liora straightened.
"Yes. As well as I can be."
Gareth inclined his head slightly.
"Good. The journey to Silvermourne is not short. His Grace does not tolerate delays. We will make as few stops as possible."
Ella bristled, but Liora leaned in and touched her hand lightly, silencing her before she could speak. She met Gareth's gaze, her voice quiet but steady.
"And what awaits me there?"
For the first time, a flicker of something else crossed his expression.
"The Archduke," he said simply.
Then he closed the door, ordering the carriage to move, leaving them to the rattle of wheels and the weight of his words.
The road wound on into night. Liora pressed her forehead lightly against the window, watching the fields and forests pass in darkness. Each turn carried her farther from her home, farther from everything she knew. And closer to him.
Silver eyes haunted her memory, sharp and unrelenting. The man from the void, the one her grandmother had feared for her. Now she was being carried straight into his hands. Her heart pounded with dread and something else she could not yet name.
I am afraid…
***
The days bled together.
The carriage rolled through villages and towns, through winding fields that slowly gave way to harder, harsher lands. The air grew colder the farther north they traveled, and the gentle rose-dappled hills gave way to forests of towering pines, their dark branches clawing at the sky.
Every two nights, they rested in waystations owned by the Archduke. The inns were fine enough, but the people there, the servants, the guards, bowed to Gareth Rivers with reverence, as though his presence alone carried the Archduke's authority.
When their eyes locked with Liora's, it was with wariness.
Ella noticed it too.
"They look at you as if they know where you're headed," she whispered one evening, as she helped Liora unlace her gown.
Liora swallowed hard.
"Maybe they do. I do not think it's hard to tell with that wolf crest everywhere."
By the sixth day, the land had changed entirely.
The roads grew steeper, winding through jagged cliffs that loomed like silent sentinels. Mist clung low in the valleys, and rivers thundered from hidden waterfalls. The further they went, the more the air carried the bite of winter, though it was only fall.
From the carriage window, Liora watched wolves darting at the edge of the woods, lean, spectral forms that vanished as quickly as they appeared. It made the wolf crest on the riders' mantles seem less like a symbol and more like a warning.
She shivered and drew her cloak tighter.
"This is nothing like Rosehollow."
Ella, huddled close, gave her hand a squeeze.
"It feels like another world."
A sharp knock at the door startled them. Gareth's voice followed, even as the wheels rumbled on.
"Prepare yourselves. Silvermourne is ahead."
The carriage crested a final rise.
And there it was.
The fortress of Silvermourne loomed against the gray sky, a sprawling citadel of black stone built into the cliffs themselves. High towers pierced the clouds, their banners snapping with the silver wolf. The keep looked less like a home and more like a structure carved from the mountain, a place built to endure storms, sieges, and centuries alike.
The sight stole Liora's breath. In her eyes, it was a prison disguised as a palace. The wheels rattled louder on the stone bridge as they crossed into the shadow of its gates. The guards saluted Gareth, the iron portcullis groaning open.
The carriage passed within and for the first time, Liora felt the truth settle into her bones.
My world of flowers and rivers is gone…
She had now entered the wolf's den.