The forest floor gave way to a path of smooth, dark stones that seemed to absorb the starlight. Kaelen moved with a relentless, ground-eating stride, and Alina had to half-jog to keep up, her mind still a whirlwind of fractured realities. Princess Elyria. Shadow Guard. A Queen for a sister. The words were nonsensical, a language from a book she'd never read, yet the man striding before her spoke them with the grim certainty of a zealot.
"Where are you taking me?" she finally managed, her voice thin.
"To the Citadel," Kaelen replied without turning. His voice was a low rumble, devoid of any comfort. "To the Queen."
"She's not my Queen. My name is Alina Gray. I work in an office. I have a tiny, terrible apartment with a leaky faucet. This is a mistake. A dream." She was rambling, the words tumbling out in a desperate attempt to reconstruct the walls of her own reality.
Kaelen stopped so abruptly she nearly collided with his broad, armored back. He turned slowly, and in the ethereal glow of the forest, his storm-gray eyes seemed to pierce right through her.
"There is no Alina Gray here," he said, his voice flat and absolute. "She does not exist. The woman who stands before me is Elyria, Second Daughter of Queen Elara, marked by the Breach and returned by prophecy. The sooner you accept this, the sooner you can be of use."
"Of use?" The words were a slap. She wasn't a person to him, just a tool. A flicker of her old, buried anger sparked to life. "I'm not a thing to be used."
A flicker of something—surprise? respect?—crossed his features before his stoic mask slammed back into place. Before he could respond, a new voice cut through the air, crisp and impossibly prim.
"Her Highness is, of course, correct, Captain. She is not a tool. She is the answer to a prayer the kingdom has long forgotten how to voice."
Alina and Kaelen both turned. Perched on the low-hanging branch of a silver-leafed tree was a dove. It was immaculately groomed, its feathers the color of pure, spun gold, shimmering as if lit from within. It tilted its head, its small, black eyes seeming to hold an ancient, unnerving intelligence. And its beak, Alina noted with a fresh wave of hysteria, had just moved.
She was officially losing her mind.
"Alfred," Kaelen said, his tone a mix of respect and exasperation. "You are far from your post at the Royal Archives."
"The Archives are merely stone and parchment," the golden dove, Alfred, replied, hopping from the branch to land gracefully on a nearby rock. "History, however, is being made here, in the flesh. I felt the surge of your arrival, Princess. The entire kingdom did." He looked at Alina, his gaze far too perceptive for a bird. "It has been many years. You were but an infant."
Alina just stared, her mouth agape. A talking bird. A very well-spoken, slightly condescending talking bird. She felt a hysterical giggle bubble up in her chest.
"You talk," she said lamely.
"I do a great many things," Alfred replied archly. "Speaking is merely the one you are currently equipped to comprehend." He turned his attention back to Kaelen. "The capital is in a state of quiet panic, Captain. The magic of the city's core has been unstable since she arrived."
As if on cue, the path before them, which had been lined with softly glowing flora, began to flicker. The gentle blue and violet lights sputtered, one patch of glowing moss dimming into darkness before flaring back to life, weaker than before.
"What is that?" Alina asked, her own panic rising again.
"It is the sickness," Kaelen said, his gaze sweeping the dimming lights. "The Breach." He started walking again, faster this time. "Emeraldia's magic is a finite resource, connected to a rift between worlds. For generations, it has been stable. But something has weakened the connection. The magic is fading, bleeding out. The prophecy states that only the child marked by the Breach can heal it." He glanced back at her, his expression grim. "That is you, Princess. You are either our salvation or our final doom."
They emerged from the forest onto a rise overlooking a city of impossible beauty. Towers of what looked like white crystal and green marble spiraled into the star-dusted sky, connected by elegant, glowing bridges. Rivers of liquid light flowed where streets should have been. But just as Kaelen had warned, the city's magnificent glow was inconsistent. Alina could see entire sections of the glowing rivers dimming, and the lights on some of the bridges flickered like dying embers. The city was beautiful, but it was wounded.
Alfred fluttered up to land softly on her shoulder, his presence a surprising, solid weight. "Do not be afraid, Princess," he whispered, his voice for her ears alone. "This is your home."
Home? Her home was a tiny room with peeling wallpaper. This majestic, dying city was a beautiful nightmare.
They descended into the capital, the air humming with a nervous energy. The people—graceful, elegantly dressed, some with the faintest point to their ears—stopped and stared as she passed, their eyes wide with awe and fear, drawn to the still-faintly-glowing mark on her wrist. She was a ghost returned, a prophecy made flesh, and she could feel the weight of their desperate hope settling on her like a shroud.
They finally reached the foot of the largest tower, the Citadel. Its gates were massive, forged from a shimmering, dark metal, and guarded by soldiers in the same emerald armor as Kaelen. They stood before the gates, the palace looming over them like a beautiful, silent judge.
As they approached the palace, the vibrant magic of the city seemed to flicker and dim around them, as if the world itself was holding its breath, waiting to see if she would save it or break it.