CHAPTER 1
POV- ALIRA
Alira stood firmly, her gaze fixed on the moon. The pale light bathed the courtyard, casting long shadows on the stone path. She had always found solace in the sky, the only constant in a world of shifting power and fate. "I will be 18 tomorrow," she thought, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
The air was cool, carrying the subtle hint of autumn's chill. But then, a drop of water fell to the ground, and Alira blinked. It wasn't rain. The sky above was clear, not a cloud in sight. Her breath caught. The single drop felt like the start of something much heavier. Then, tears followed, silently tracing her cheeks, betraying her composed exterior. "Mother," she whispered, her voice thick with sorrow, "I wish you were here. Then maybe I could escape my fate tomorrow."
She heard a rustle behind her—soft footsteps approaching. "Lady Alira," a voice called, emerging from the shadows near the garden gate. Alira wiped her tears quickly, but her heart ached as "She watched the owner of the voice—a young woman, no older than a child—walk toward her, a blanket in hand". As she looked at the young woman, a bitter thought crossed her mind. It's my fault she isn't here too.
"Lady Alira, the breeze is cold. You might catch a cold, and tomorrow is your big day. We wouldn't want a sick bride. And remember, a princess doesn't make her father lose face," the maid said, her voice crisp, polite but sharp, as if delivering a well-rehearsed reminder. There was a quiet edge to her words—too much concern for someone who should be simply attending to Alira's comfort.
Alira didn't even look at her at first. The wind tugged at her hair, her gaze still fixed on the moon. The gentle sway of the trees seemed to mock the weight she carried.
"Vaela, I appreciate your concerns," Alira replied, her voice calm but laced with the faintest trace of annoyance. "But I'm no child."
She finally turned to face the maid. There was something cold in her eyes, a sharpness that spoke volumes without saying a word. Alira had long suspected Vaela was no ordinary maid. The way she watched her—too keen, too calculating—hinted at her father's hand. Another jailer, disguised as a servant, meant to keep her from rebellion. Alira was no fool. But Vaela's presence only made her feel more trapped. Trapped in a life she didn't choose.
"The Queen summons you, Lady Alira," Vaela said softly, draping the blanket around Alira's shoulders.
Alira didn't respond immediately. Her thoughts swirled like the night wind. At this time? she wondered. You need not worry about me, Vaela…
"I heard your groom is next in line for the throne of his realm," Vaela added, cutting into her thoughts. Her voice was casual, but her hand reached out to stroke Alira's hair with calculated gentleness.
Alira gave a smile—a thin, forced expression, unmistakably false. "Thank you, Vaela. I repeat: you need not worry." Her tone held firm as she pushed the maid's hand away from her hair. "You may go."
Vaela's lips curled into a faint, unreadable smile. "As you wish, my princess," she said, voice smooth as silk. She bowed slightly and turned, her footsteps fading back into the shadows of the corridor.
Left alone again, Alira turned toward a cluster of moon-kissed flowers growing along the edge of the path. She reached down, plucked a single petal, and held it between her fingers.
"Mother… I wish you were here," she whispered.
Tears welled up once more, silent and unrelenting, falling like dew upon the stones.
Alira's gaze softened, just for a moment. Is there really no way out? she wondered, as the wind whispered around her, pulling her thoughts into darker corners.
"Each step toward the queen's chambers dragged like a chain, the corridor narrowing with every breath."
A soft knock echoed through the grand chamber.
A handmaiden stepped in, carefully pushing the heavy door just wide enough to slip through. She approached the queen with measured grace, bowing her head slightly as she spoke.
"My queen, Lady Alira, whom you summoned, is here," she said, her voice low and respectful.
Moonlight glinted off the queen's silver robes as she stared through the arched window. She did not turn. She studied the gardens outside in silence for a breath longer before speaking.
"Let her in," she replied calmly.
Alira entered the room, her eyes already brimming with unshed tears. Mother, she thought bitterly.
Lost in thought, Alira was jolted back to reality when a voice interrupted her. "Well, my dear," the queen said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. The expression was too tight, too controlled—something sinister hidden beneath.
Alira glared at her, the urge to strangle the woman almost overwhelming. She didn't care for the queen's sharp words or the sweet facade she wore. In that moment, Alira's nails bit into her palms. The queen's perfume—sickly sweet, like rotting lilies—clung to the air. She wondered if the child would inherit the queen's venom. What a waste, she thought bitterly, to curse something so small.
"No, no, my dear." The queen's finger danced through the air like a silk thread slicing flesh. "A bride doesn't glare like that. You'll disgust your husband."
Alira stood frozen, the words stuck in her throat. She wanted to reply, but her father's anger was always a shadow in her mind, waiting to consume her if she stepped out of line. She swallowed the words she wanted to say, praying to the gods that somehow, a miscarriage would happen this very night—anything to avoid her fate.
"My dear, remember—this is your last chance at my mercy," the queen said, her tone dipping low, dangerous. "If you pull any stunt…"
"This marriage will happen—for your father's legacy. For my crown." Her fingers tightened on Alira's shoulder, sharp as talons. "You understand, don't you?"
Her voice softened as she walked around Alira, her fingers tapping lightly against her shoulder in an almost mocking gesture.
"Come now, dear. We both want what's best for the kingdom."
The queen stopped in front of her, eyes gleaming with sharp satisfaction. "You may leave," she said. Her words were colder now.
Alira turned to leave the queen's chambers.
"Ah—!" a soft gasp broke the silence.
She turned back sharply—and froze.
The Queen had staggered, a hand clutching her stomach, face twisted in sudden pain. Her eyes widened in shock as she stumbled forward, then collapsed to the floor.
"Queen Kestrel!" Alira cried, rushing to her side. The queen's arms instinctively curled around her abdomen. "What's happening?" Alira's voice cracked with panic. "Someone! Is anyone out there?"
Her cries echoed into the hall. A heartbeat later, two guards and a handmaiden burst through the chamber doors.
"My lady, what happened?" one of the guards asked.
Alira stepped back instinctively as they approached the queen's motionless form.
"I didn't do anything!" she stammered. "I turned—just turned—and then… she was already on the ground." Her voice trembled.
One guard bent to lift the queen, cradling her limp form while the other barked an order. "Call the Maesters. Now."
The second guard ran off without hesitation.
Tears spilled down Alira's cheeks as she backed away, her hands shaking violently. "You have to believe me… I didn't touch her… I just turned around—and she was—she was already…"
The handmaiden and guard exchanged a tense glance, their faces unreadable.
She knew what they were thinking.
The king would arrive soon.
And she was no longer safe from his wrath.
"I didn't do anything," Alira whispered again, her voice barely audible. "Please…"
Then—like a crack of thunder in her mind—words she'd never heard before began flashing before her eyes, A voice—foreign and ancient—echoed in her skull:"When the last breath of the fallen king fades…"
Her knees buckled. She clutched her head, stumbling back.
"Three veils shall hide what the crown forbade."
"Who's there?" she screamed. "GET OUT!"
"My princess—what's wrong?" the handmaiden cried, rushing to her.
"Three daughters, not of blood but fate… shall guard the path and seal the gate."
"Get out!" Alira shrieked. She shoved the maid away.
The guards lunged forward, trying to restrain her.
"Out of my head! AHH—my head!"
The voice grew louder. The pain sharpened.
Then everything went black.
Her body slumped to the floor—unconscious before anyone could catch her.
*****
POV-LYRA
"Come out," a guard barked, swinging open the rusted prison door.
A girl stepped forward, her movements stiff, her bare feet dragging against the stone floor. She wore torn, dirt-streaked prison clothes. Bruises marked her skin like ink on parchment—purple, green, some still bleeding. Her face was nearly unrecognizable, battered and swollen.
But her eyes, hollow and unflinching, still held defiance.
"Follow me," the guard growled.
Silently, she obeyed.
They moved through winding corridors, dimly lit by flickering torchlight, until they reached a narrow alley behind the dungeons. Another guard waited there, arms folded, a cruel smirk already forming.
"Where am I?" she asked, her voice hoarse but steady. "This isn't the guard's quarters."
"No talking," the second guard snapped, chuckling. "You're about to have the time of your life."
The first guard grabbed at her clothing, tearing the fabric roughly—but not fully. Enough to humiliate, to threaten. She struggled, her hands pushing back, eyes flashing with rage.
"What is this? Let go of me!" she shouted. "You'll regret this."
The guards laughed.
"Who's going to save you? Your precious princess?" one sneered. "She's in more trouble than you. Even being the king's daughter won't save her now."
The girl stilled, her breath sharp. Her expression darkened—not with fear, but with fury.
"My lady," she whispered under her breath. "What did they do to you?"
"Let's get this over with," one of the guards said, patting the other on the back.
Then—spit. A thick glob landed on the first guard's face.
Before he could react, the girl slammed her knee hard between his legs. He collapsed with a groan, writhing on the ground.
The second guard lunged.
But she was faster.
In a blur, she sidestepped him, slipping his dagger from his belt. Steel flashed in the torchlight.
The blade sank into his stomach.
He gasped—then crumpled, blood pooling beneath him.
The first guard, still groaning on the ground, stared at her in disbelief. "Please…" he whimpered. "Spare me… please…"
She didn't hesitate.
The dagger struck his throat.
Blood sprayed. Silence followed.
She stood over the bodies, chest heaving, face expressionless beneath the bloodstains.
Then she turned, and started walking out of the alley
*****
"My lady. My lady."
Alira squeezed her eyes shut as she felt a rough pat on her arm.
"Huh?" she mumbled, dazed. Everything was still hazy.
"My lady, wake up. We must go. Now."
The voice was urgent, but Alira's thoughts lagged behind. Her eyes blinked open—blurry. The shape before her shifted like fog on glass. She couldn't make it out.
"Lady Alira," the figure repeated.
That name—her name—spoke with such familiarity, it cut through the fog. Alira jolted more awake. The voice... it stirred something. She rubbed at her eyes until the shape took form.
"Ly—" she began, her voice cracking into the silence.
But before she could finish, the figure lunged forward, clapping a hand over her mouth.
"Mmmf—" Alira squirmed, muffled.
"Please, don't shout. The guards are outside," the woman whispered. Her finger pressed gently to her lips in a hush gesture.
Alira stared wide-eyed.
"…Is that you?" she asked when the hand finally dropped. "Lyra?"
Her voice trembled with disbelief. "Is that really you?"
"I thought you were—" she stopped, the word too heavy to finish. "They said you were hanged."
"I escaped," Lyra answered quietly. Her face was pale, spattered with dried blood. "My lady, please. We must go."
She moved quickly now, rising from the princess's bedside, gathering clothes from a chest.
"Wait, what's happening?" Alira sat up. "And why are you covered in blood?"
"That's a story I'll tell you—if we make it out alive."
"Make it—?" Alira's breath hitched. A flash of memory surged into her mind like a blow. She pressed her hand to her forehead.
"The queen," she gasped. "How is she? Is she alright?"
Her hand began to tremble again.
Lyra paused, voice gentler now. "The queen is alive. She's unconscious… but alive."
"And the baby?" Alira whispered, dread pooling in her stomach.
Lyra's silence said enough.
Alira's throat tightened.
"The king is waiting for you to wake," Lyra continued. "He's—furious."
"I didn't do anything!" Alira cried. "I turned and she was just—please believe me, Lyra, I didn't—"
"I believe you," Lyra said firmly, kneeling beside her and taking both her trembling hands. "But no one else will. You two were the only ones in the room. And with the queen in her state… the king won't even consider you his blood."
Tears welled in Alira's eyes. "But I didn't do anything to her!"
"I know," Lyra said again, voice steady. "But we don't have time, cichat." She stood and crossed the room quickly, approaching a stone vault carved into the wall—rough-hewn, ancient, hidden behind a faded tapestry. She knelt, turned a brass mechanism, and the door creaked open. Inside were a handful of coins, a small blade, and a folded cloak. She grabbed what she could and hid the rest beneath her skirt.
Alira sat frozen, still gathering her thoughts. "No, no. We can't run. I—I suggested we escape the wedding, and you were sentenced because of it. Because of me." Her chest tightened. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have dragged you into this—"
Tears streamed down her face.
"My lady," Lyra said, facing her. "You know I've never blamed you. I swore I'd stay to my last breath. My life is yours."
She stepped forward, urgency rising. "We must go. The king could arrive at any moment."
"No," Alira said, her voice thin and shaking. "Let's stay. I'll talk to him. I'll beg if I have to. I'm still his daughter—he'll listen. I'll explain everything, every detail—I won't leave anything out."
She stood, heading toward the door.
"No—my lady, you mustn't!" Lyra darted forward, grabbing her wrist. "He won't believe a word of it. Not in the state he's in."
Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside. Slow. Heavy. A voice—low, commanding—called out:
"Is the princess awake?"
Lyra's eyes widened. She snatched the bag of supplies and pulled Alira toward the tall bookshelf in the corner.
"Quick."
She flipped open a worn leather-bound book near the middle shelf. With a soft click, the bookshelf creaked, then slid aside, revealing a narrow passage behind the wall. Lyra pulled Alira inside and yanked a lever embedded in the stone.
The shelf closed behind them just as the door burst open.
"Where is the princess?!" the voice bellowed, thick with anger and impatience.
"Where is the princess?!" The demand came again, louder, echoing off the stone walls.
"find the princess now!" the voice roared, the command final and terrifying.
In the darkness, Lyra grabbed Alira's hand. The narrow passage was damp and cold, lit only by the faint flicker of torches set far ahead.
"We have to run," Lyra said, breath tight.