The first light of dawn spilled across the barracks, brushing the snow-covered plains with a muted gold. Noori rode in through the haze, her cloak heavy with frost, her horse's breath steaming like smoke in the frigid air. The quiet crunch of hooves against packed snow echoed softly in the stillness.
Bishop spotted her from a distance and exhaled in visible relief, his shoulders sagging as if he'd been holding his breath all night. He quickened his pace, boots sinking into the snow with each hurried step until he reached her camp.
"Are you alright?" he asked, voice low but edged with worry.
Noori didn't even glance at him. "Why wouldn't I be?" she replied curtly, sliding off her horse in one smooth motion. Her exhaustion showed only in the faint tremor of her hands as she unfastened the saddle straps. She led the tired animal toward the stables, each step purposeful, almost defiant.
Bishop followed, undeterred by her tone. "You disappeared in the middle of a blizzard, General. Forgive me for thinking you might've frozen to death. Did you find the prince?"
"I did," she said flatly, removing her gloves and tossing them aside. "He's fine. You can stop worrying."
Her words were brisk, but her expression betrayed something else—something that flickered between irritation and thought.
Bishop hesitated, watching her for a moment before asking, "And the palace? I heard something happened there."
Noori straightened, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Yes. We'll rebuild it. Send word to Nuria. The emperor will need to release funds for reconstruction."
Her tone carried command, but there was a quiet urgency under it, the kind that came from knowing something she wasn't ready to share.
Bishop frowned. "Rebuild? Why? The fire wasn't our doing—it was the Solyrians' plot. The palace guards failed, not us."
A faint, humorless laugh slipped past Noori's lips. She turned her gaze to him, sharp and deliberate. "I thought you were smarter than that, Bishop."
Confusion flickered across Bishop's face. "What do you mean?"
Noori's expression hardened, her tone turning low and grim. "The explosion—I caused it."
Bishop froze, eyes widening. "Again?" he whispered, disbelief cracking through his voice. "But... wasn't it the gunpowder?"
"The Duke planted it after," she said, her jaw tightening. "And tell me, Bishop, do you really think a few barrels could destroy half a fortress?"
Realization struck him, draining the color from his face. "You mean Duke Farris? Why would he—what could he possibly gain from that?"
"I don't know," Noori muttered, exhaling sharply. "But whatever game he's playing, I won't let him win. Not this time. I'm staying here until I find the Nymph Whisperer."
"The what?" Bishop blinked, startled. "A Nymph Whisperer? They're real? Is that why the Emperor sent you?"
Noori's glare snapped toward him so sharply he nearly stepped back. "Lower your voice," she ordered. "I told you so you'd keep your eyes open, not your mouth."
Bishop swallowed hard and nodded. Still, beneath the tension, a flicker of pride warmed his chest—she trusted him with something that could shift the course of their empire.
Noori's tone steadied, clipped but purposeful. "The PyroMage from the tower has already informed His Majesty. This is our only chance. My life—and Nuria's—depends on finding that Whisperer before anyone else does."
Bishop straightened, his earlier hesitation fading. "Then we'll find him, Your Highness. I'll see to it myself."
"Good. Send a message to the Emperor immediately. We begin rebuilding the palace today. The King of Solyria needs to owe us, not dismiss us. Once his son recovers, he'll try to send me home—and I can't leave before I finish what I came for."
Her knee bounced restlessly, a rare crack in her composure. Bishop noticed but said nothing. He simply bowed his head and left to fulfill her orders.
When the camp fell silent again, Noori sat still, her gaze drifting toward the faint light spilling through the tent flap.
"What are you scheming now, Farris?" she whispered to herself. "Do you think I'll kneel to you if you play savior?"
-
Dastan sat across from his mother, Fleur, in their chambers as she lovingly spoon-fed him warm duck soup. It was a dish he had always adored, and Fleur had specially requested the servants to prepare it for him. With each spoonful, she watched him with a mix of pride and relief, her eyes shimmering with tears of joy.
She smiled brightly each time he eagerly opened his mouth for another spoonful, the simple act filling her heart with happiness. Despite the trials and tribulations they had faced recently, this moment of tender care and connection between mother and son was a source of immense comfort to Fleur.
"Do you have any idea how much I missed you, Dastan? I can't remember the last time I slept peacefully without the fear of not being able to see you again," Fleur confessed, her voice tinged with emotion as she set the bowl aside and reached out to stroke his face. Her touch was tender, a reassurance of the reality of their reunion.
Dastan felt the sincerity in her words, and he held her hand tightly against his cheek, offering his own form of comfort. "It's okay, everything is okay now," he reassured her, his voice gentle and soothing. Despite his attempts to calm her, Fleur remained unsettled, her fears still lingering.
"I hoped that everything would be okay, but it isn't. Nothing is okay, especially after that woman was brought into this palace!" Fleur exclaimed, her brows furrowing in frustration as she pulled her hand away from his grasp. The mere mention of the woman, presumably Noori, seemed to ignite a fire within Fleur, stirring up a mixture of anger and apprehension.
Dastan's hand was left hollow when she pulled her hand away, THe thought of Noori entering his mind made him instantly uncomfortable and he gulped in his saliva through his dry throat;
"Mother, I know Father married me to that woman from Nuria thinking it was a good choice for me at the time, but I don't want to remain in this marriage," Dastan responded with determination, his voice carrying a hint of defiance,
"Of course, my child. I am not going to let you be tied to her. We are only doing this for your safety. Once the mages find a proper solution for your curse, we can rid ourselves of her," Fleur assured him, her tone firm yet comforting. "But I must tell you, this is a secret," she added in a hushed tone, drawing closer to Dastan.
"I believe there is a way the curse could be healed completely, but that needs time. And we can't afford to lose you as well," Fleur said softly, her hand gently caressing Dastan's cheek as her eyes washed with the motherly affection for her son. For a moment, Dastan felt a pang of confusion at her words, but he remained silent and listened to his mother's reassurance.
"Your father brought her here to buy some time, and he has already begun working on it. So it won't be long before that monstrous woman is sent away back to her place, She doesn't deserve to be here amongst us," Fleur continued, her voice tinged with contempt for Noori, her feelings plain for all to see.
Dastan couldn't help but smile at his mother's words. "That is a relief, mother,I am glad you think like that," he replied gratefully smiling, a sense of ease washing over his chest,
"Yes, it is. And I assure you that once we send that woman away, I will find you the most perfect bride there is, and you will love her," Fleur promised, her tone filled with determination. But her words seemed to trigger a sudden flash of something in Dastan's eyes, as if he were instantly reminded of someone.
"Mother! What about Silvia? She didn't get married, did she?" His tone shifted abruptly, urgency lacing his words.
Fleur's expression stiffened at the mention of that name. She stared at Dastan for a few moments, seemingly searching for an answer, but it appeared to be a difficult question for her to address. "Oh, Silvia…" Fleur trailed off, her voice trailing into a melancholic tone.
Dastan's heart sank as he sensed the pain in his mother's tone, a heaviness settling in his chest. It was evident that the woman he spoke of held a special place in his heart, and the mere thought of her being married to someone else caused him immense anguish.
Tears welled up in Fleur's eyes, betraying the facade of normalcy she was trying to maintain. She shook her head and attempted to compose herself, her voice trembling as she spoke. "No, silly. Why would we marry them off without your presence? After all, it will be a grand wedding for Isa and Silvia," she said, her words faltering slightly.
A wave of relief washed over Dastan at his mother's reassurance, but beneath it lingered a nagging feeling that something was amiss. Fleur's broken demeanour raised his suspicions, prompting him to confront her with his concerns.
Dastan's concern deepened as he observed his mother's attempts to deflect his inquiry, her gestures betraying the facade of assurance she was trying to maintain. Despite her bright smile, he couldn't shake off the feeling that she was keeping something from him, something significant.
"I will believe you if you say so," Dastan replied reluctantly, though a seed of doubt lingered in his heart.
Fleur's expression softened, her features relaxing slightly as she urged him to rest. "Okay, you should rest for now, okay? You shouldn't wander off into the forest again. I don't want to lose you again. Is that clear?" Her tone carried a mix of concern and authority, emphasising the importance of his well-being.
Dastan's curiosity had been peaked. Something was not right and he felt like he should investigate on his own. The moment the door was shut behind Fleur and her steps faded into a distance he got off the bed, Hurrying to get something presentable to wear. The maids, ever attentive to his needs, entered the room after Fleur's departure, bowing their heads respectfully as they awaited his commands.
"Prepare my robes," Dastan instructed firmly, his voice resonating with authority.
"Yes, Your Highness," the maids responded in unison, slighly bowing before scurrying away.
As Dastan stood before the mirror, meticulously inspecting his attire, the head servant couldn't resist voicing his curiosity. "Is Your Highness planning on going somewhere?" he inquired, his tone cautious yet inquisitive.
Turning to face the servant, Dastan nodded in acknowledgment of the question. "I am glad you asked. Send for the Jasmine Palace; I will be visiting it," he declared with determination, his gaze returning to the reflection before him as he adjusted his hair with deliberate care.
However, the servant hesitated, his concern evident in his words. "The Jasmine Palace? But the palace has been off-limits for the past two years. I don't think it's a good place to visit at this time. I'm afraid it's covered in snow," he cautioned, his voice tinged with apprehension.
Dastan's expression turned incredulous, his head spinning with confusion at the unexpected revelation. "What do you mean by that? Why is it sealed?" he demanded, his voice betraying his growing unease.
"Your Highness, it has been empty for so long that the King ordered it to be sealed," the servant explained solemnly, his demeanor respectful yet troubled by the topic at hand.
Dastan's mind raced with questions, his thoughts immediately turning to Silvia. "What about Silvia then? Where is she?" he pressed, his urgency palpable as he stepped down from the elevated platform where he had been attended to by the servants.
The servant's head hung low for a moment before he responded, his words heavy with implication. "Your Highness, Princess Silvia has moved to the Mourning Palace," he revealed, his tone filled with sombre resignation.
Dastan's mind reeled with shock and disbelief. The revelation about Silvia's whereabouts sent a surge of anger coursing through him. The Mourning Palace, a place reserved for queens and princesses who had lost their husbands, was not a destination he ever imagined Silvia would be confined to.
"Why is she there? Who dares to do such an atrocity?" he demanded, his voice laced with fury and indignation.
The servant trembled with fear, startled by Dastan's sudden outburst. "Your Highness, I—I don't know how it happened," he stammered, his words faltering as his knees weakened, forcing him to kneel before Dastan.
"Useless!" Dastan spat out the word with venom, his frustration boiling over as he turned sharply towards the door hurrying his way.
In the farthest wing of the Mourning Palace, the maids buzzed with confusion and curiosity upon hearing of Dastan's unexpected arrival. "Why is the crown prince coming here?" murmured one servant to another, their whispers echoing down the corridors as they tried to comprehend the unusual visit.
The news swiftly made its way to Silvia's chambers, catching her completely off guard. "He is awake?" she exclaimed, her voice tinged with disbelief and astonishment.