A knock rattled against the heavy door. A servant slipped in, bowing low as she held out a sealed parchment.
"From Velmora, Your Majesty. Delivered through a merchant."
Isadora's heart jolted. For weeks her sleep had been thin, her mind consumed by one question, Is Evelyn alive? She had not dared to send word, not when Aldric might intercept. But now, here was the answer pressed into her hands.
She dismissed the servant, sat quickly by her table, and with trembling fingers broke the seal. Her eyes devoured the words.
And then she smiled. A slow, gleaming smile, pride flickering across her sharp features. Evelyn lived. Evelyn had written her. And better yet—the letter promised hope. She had found a way to rid Velmora of Aurora.
Isadora pressed the parchment against her chest, laughter bursting soft and triumphant.
"My Evelyn," she whispered. "You will do what I could not."
She tucked the letter deep inside her wardrobe, beneath gowns and shawls, as if hiding treasure. For the first time in moons, she felt proud.
The moment sweetened—and then soured. A knock came again, sharper. A palace messenger bowed at her threshold, breathless.
"Your Majesty, the council summons you at once. Urgent matters await."
Her smile vanished, replaced with her usual cold composure. She rose and swept from her chamber.
-
The chamber was heavy with tension, lords already seated in their long row. Magnus lounged in his place, exuding arrogance, while Iridessa sat silent beside him, hands folded carefully over her stomach. Isadora claimed her chair on the opposite side.
The messenger's voice rang out, shattering the murmur.
"News from the border. Deyvra has camped their forces upon our soil. They are closing in on Elareth."
The chamber erupted. Lords muttered in alarm, fear flashing through their eyes.
"This cannot be avoided," one hissed. "If we delay, their fire will consume us!"
"Negotiate!" another barked. "Send word—before blood is spilt!"
Isadora's voice cut sharp across the clamor.
"Elareth does not bow to neighbors. If they bring war, then war we shall give them."
Magnus's lips curved in a cruel smile. He struck the table with his hand.
"Ready every soldier. Drag able men from their huts if you must, arm them. Any who refuse—slaughter them and their kin. This is war, and it will be won."
A lord at the far end shifted uneasily. "Deyvra is mighty. Our forces—"
Magnus silenced him with a glare. "We will conquer them."
Another rose, voice hopeful. "Or should we Send word to Velmora?. Our princess is there—surely they would lend aid."
But another countered grimly, "It is too late. By the time Velmora hears, by the time soldiers march, Elareth will already burn."
Agreement rippled in murmurs. The chamber was splitting apart with fear.
Magnus leaned forward, commanding. "We shall not waste breath on Velmora. Instead—" His eyes slid to Iridessa. "You will write to Dhalmar. Tell them their daughter calls. We need soldiers, and they will come."
Iridessa smirked faintly, shaking her head. Her voice was quiet, but her refusal carried through the hall.
"No."
The chamber froze. Even the air seemed to still.
Magnus's head turned, his stare sharp as a blade.
"What did you say?"
Iridessa stood, her movements graceful, deliberate. She bowed, then lifted her chin.
"I will not write to Dhalmar. My kingdom will not fight another's war."
The lords stirred, disbelief thick.
"Another's war?" Isadora's voice cracked like a whip. "You are bound to this kingdom. You carry its heir. And you dare speak as if Elareth is not your own? Would you prefer to see it conquered?"
"I will not write," Iridessa said again, calm but firm. "Dhalmar's soldiers will not march for Elareth."
Magnus slammed his fist against the table, the wood shuddering. His voice roared.
"Iridessa!"
But she did not flinch.
Lord Brennor leaned forward, voice reasoned but stern. "The marriage was sealed for this purpose—two kingdoms rising to aid one another. You must write Your Majesty."
Still, she refused.
Then Lord Hale's voice cut through, steady and cold.
"Let us not forget. When Dhalmar begged our aid not long past, we denied them. The queen lost her brother. Half their kingdom burned. They fought alone. Perhaps it is fitting now that Elareth does the same."
The chamber went silent. Murmurs swelled slowly, lords nodding, voices agreeing.
Isadora's nails dug into her palm, fury tightening her face. Magnus's eyes burned like coals. Iridessa lowered herself back into her seat, satisfaction glinting faintly in her eyes.
The council adjourned. Magnus seized Iridessa by the wrist, dragging her out with ruthless strength. She stumbled, clutching her stomach with her free hand. Isadora followed, silent but smiling.
They stormed into Iridessa's chamber. Magnus flung her forward, his fury spilling over.
"What madness was that?" he thundered.
Iridessa straightened, defiance glowing in her face.
"I said what I meant. My kingdom will not fight your war."
The blow came sharp. His hand cracked against her cheek, sending her staggering back. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.
Isadora watched, lips curling upward.
Magnus seized her chin, his grip bruising, his other hand tightening around her neck. Her breath hitched as he leaned close, his rage spilling hot across her face.
"I will go to war now. With or without Dhalmar. Elareth will win. And when I return—your punishment will be severe. I will not pity you. Nor the child in your belly."
He flung her away and stormed from the chamber.
Isadora lingered, watching Iridessa gasp for air. Her voice dripped venom.
"And when my son returns victorious, I will see that Dhalmar is wiped from the map. Then you will have no kingdom at all."
She laughed and swept out.
Iridessa crumpled against the bed, trembling, breath uneven. Miri, who had hidden in the shadows, rushed to her mistress, tears streaking her face.
"My lady—you must flee! His Majesty will not spare you. Not after this. He will destroy you… and the child."
Iridessa grasped her hand, her own resolve hardening.
"No. I will not run. I will stay—and I will see the outcome of this war."
She drew a slow, steady breath, wiping the blood from her lip.
"Instead, Miri, we must act. Magnus will drag the villagers to war. They will be slaughtered for nothing. We must find a way to sneak them out—before his soldiers claim them."
Her voice was iron now, soft but unyielding.
"If Elareth must bleed, let it not be upon the hands of the innocent."
Miri nodded through tears, gripping her lady hand tighter.
-
The drums started at dusk, rolling over the village like a storm. Doors slammed shut. Mothers pulled their children inside, but it was too late. Soldiers poured into the square, steel flashing in the dim light.
Their captain raised a parchment high, voice cutting through the fear.
"By decree of King Magnus, every man of age shall march to war. Any who refuse—your families will be killed."
Silence. Then the seizing began. A boy barely grown was dragged forward, his mother shrieking as she clawed at the soldier's arm.
"He is no man—he is a child!"
Her words ended in a scream as she was struck aside, the boy's wrists bound tight.
An old blacksmith spat at their feet. For that, a pommel smashed across his face, blood darkening the dirt. Chains rattled as they bound him with the others.
The line grew—fathers, sons, grandfathers alike. Some went quietly, heads bowed. Others cursed until the lash silenced them. A torch flew, setting a thatched roof ablaze. Flames swallowed a home, and as a coughing family stumbled out, they too were seized.
Villagers stood frozen, eyes downcast, fear choking them.
The captain's voice rang again. "Hide them, and you will burn with them."
The drums thundered, and the chained men were marched away, dust rising behind them like smoke.
From the high corridor of the East Wing, Iridessa watched the smoke curl into the night sky. Her hand pressed to the cold stone, her reflection trembling in the window. Miri lingered behind her, wringing her hands.
"They will tear the kingdom apart before the war even begins," she whispered.
Iridessa's jaw tightened. "Magnus does not see people. Only bodies to throw on his pyre of pride."
She turned then, eyes blazing despite the hollowness in her face. "We cannot stop the soldiers. But we can move the ones they will not take. The mothers. The children. The frail."
Miri flinched, voice trembling. "If they catch us—"
"Then let them," Iridessa cut in, low and firm. For a moment her voice cracked, softer, almost breaking. "This kingdom took my freedom. My voice. My peace. It will not take their last hope."
Miri's eyes glistened as she nodded. Outside, the drums pounded again, and another line of captives was marched through the gates. Smoke blurred the horizon, but Iridessa's gaze did not falter.