The rough stone of the corridor walls scraped against her fingertips as she stumbled forward, her legs unsteady after years of disuse. The guards were not gentle, but they were not cruel. Their hands were firm on her arms, a neutral, impersonal force guiding her from the only world she had known for what felt like a lifetime.
Sunlight.
It struck her like a physical blow, blinding, searing. A raw gasp tore from her throat, the first true sound she'd made in years, and she squeezed her eyes shut, her entire body recoiling from the overwhelming sensory assault. The world wasn't just bright; it was loud. The shouts of soldiers, the distant crackle of flames, the clamor of a city being reborn in chaos—it was a symphony of violence and liberation, and it was deafening.
She had forgotten how loud the world was.
The hands on her arms tightened, steadying her. Through her eyelids, she could sense a shadow falling over her. When she dared to open them again, he was there. The stranger. Claude De Valois. He stood between her and the sun, a silhouette of authority against the harsh light, and for the first time, she could truly see him.
His black armor was not polished and ceremonial like Kael's; it was scuffed and dented, marked with the evidence of recent battle. A thin line of dried blood traced a path across his temple, disappearing into his hairline. He smelled of sweat and steel and something else… something like freshly turned earth after a storm.
His gaze was on her, unreadable, but it lacked the burning, possessive heat she remembered from Kael. This was different. This was colder. More analytical. He was not looking at a prize. He was looking at a problem.
"You're the last one," he stated, his voice a low rumble that cut through the noise. "The last soul left in Kael's cells."
Elowen said nothing. She simply stared, her mind struggling to process the flood of information. The sky. It was so vast, so achingly blue, with clouds like torn cotton. She had forgotten the color blue.
"He kept you hidden," Claude continued, as if speaking to himself. "Not a slave, not a prisoner for ransom… hidden. Why?"
The guards shifted uncomfortably. "Sir, the city is still in chaos. The council will be waiting."
Claude gave a slight nod, acknowledging the soldier, but his eyes never left her face. He took a step closer, and Elowen flinched, a reflex she couldn't control.
Claude thought she is beautiful... like a fairy. Not like human.
The thought was strange, unbidden, and he immediately dismissed it as a folly born of battle-fatigue. Yet it lingered. The delicate structure of her face, the impossible color of her eyes in the sunlight, the way her tangled golden hair seemed to catch the light and turn it into something soft. It was… unsettling.
"Can you speak?" he asked again, his tone patient, as if he had all the time in the world.
But Elowen couldnt... the shock of losing her home has left her mute. Her vocal cords had abandoned her in the face of overwhelming trauma.
The silence stretched. Claude watched her, and for the first time, a flicker of something other than calculation crossed his features. He looked at her bare, bruised feet on the sharp gravel. At the way her thin dress offered no protection against the elements. She was a ghost, a fragment of the past kingdom he had just destroyed.
"Get her a cloak," he ordered, turning to one of his men. "And water. From a flask, not the canteen."
While the soldier obeyed, Claude gestured to two others. "You. Take her to the infirmary. Have her cleaned and fed. No questions. Just do it."
He was dismissing her. Not as a possession, but as a task to be delegated.
As the guards led her away, Elowen risked one last look over her shoulder. He stood there for a moment, watching her go, the "Mad Dog" of the battlefield.
Then he turned and strode back towards the burning heart of the palace, a man with a kingdom to rebuild. And Elowen, the last secret of the old one, was pulled away into an uncertain future, the heavy wool of a soldier's cloak settling around her shoulders for the first time in years.
The infirmary was a place of ordered chaos. The scent of antiseptic herbs and blood hung thick in the air, a stark contrast to the damp rot of the dungeon. Women moved with purpose, their hands stained with red as they bandaged wounds and soothed feverish brows. They paid Elowen no mind as she was guided to a cot in the far corner, a silent, dirty ghost amidst the groans of the wounded.
She sat stiffly, the rough wool cloak a strange, heavy armor against the world. A woman with tired eyes and a kind face approached, holding a wooden bowl of warm water and a clean cloth. She didn't ask questions. She simply gestured for Elowen to hold out her hands.
The contact was gentle. The warm water stung the raw skin on her wrists where the chains had been, but it was a clean pain, a washing-away. The woman worked methodically, cleaning the dirt and grime from years of neglect. She then offered Elowen a small piece of bread and a cup of water.
Elowen stared at the food. Her stomach, a hollowed-out cavern, twisted with a hunger so profound it was painful. But her hands trembled, refusing to move. To eat was to live. To live was to… what?
The woman simply set the food on the cot beside her and moved on to the next patient. Left alone, Elowen's gaze drifted around the room. Sunlight, now a gentler gold as afternoon waned, streamed through a tall, arched window. It illuminated dust motes dancing in the air, a mesmerizing, silent ballet. She watched them, her breath evening out, the world shrinking to that single, sunlit space.
Hours later, as dusk painted the sky in shades of bruised purple, the infirmary had quieted. Claude entered, his presence immediately commanding the space. The healerwoman hurried to him, but he waved her off, his eyes already finding the corner where Elowen sat.
She had not touched the bread. She had not moved at all.
He walked towards her, his footsteps muffled by the rushes on the floor. He stopped a few feet away, not crowding her.
"They tell me you haven't eaten," he said. It was not an accusation. An observation.
Elowen's gaze flickered to the untouched piece of bread on her cot, then back to the window. The last sliver of sun was disappearing.
"Why?" he pressed.
She wasn't defiant. She was… vacant. An empty vessel.
He crouched down, bringing himself to her level once more. The scent of steel and distant fires clung to him. "Kael is dead," he said, his voice low and direct. "His rule is over. You are free."
The words hung in the air between them. Free. The concept was foreign, a language she had forgotten how to speak. It meant nothing. Everything. And the sheer weight of it was crushing. Her breath hitched, a small, ragged sound that was almost a sob. But no tears came. She was all cried out years ago.
Claude watched the flicker of life in her eyes die back down, replaced by that familiar, unnerving stillness. He had seen this in soldiers who had seen too much, in villagers who had lost everything. A soul that had retreated so far into itself that it might never find its way back.
"What is your name?" he asked, softer this time.
Her lips parted, a silent shape forming and collapsing.
claude couldn't understand why he was worrying or even looking for her something was pulling him towards her. She still couldn't speak. Claude gestured towards one of his men. Find information about her from the towns people, or if there's anyone else left in the castle. I want to know who she is. "Yes sir"
The soldier left.
Claude looked back at Elowen. She was still watching the window, where the first stars were beginning to appear in the deepening twilight. He straightened up, the soldier's cloak he had given her earlier catching on the rough cot. Without another word, he turned and left, his mind already moving on to the thousand other problems that needed his attention. But the image of those bright, empty blue eyes remained.
The soldier returned near midnight, long after the castle had settled into an uneasy quiet. He found Claude not in the war room, but in a small private chamber, staring out a window at the conquered city.
"Sir," the soldier began, his voice hushed. "There's… nothing. No one knows who she is. The old servants are either dead or fled. The townspeople only speak of Kael's cruelty, but none mention a prisoner kept in the deepest part of the dungeon."
Claude's jaw tightened. "Nothing at all?"
"One thing, sir," the soldier offered hesitantly. "An old maid, one of the few we found hiding in the city, said she remembered hearing… rumors. Years ago. When the kingdom of Astoria fell. She said the princess… Elowen… was said to have hair like spun gold and eyes the color of a summer sky. She was said to be of extraordinary beauty. She was… never found among the dead."
The silence in the room was heavy.
Princess.
The word echoed in the sudden stillness. A ghost of a kingdom, a lost heir hidden away for years. Claude's mind raced. A fallen princess. This was not a simple problem. This was a complication of the highest order.
He turned from the window, his expression unreadable. "And she hasn't spoken?"
"Not a word, sir. The healer says there's no physical injury to her throat. It's… in her mind."
Claude was silent for a long moment. He thought of the girl in the infirmary, of the vacant look in her eyes, of the way she had flinched from his touch.
He had no choice but to bring her back with him to Ravaryn his kingdom and bring her forth to his father, the king. It was the only way.
"Prepare her for travel," he ordered, his voice clipped. "We leave at dawn. She will ride with me. No one is to touch her or speak to her except me. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir."
As the soldier left, Claude looked back out at the city. A fallen princess. A silent witness. And now, his responsibility. The weight of it settled on him, unfamiliar and unwelcomed. He was a conqueror, a warrior, not a nursemaid for broken dolls.
But as he stood there, he couldn't shake the image of her face in the moonlight, the way she had looked at him, not with fear, but with a profound, bottomless emptiness. And for the second time that day, the unbidden thought surfaced, strange and unsettling.
She really did look like a fairy. And he had just dragged her out of her enchanted cage into a world she no longer recognized.