And they call it innocence.
But I know better.
Elara is not weak. Not truly. Her softness is not fragility. She listens, she smiles, she obeys just enough to be praised. But I have seen it. The moments when her eyes sharpen, when she asks too many questions. When she lingers in the temple corridors longer than she should. When she copies the old symbols from the archives into her personal journal.
She is more like me than anyone realizes.
She does not yet understand what I’ve protected her from, what I’ve planned. She plays in the garden now, giggling about cleft-chinned knights and beast-slaying husbands, but soon, she’ll grow into the crown I carved for her.
“One day, little rose,” I promise quietly, “you’ll learn the stories aren’t real. You’ll see the beasts wear crowns. And still, you will choose me.”
The ache behind my eyes begins to fade.
A slight noise pulls me back to the present. From the corner of my eye, I see my trusted shadow, Bard he is called, slip through the other window to land silently on the cold floor. The shadow’s hooded cloak blends into the shadows of my study, and only the gleam of his eyes is visible.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” Bard begins, bowing low. “It is done. Eyleen is dead.”
Good. This is very good. “Where is she, then?”
“Ice chambers, Your Imperial Majesty.”
I nod, brushing my fingers through my beard. “Noël...” I mutter under my breath. “Is she dead yet?”
Bard stays silent for a few moments before closing his eyes. “We lost sight of her.”
Black dots begin to swim in my vision. I turn my gaze from Elara to him.
The barrier has stood for four hundred years, proof of the control and order my ancestors and I maintained for so long. I know all too well what would happen if women were free—chaos, rebellion, the end of my rule, perhaps the end of everything. I should have punished her that day in Tárnov, should have sent her to the work camps to break her spirit like I did with so many others. Allowing her into the military was a grave mistake, one that might cost me everything. “Where isNoël?”
The shadow bows his head. “We do not know, Your Imperial Majesty. She escaped into vólkin territory, and we’ve lost track of her.” He pauses, then adds, “But we do know how she was taken out of the village.”
I narrow my gaze. “Speak.”
“Two soldiers took her. One of them, a fool named Arnold, thought he could dispose of her. We know he hated her since she enlisted, and he severely underestimated her. He was killed by a vólkin, probably the son of Vládan, who had blue crystals, likely indicating the blue rose. The other man, Gregor, managed to escape.”
My brows furrow. “This Gregor is alive?”
“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty,” the shadow replies. “He was captured while wandering, attempting to return to Tárnov. He’s being interrogated as we speak.”
Why would everything happen so suddenly? Is this also Eyleen’s doing?
“What has he revealed?” I demand.
The shadow pulls a sealed scroll out of his cloak. “This contains everything he’s confessed so far, though we believe there is more he has yet to reveal. We are... persuading him to speak further.”
I tear open the scroll, quickly reading its contents. Gregor’s account aligns with Bard’s report. Noël is out there, beyond the barrier, and the vólkins have already caught her scent. If she ventures too deep into their territory, she may slip beyond our grasp. Perhaps she already has. If what I’m reading is true... she was last seen with a vólkin.
“We have the perfect plan for dealing with Gregor,” Bard says.
Sitting in my chair, I put the scroll on the desk and lean forward. “I’m listening.”
The shadow outlines the plan, detailing each step. The candles flicker, and the shadows dance across the room as my mind races with possibilities, each more dangerous than the last.
As the shadow finishes, I nod. “Very well. Proceed with the plan. And keep me informed of every development.”
Suddenly, the room grows dark and quiet, and my heart almost stops beating.If Noël met a vólkin... This could mean only one thing.
“Your Imperial Majesty?”
