Gala curled into herself at the farthest corner of the dungeon, her knees drawn tightly to her chest as sobs wracked her small frame. The cold stone beneath her was unforgiving, its dampness seeping through her thin robes and into her bones, but it was nothing compared to the weight pressing on her heart.
She was supposed to be home by now.
At dawn, she should have been walking the familiar forest path, the scent of moss and earth filling her lungs, her parents' cottage waiting just beyond the bend. She should have been scolded for wandering too far, then wrapped in warmth and relief.
Instead, she sat imprisoned beneath a foreign palace, locked away for seeing something she was never meant to behold.
All because of a single, careless sentence.
Her breath shuddered as she buried her face in her palms. "I was so close…" she whispered brokenly. One word—one innocent remark about the queen's companion—and everything had unraveled.
She hadn't known.
How could she have known?
Her lips trembled as a name slipped from her mouth, barely louder than a breath.
"Dylareia…"
At once, memory surged forth, vivid and merciless, carrying her back to that fleeting moment in the grand hall when her gaze had strayed and found it.
No—her.
Even now, Gala struggled to find words worthy of what she had seen. Dylareia's beauty was not something that could be measured or compared. Stars paled beside her. Jewels dulled. Fire lost its brilliance. She was splendor made living, grace given form.
Her wings—long, slender, impossibly delicate—unfurled behind her like woven light, shimmering in hues of soft pink and cool blue, colors that melted into one another as though the sky itself had learned to breathe. Each gentle flap stirred the air with a sound like distant chimes, a rhythm that seemed to echo not in Gala's ears, but in her very soul.
Dylareia carried herself with a serenity that mirrored the queen's own elegance, yet magnified a thousandfold. Where the queen embodied regal beauty, Dylareia was something older, deeper—divinity brushing against the mortal world.
Gala swallowed as she remembered the moment their eyes met.
Deep blue. Endless. Knowing.
The sheer force of that gaze had nearly sent her crumpling to the marble floor. Her knees had buckled, her breath stolen as though the air itself had bowed to Dylareia's presence. Only sheer will had kept her standing.
And atop the spirit-frey's head—those two delicate horns, small and graceful, swaying gently as if attuned to a melody only Gala could hear.
It was then she had known, with unshakable certainty, that this creature was no mere pet.
A sharp voice shattered her thoughts.
"Miss Gala, you are released."
She flinched violently, gasping as the dungeon snapped back into focus. A faye guard stood beyond the iron bars, his voice echoing harshly against the stone. He raised one hand and muttered words in a language she didn't recognize—ancient, sharp, heavy with power.
With a loud crack, the lock splintered apart.
For a moment, Gala simply stared.
"…Released?" she whispered, disbelief washing over her.
She scrambled to her knees, hastily brushing dust from her robes, her tears drying as hope flared bright and sudden in her chest. A wide, trembling smile spread across her face. "Does—does that mean I can go home?" she asked breathlessly.
The guard shrugged, utterly indifferent. "I wouldn't know, young miss. You'll have to ask the Queen." He adjusted his grip on the plain metal spear at his side. "Which, I believe, will be here any second now."
Her heart skipped.
"The Queen?" Gala echoed faintly. "What do you mean she'll be here—"
The faint swoosh of wings cut her off.
Gala's breath caught as shadows danced across the dungeon walls. Light from the single torch flickered wildly as a familiar silhouette descended gracefully through the open doorway.
The Queen.
She hovered effortlessly, her presence filling the cramped space with an unexpected warmth. Behind her fluttered two figures Gala knew all too well.
"Puffhill! Duffhill!" Gala cried, joy bursting through her fear.
The twins hovered briefly before landing, their wings folding neatly against their backs. Gala's chest ached with relief at the sight of them. Without hesitation, she bowed deeply to the Queen.
"Greetings, Your Majesty," she said, her voice small but sincere.
The Queen smiled—a gentle, genuine curve of her lips that immediately eased Gala's trembling nerves. "Greetings, Gala," she replied warmly. "I brought Puffhill and Duffhill with me to put your heart at ease as we leave this place."
Gala nodded quickly. "Thank you, Your Majesty. Truly."
The Queen turned and began walking toward the cell door, her sandals clicking softly against the stone. When she noticed Gala hadn't followed, she paused and glanced back with playful amusement.
"Are you truly planning to stay there, Miss Gala?"
"Oh—no! Of course not!" Gala hurried after her, her smile radiant enough to rival the torchlight. As they exited, the Queen paused once more and bowed graciously to the guard.
"Thank you for your service," she said sweetly.
Gala watched in awe. How could a kingdom ruled by such a kind queen be shadowed by such a merciless king?
"So the rumors were true!" Puffhill chirped once they were clear of the dungeon. "You really broke into Aelfrey!"
Duffhill snorted. "I still can't believe you followed us."
Questions spilled forth in a breathless rush, Puffhill barely stopping to breathe. "How long were you locked up? Is it true you can see Dylareia? Is she really—"
"Puffhill," the Queen interrupted gently. "You're overwhelming her."
Puffhill froze, mortified. "S-sorry! I didn't mean—" She bowed quickly. "My apologies, Gala. And Your Highness."
Gala smiled softly but remained silent. Something told her this was not knowledge meant to be shared freely.
"Gala?" the Queen called.
"Yes, Your Highness?" Gala answered quickly.
"Prepare yourself. The King has requested another inquiry."
Her heart plummeted.
The Queen sensed her fear. "Do not worry. I will not allow him to be unjust."
They parted from Puffhill and Duffhill near the gatehouse, and soon Gala found herself once more in the throne room.
The grandeur no longer impressed her.
Alvaro stood with his group, his gaze cold and unreadable. Gala bowed as the Queen took her place beside the King.
"Describe the creature you saw," the King commanded.
Gala inhaled deeply—and told the truth.
When she finished, silence engulfed the hall.
"It is Dylareia," Alvaro confirmed.
"Then she cannot return home," the King said flatly.
Gala dropped to her knees. "Please, Your Majesty—"
Before she could finish, an elderly faye stepped forward from the shadows.
"Let her stay," the Elderifrey said calmly. "I believe she may be the key to ending this frost."
And just like that, Gala's fate was sealed.