The royal court of Theralune was not built for honesty.
Its walls glittered with gold, but its shadows whispered with fear. And as Elira walked into the High Hall beside Prince Auren, she felt a hundred eyes press against her like knives.
> So this is how it begins, she thought. The girl with the fire walks into the lion's den.
Auren's hand brushed hers under the long sleeve of her gown. Not to comfort.
To warn.
> "Say nothing unless spoken to," he murmured. "And whatever you do—don't mention magic."
She gave the slightest nod. Her palms itched.
Across the chamber, on a dais of black stone, sat Queen Rhianna — Auren's mother. Cloaked in shadow and rubies, she looked like a serpent coiled in silk.
"So," the Queen purred, her voice as cold as her crown. "This is the girl?"
"Her name is Elira," Auren replied evenly.
> "The orphan. The survivor."
A pause.
"The fire-born."
Elira stiffened.
> "I've heard stories," the Queen went on. "That you walked from the ashes of your home untouched. That your blood sings when the wind turns east. That even the fire bows to you."
"Rumors," Elira said, her voice steady. "Superstition."
The Queen's smile didn't reach her eyes.
> "Superstition burns just as easily as truth, girl."
Auren stepped forward, cutting through the tension like a blade.
"Your Majesty, she is under my protection. By law and by vow. I will not let the court tear her apart."
"And what if she tears us apart?" the Queen asked, gaze now locked on Elira. "What happens when the girl with the fire forgets who owns the flame?"
Elira opened her mouth—to lie, to promise, to beg for peace.
But then it happened.
A jolt.
A scream.
Then chaos.
The floor beneath them trembled — faint at first, then violently. Flames erupted from the far end of the hall, not from torch or candle, but from the stone itself. Servants scattered. Nobles shrieked. And in the center of it all, one man lay dead—his chest split by heatless fire.
Auren grabbed Elira.
>"This isn't you—right?"
"I don't know!" she gasped. "I didn't—I can't—"
But deep inside her, something had stirred.
Something ancient.
Something watching.
> "You have awakened."
A voice, not hers. Not human. But inside her head.
When the smoke cleared, silence fell like a shroud.
The Queen rose slowly from her throne. Her expression was no longer amused.
> "Take her," she ordered the guards. "Chain her in the Black Tower."
"No!" Auren shouted. "She's done nothing!"
"Exactly," the Queen said coldly. "She's not in control. And I will not have my throne turned to cinders by a girl who doesn't know her own power.
Elira's eyes met Auren's as the guards seized her.
He looked helpless. Furious.
But she didn't cry.
Because as they dragged her through the burning rubble of the court, she heard the voice again—calmer now, darker:
"They fear the fire. But they should fear what walks within it