Aelia did not sleep that first night.
The room they gave her was beautiful, yes — but in the way a mausoleum was beautiful. Pale marble walls, a bed carved of silver wood, silk sheets so fine they seemed to whisper when touched. It felt like she'd stepped into a life that didn't belong to her. One that had been lived before. One that had died before.
She traced the edge of a mirror on the far wall. Her reflection stared back — but the room behind her in the glass… was not the same.
She turned. Everything was still.
But in the reflection, there were roses on the windowsill. Deep red and blooming.
She spun back toward the window. Nothing. Only dust and grey ivy.
Aelia backed away slowly and pulled the curtain shut.
---
She spent the following morning wandering the palace grounds — or what little she was allowed to see. A silver-banded servant, silent as a ghost, followed her everywhere. She didn't speak. She didn't blink much either.
The halls were endless, curling into each other like serpents. Statues lined every corridor — faces eerily lifelike, expressions twisted in grief or awe. She passed one room where soft music played, though no musicians were present. Another smelled of blood and cinnamon.
None of the doors opened.
None except one.
---
✧
It was nearly dusk when she found the room with the gold doorframe.
Unlike the others, it wasn't guarded. There was no lock.
She pushed.
The door creaked open, and the scent hit her first — lavender, honey, something older beneath it all.
Inside was a room that felt utterly wrong.
It was warmer than the rest of the palace. A fireplace crackled softly, though no one had lit it. The air shimmered faintly, as if trapped in time.
Portraits lined the walls. Each one showed a woman — different dresses, different styles, but all with the same eyes.
Her eyes.
Aelia stared at the nearest one.
The woman in the painting wore a crimson gown. Her hair was coiled in a golden crown. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes held an intensity that made Aelia shiver.
Beneath the painting was a nameplate:
Queen Lysara.
The original bride. The one who cursed the king.
Aelia reached out a trembling hand to touch the frame—
And the fireplace behind her flared.
She whirled around.
A shadow stood between her and the door.
It was Kael.
---
"You shouldn't be here," he said, voice low.
Aelia didn't move. "Is this her room?"
He didn't answer. He stepped into the light, and for the first time, she saw something new in his expression — not anger, not coldness.
Fear.
"I look like her," Aelia said softly.
Kael's eyes darkened. "No."
"Don't lie to me."
"I said—no. You may resemble her, but you are not her. She was fire and fury. You are… something else."
He paused. "You feel like a dream the world is too cruel to allow."
Aelia's throat tightened.
"Why me?" she asked. "Out of every woman in every realm — why am I the one this kingdom 'chose'?"
Kael looked away. "Because the realm is dying. And I do not wish to die with it."
---
He turned to leave, but paused at the doorway.
"Stay away from this room," he said. "It remembers things you should never see."
Then, softer: "And it remembers her… too well."
---
✧
That night, Aelia dreamed.
She stood in the Queen's Room again, dressed in crimson. Her reflection in the mirror moved before she did. Smiled before she did. Spoke in her voice but said:
> "He broke me. He will break you too."
And when she woke, there were rose petals scattered across her pillow.
---