The great hall was packed yet again, courtiers pressing in like wolves scenting weakness. Gold light from tall windows streamed across the marble floor, glinting off steel and silk alike. The King sat upon his throne, his crown gleaming like judgment itself.
Oakhart's throne room thrummed with unrest. Word of the mages had spread like wildfire, and for days now whispers licked at the edges of the grand chamber as nobles, advisors, and town leaders tried to reconcile a truth long thought buried:
the mages lived.
At the center of it all stood Selene—pale, uneasy, exposed. She felt the weight of a hundred eyes upon her—curious, suspicious, hostile.
Beside her, General Lyra held herself like she stood on a battlefield—shoulders locked, hand never far from her sword. No blades clashed here, yet the tension tasted just as dangerous.
Silence tightened—
Until Princess Kylie stepped forward.
Radiant in crimson and gold, every step she took drew the room's attention like a tide pulling back the sea. Beauty sharpened into a weapon, she turned—not toward Selene first, but toward the nobles—letting their panic gather at her lips.
"It is clear, Father. Even the mages knew of her power—why else would they seek her above all others?"
Murmurs rippled instantly. Some nodded; others stiffened. Selene felt her cheeks burn under the scrutiny—the shame of being painted as the source of turmoil.
Lyra's voice cut through the clamor.
"She is important."
Kylie swung toward her, emerald eyes hard.
"Is she? More than our people?"
She took a step closer, venom sharpening her voice.
"She might be the cause of our annihilation."
Gasps cracked through the crowd. Fear followed like smoke.
"The mage war was years ago," Kylie continued, voice ringing over the panic. "Our ancestors wielded no power and still subdued them—by sheer luck." She savored each word. "We have no idea how many are there. And you believe we can do it again?"
The chamber froze around her accusation.
Lyra's sword-hand twitched—instinct, fury, protection. Then she stepped forward, rage honed into discipline.
"They are weak. They rely on stones to amplify their magic. We can defeat them. Selene is no danger to Oakhart—and anyone who dares threaten her will answer to me, General of this kingdom's armies."
A challenge—and a warning.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then the King's voice, low and sharp, slipped through the tension.
"If the mages sought Selene, it is because of what she carries—not because she is guilty of their crimes."
Stillness fell like a hammer.
The King rose. Each step down the dais echoed across marble, his presence bending the air.
"Oakhart's safety cannot rest upon sentiment," he intoned. "The mages risked much to come here. And your ward has already shown peculiar effects."
His gaze locked on Selene—cold, clinical.
"If her blood can rouse life from death… if it holds such promise… then it must be studied. For the good of the realm."
Selene's stomach dropped.
Studied.
The word clanged like a sentence.
And Lyra—who had thought she could stomach Princess Rayah's earlier compromise—felt something inside her snap. Hearing it now, in the King's mouth, in the mouths of frightened nobles, it sounded nothing like consent. It sounded like Selene was a specimen on a table. A resource. A thing.
Her blade rasped free—half-drawn before she even realized it. Steel caught the council's light, and nobles stumbled back.
"No." Lyra's voice cracked thunder through the hall. "You will not touch her. Not for study. Not for curiosity. Not for your experiments. She is a living being"
Chaos detonated.
Shouts of outrage.
Cries of treason.
At the dais, the King's expression hardened—storm gathering.
"Allegiance to Oakhart demands obedience," he warned. "To refuse is to defy the realm itself."
The court held its breath. Would the General bend—or break?
"Father."
A clear voice cut the uproar.
Princess Rayah moved forward, calm where her sister burned. Wrapped in silver and midnight blue, she glided to Lyra's side and set a hand on her armored shoulder—a quiet vow.
"I will not see Selene condemned," she said, her voice firm and resonant. "Nor reduced to a specimen. If the mages desire her, that alone proves her worth—not as a prize, but as someone who must be protected. Oakhart must not become a cage."
Her argument dropped like stone. Some nobles nodded—hesitant approval. Others recoiled, scandalized that a princess defied her father publicly.
Lyra met Rayah's eyes—gratitude passing like an old language between them. Childhood loyalty, unbroken.
Across the chamber, Kylie's smile died. Something cold and poisonous twisted in its place. She didn't speak—her glare spoke enough.
The court had split.
And Lyra saw the fracture in her own ranks.
Captain Rita stood by the doors, jaw locked, gaze sliding away. Loyalty tore her in two—but her silence revealed her choice: she would not stand against the King.
Ava shifted uneasily, wringing her hands. Lyra found her across the room. Ava's gaze flickered—sorrow, apology—but she stayed rooted where she stood.
Selene's chest tightened. The truth landed, cold and heavy: Lyra wasn't only shielding her against mages. She was setting herself against her King. And the soldiers who followed her may pay in blood.
The King's silence on the dais was an anvil ready to fall.
And in the corner of the throne—Kylie's smile returned.
Small. Serpentine.
Satisfied.