The council chamber was chaos, lit by the dim glow of torches that cast long, wavering shadows across the scattered papers covering the table and spilling onto the floor. Scrolls lay half-unfurled beneath overturned chairs.
Each document had Eldoria's recent dealings with Veridelle, trade manifests listing goods being sold from their southern ports, diplomatic missives praising King Sol's, even invitations inviting Eldoria's people to festivals or parties.
Proof of peace.
Tirian stood at the center of it all, pacing. Every step carried restrained fury. His fingers swept through the papers again and again, lifting them only to discard them moments later, frustration tightening his grip until parchment crumpled beneath his hand.
Nothing.... No insults. No veiled threats. No warning signs of betrayal. "Why?" Tirian muttered under his breath, crushing another document.
His jaw clenched. Why would Sol take her? Veridelle followed their own gods, yes—but a prophecy was still a prophecy. Why would Sol tear away part of the key? His thoughts spiraled, unraveling one possibility after another.
Unless— circling darker possibilities. Did they receive a prophecy of their own? Tirian froze mid-step.
Tirian slammed his fist into the table, the impact sending several loose pages fluttering to the ground. No, if it's true... there must be a reason, he thought grimly. Sol would not risk war without cause...
As Tirian rubbed his hair out of his face, his eyes landed on the flickering fire. A memory surfaced, the assassin... "Our target was the queen. Not to kill her. To take her to our liege."
Tirian's eyes narrowed. "Our liege…" Was it Sol? but he's never craved more than his own kingdom...
The doors creaked open, cutting through his thoughts.
Torvax entered. "My lord," he said, bowing slightly, "There are no signs of forced entry, but the hidden passage in the library was disturbed."
Tirian turned sharply, his gaze locking onto him. "They knew?"
"Yes," Torvax confirmed. "Whoever took her must've known the layout."
"And the scouts?" Tirian asked, barely masking the urgency in his voice.
Torvax shook his head. "Nothing solid yet, I'm sorry." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Would the True Veil have granted them a different prophecy? Veridelle follows all gods, but only a command from the Veil would justify such risk."
Tirian exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. "I was thinking the same... it just, still doesn't seem right for Sol to risk a war with a n allied kingdom..."
"Why would their gods oppose the Holy Circle's prophecy I wonder?" Torvax asked, deep in thought. "Do they want Eldoria to die out perhaps? That prophecy was the only way to regain the Circle's favor—our only path forward... So to take away the very person we needed to do so..."
Tirian hand dragged down his face, pressing his fingers to his temples. "There must be something else at play," he said tightly.
Torvax paused. "Veridelle's priests may have interpreted the prophecy differently. Perhaps they believe your death too is required to break the curse?"
Tirian laughed — a bitter, hollow sound. "Too late."
His grip tightened until the wood creaked beneath his fingers. "When I was forced to kill my family," he said, voice rough, "I begged the gods to take me too. I begged them."
His voice rose, anger breaking through restraint. "They refused. They forced me to live. To wear this crown. And... to marry her."
He swallowed hard. "And now you tell me the gods can't even agree among themselves?" he snapped. "What chaos reigns above that they cannot keep their own decrees aligned?" He stood, anger rolling off of him. "And who are they to play judge over another kingdom's rule! I've had no ill intentions towards them!" His eyes burned.
His voice faltered. Just once. "Haven't I given enough?" he continued, quieter now. "They'd take her too, now that I—" He stopped abruptly, his throat tightening.
Torvax stepped closer, expression softened, sympathy flickering across his face, "My lord, I understand your turmoil, but please... you must not speak so openly against the gods. Even thoughts can anger them. What if they punish you more."
Tirian let out a hollow scoff, his shoulders sagging. "More?..." When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, stripped of its steel. "I just… don't want to lose..." He shook his head, cutting himself off before the words could fully form. "The kingdom will fall without her by my side."
Torvax nodded once. "We will find her, my lord." Tirian straightened, drawing in a steadying breath. "Yes," he said, forcing resolve into his voice.
A knight, Sir Beararn rushed in, breathless, bowing hastily. "My lord! The scouts have sent word. They found the horses. A woman matching Her Highness's description was seen boarding a ship bound for Veridelle. Another vessel has been dispatched to trail them."
Tirian's eyes ignited, "We leave at once." he said coldly. "Send word to King Sol. Demand a meeting upon our arrival. Tell him we are willing to discuss any… misunderstandings of taking Eldoria's queen."
His voice dropped, dangerous and precise. "But he had better pray there is a reason for this betrayal."
*****
Orielle woke from a restless half-sleep, her stomach already twisting before her eyes fully opened. The bunk creaked beneath her as the ship rocked gently, the steady sway enough to keep her nausea alive through the night. The air was thick with the smell of salt, seaweed, and fresh fish, sharp and clinging, turning her stomach all over again.
She pushed herself upright, her head throbbing, and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Frustration bubbled up as she tore the blanket away and staggered toward the small basin, already bracing herself.
She retched, but nothing came. Her hands gripped the edge of the sink as she leaned her forehead against the cool stone, her breathing uneven. Tears slipped free before she could stop them.
"Tirian…" she whispered. "Father..." She tried again.
The sound of her voice seemed to echo back at her, fragile and useless. She sucked in a breath and scrubbed her sleeve roughly across her eyes, wiping away the tears as if they were something shameful.
"At least…" she muttered, forcing out a hollow, breathless laugh, "at least they're not horrible captors."
She slid down until she was sitting on the floor, one hand still braced against the basin. Her laughter faded into something tired and thin.
"Yes… it could be worse," she whispered to herself. "Nausea is better than chains. Better than torture right?" A few moments passed, and she answered herself. "Yes, indeed... much better than torture..."
Orielle dragged herself back to her feet, splashed water onto her face, and straightened, steadying herself before turning back toward the bed. The room swayed gently, just enough to make her stomach revolt again.
Her hands flew to her mouth as another wave hit, her face draining of color. "Just—focus," she muttered, swallowing hard. "It's… it's in my head, I'm not rocking, I'm on a flat surface. This is fine."
She collapsed onto the edge of the bed, eyes squeezed shut, fingers pressing against her temples as if she could force her body to obey her will.
The door opened softly.
Orielle's eyes snapped open as Sir Calen stepped inside, followed by a young maid. The girl looked barely older than Orielle herself, her expression kind but cautious as she carried a small tray. On it sat a piece of neatly woven bread and a glass filled with a steaming brown liquid.
"My lady," Calen said quietly, guilt lining his voice, "how are you feeling? We brought something to help settle your stomach."
Orielle glared at him, her strength drained but her bite intact."Like I'm trapped in a fish-soaked prison," she muttered. Her hands trembled as she clenched the blanket on the bed, refusing the tray without even looking at it.
The maid stepped forward hesitantly. "Please, my lady," she said earnestly. "It's just ginger tea. It helps with nausua."
Calen nodded, his jaw tightening. If only this had been done openly, he thought bitterly. If only she didn't have to suffer like this.
Reluctantly, Orielle accepted the glass. She sipped slowly, her throat burned but there was a relief in both her stomach and nausea.
"Why are you being so considerate?" she asked hoarsely. "Am I not your prisoner?" She scoffed weakly. "If you truly cared, you'd let me go."
Calen pulled a stool closer and sat across from her. "We're saving you, my lady," he said firmly. "The Holy Circle's prophecy isn't what you've been told. It isn't salvation. It's a death sentence."
Orielle's eyes narrowed. "No," she snapped. "The prophecy says I'm meant to lift the curse with Tirian. Our union—"
"It's a lie," the maid interrupted softly.
Orielle turned, surprised. The girl met her gaze, voice trembling but sincere. "The True Veil revealed the truth to our priests. The Circle twisted their prophecy for their own benefit. It's true—you are the chosen. But that's where the truth ends."
She took a breath. "Binding you to a tainted bloodline ensured your loyalty to the kingdom that serves them. Your death was foretold because the Circle altered fate itself."
Orielle shook her head, nausea or disbelief—she wasn't sure which."You're wrong," she said sharply. "The Circle's gods are Eldoria's pillars. How would my death benefit them at all?"
Calen leaned forward, urgency bleeding into his voice. "The True Veil shows the shadows they hide. If you think about it my lady, the curse was placed by the Circle themselves—out of anger. By taking you for their own kingdom... was their own will not the prophecy's. "
Orielle stared at him, conflict written across her face. "It doesn't matter," she said tightly. "Tirian wouldn't let me die. He wouldn't." Her eyes burned, but she refused to let the tears fall. "We did what the gods demanded. The kingdom will be saved, because we obeyed. So there shouldn't be a problem!"
Calen only looked at her with quiet concern."What if their promise is temporary?" he asked gently. "Have they shown any sign of lifting it?"
He hesitated. "If you truly won't die by Tirian's hand, then when this is proven… King Sol will let you go."
Orielle's grip tightened around the glass. "I don't understand," she whispered. "Why me? Why does Veridelle care whether I live or die?"
Calen's voice was steady. "Because our prophecy says you matter beyond one kingdom. The Circle either intends to use you until you break—or discard you when you no longer serve them."
Orielle fell silent. The ship rocked beneath her, mirroring the storm in her chest.
"I don't... I don't want to leave Tirian," she said quietly.
Calen and the maid exchanged a glance.I see... She's already fallen for the king, Calen realized, and stood up. I should let her think this over by herself then. Then he walked towards the door, gesturing for the maid to follow.
"Rest, my lady," he said said calmly. "Veridelle isn't far now."
As the door shut, Orielle traced the rim of the glass, her voice barely a whisper as she recalled the words from a book she read in the library.
"To touch their power is to touch their chain.To drink their gift is to taste their hunger.Beware, mortal—Even mercy binds."
She set the glass down and pulled her knees to her chest, the tears finally spilling free.
"Tirian…" she whispered. "Is it true?"