The great doors creaked open.
Aurora stood there, the cold from the halls still clinging to her skin. The soft rustle of her blue gown was swallowed by the oppressive silence within the chamber. Before her stretched a vast, circular room with stone columns carved like twisted vines and tall arched windows that let in pale, icy light. At the center stood a grand round table—dark oak, wide and polished—encircling a gathering of powerful men and women cloaked in the colors of Velmora.
The Council of Thorns.
At the far end of the table, in a tall-backed obsidian chair that looked more like a throne than a seat, sat Aldric. Draped in steel-grey and shadow, his fingers steepled under his chin, his gaze fixed on her like a predator assessing something unfamiliar.
At his sides sat his two queens—Virelda, poised like a statue carved from ice, and Selene, wrapped in soft wine-colored velvet, lips tight and unreadable. Every face in the room turned the moment she entered. Every eye was stitched onto her.
Aurora froze mid-step. She wasn't prepared for this.
Not for a room full of men and women with cold eyes and silent mouths. Not for the two queens watching her like she was a strange relic unearthed from myth. Not for the weight of judgment settling onto her like chains.
Then, breaking the silence, came Aldric's voice
"Step forward."
It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
It sliced clean through the tension and made her feet move.
She obeyed, walking slowly toward the center, the hem of her gown brushing the stone like a whisper. Still, no one smiled. No one welcomed her. The council's faces weren't marked by anger or admiration—but by shock.
As if they couldn't quite believe what they were seeing.
Was she real?
Her beauty didn't seem born of flesh and blood. That white hair braided neatly down her back glowed softly in the pale light. Her eyes, clear and blue, flicked briefly up to the council before lowering again. She kept her head bowed.
Virelda, the elder queen, so trained in keeping her face unreadable, found her mask cracking. Her lips parted slightly. How... how could a woman look like this? There was no softness in Aurora's posture, no trace of effort. She simply was, and her presence was unsettling.
Selene, the younger queen, was the first to blink. Her shock came first… then something more poisonous. Jealousy. It crawled under her skin and coiled behind her eyes like smoke, but she said nothing—only narrowed her gaze slightly.
Aldric smirked, leaning back into his seat.
"Did you enjoy our welcome?" he asked.
Aurora said nothing. Her head remained bowed, her lips pressed shut.
A flicker of something unreadable passed across Aldric's eyes, then he turned to the table.
"This," he announced, "is the bride Elareth has given me. What do you all have to say?"
There was a pause—too long.
The council knew better than to speak freely, especially in Aldric's presence. They murmured among themselves at first, hesitant, calculating what was safe to say. Then one man, a tall councilor with ash-grey robes and a scar across his jaw, finally spoke
"The Elareth kingdom…" he began slowly, "…has done what no kingdom has ever dared. Bold of them."
He paused, then smiled faintly.
"But also foolish."
A few small chuckles rose from around the table. Tension thinned. Someone exhaled.
The man continued, voice carrying a mockery too soft to punish.
"Do they think sending a princess would buy them protection? Perhaps. If they remember their place."
Another councilor, younger and sharper-eyed, leaned forward.
"The girl is…" He cleared his throat. "…remarkable. Unsettling, even. She feels…" He gave a small laugh, "..…unreal. But at least they sent someone who befits a king."
Several heads nodded. Another wave of soft, knowing smiles spread through the room.
Then Selene spoke. Her voice was smooth, but barbed.
"Or perhaps they sent her to lure the king with her beauty… and then kill him."
A thick silence fell.
Aurora's eyes widened in shock. She hadn't expected to be accused of treachery, not openly, not like this. Her breath caught.
But Aldric only turned his head slowly, gaze falling on Selene with terrifying calm.
"And do you believe," he said, voice silky with menace, "that such a trick would work on me?"
Selene's composure faltered. She quickly bowed her head and said nothing.
Aldric looked away from her, speaking now to the entire table.
"I summoned you here not only to present the bride… but because she has brought you all a gift."
Murmurs rippled around the table. Confusion. Curiosity.
Aurora blinked, confusion turning to dread.
What gift?
She hadn't brought anything. She had nothing.
Across the table, Virelda smirked faintly. She knew. She knew what this was.
This wasn't a gift. This was the beginning of punishment.
Aldric's voice returned, colder now.
"The new bride…" he said, leaning back into his chair, "…wishes to dance for us."
A breath caught in Aurora's throat.
Her head snapped up, and for the first time, she looked at Aldric—really looked. Something in his eyes was darker than before. Not fire. Not cruelty. Something older. Something without mercy.
But she quickly lowered her head again.
Dance?
She'd never danced a day in her life. Not alone. Not in front of anyone.
Before she could speak, before she could beg, Aldric added,
"If she doesn't—cut off her head."
A man stepped forward immediately from the shadows—one of Aldric's swordbearers, steel already drawn.
Aurora's knees shook. Her breath came shallow and quick. Her body moved before her mind could catch up. She stepped forward, dancing to no music in particular.
It was terrible. Awkward. Stiff.
She didn't know how to move—not in silk, not in fear. She stumbled, stepped wrong, spun too hard, then tripped over her gown and crashed to the floor with a soft cry.
The council laughed.
Even Virelda laughed now, her cold amusement echoing off the walls.
Selene, too, her smirk wide and satisfied.
But Aldric only watched. His face unreadable. His eyes sharp and detached.
"Get up."
That was all he said.
Aurora did. On trembling legs, sweat breaking from her cold skin, she danced again—worse now. She danced past her fear, past her pride, past her pain. She danced until her knees gave way beneath her. She collapsed to the floor, chest heaving, coughing violently as her body betrayed her completely.
Silence.
Then… one clap.
Aldric.
Then another. The council followed, more amused than impressed.
The clapping died quickly.
"Meeting's over," Aldric said with disinterest. "Take her back to her chamber."
Two servants entered and lifted her up gently. Her limbs were too weak to resist. She didn't speak. Couldn't. Her head hung low as they led her out of the chamber.
The King exited the room. As the councilors filed out behind him, two of them walked side by side. One let out a quiet chuckle, muffled beneath his breath.
"Isn't King Aldric lucky?"
"A golden-haired wife… and now a white-haired one."
The other smiled. "Velmora's collection grows."
Back inside, as the queens departed the chamber with their entourage of servants, Selene glanced sideways at Virelda, her voice low and smug.
"That girl's a witch, isn't she? Her white hair gave her away."
Virelda didn't answer at first. Then she smirked and said without turning,
"Mind your business, Selene."
She veered down a separate corridor with her servants trailing behind her like shadows.
Selene stood alone for a moment, then gave a quiet scoff and walked the opposite direction. The two queens had never gotten along. Not since the day Selene arrived.
Far away, back in the frost-bitten eastern wing, Aurora was laid gently on her bed.
She turned away from the servants, breathless and broken.
Tears welled in her eyes, but she made no sound.
She only sobbed silently into the cold, scratchy pillow. As the pain in her muscles mixed with the deeper ache in her soul.
And that was how her life in Velmora truly began.
Hours passed. The walls didn't move. The wind didn't soften. The cold didn't care.
Aurora still lay curled beneath the same thin blanket, face pressed into the scratchy pillow that smelled of dust and old stone. Her sobs had long since quieted into a trembling stillness but every so often, another tear would slip from her eye and roll across her pale cheek. The hollowness inside her no longer felt like sadness, it was something deeper. Something that gnawed at the edges of her soul.
Being invisible in Elareth, Scrubbing floors… cleaning the stables…..It was better than this.
So much better than this.
There, she had silence too—but it wasn't as this cruel. The world had ignored her, but it hadn't stripped her down to bone. It hadn't watched her dance on trembling legs, and laughed while she collapsed. It hadn't made her feel like nothing… and then fed on that nothingness.
Then hunger came again—sharper than before.
A twisting, sickening pull in her stomach that made her curl tighter under the blanket. She whimpered softly, clutching her belly, tears sliding silently onto the stone floor beneath her bed.
Her voice was a whisper now, cracked and aching.
"Why… why was I even born?"
There was no answer. Only the moaning wind from the cracks in the wall. Only the aching silence of a palace that did not want her.
The cold grew stronger. Her feet were numb. Her lips trembled. She looked around the room again, eyes blurry. The fireless hearth stared back at her like a mouth that would never speak. She thought—just briefly—of going outside, looking for food. Maybe down the servant halls, the kitchens...
But fear clung to her tighter than hunger.
What if she stepped into the wrong corridor? What if she met Aldric?
What if, this time… he hanged her?
So she stayed.
Days passed.
No one came. No food. No water. No voice through the door. Just silence.
Until one evening—after a stretch of time that felt like forever, there was a knock.
Once. Then twice. Then the door opened.
The sudden flood of torchlight blinded her for a moment. Aurora lifted her head from the bed slowly, weak and disoriented. Her vision sharpened just enough to see three servants, followed by the same seamstress who had dressed her days ago. The woman's expression hadn't changed—still stiff, still unreadable.
"We were told to dress you," she said plainly, "and bring you to the royal dining."
Aurora blinked. Dining?
Her heart jolted in her chest. For a moment, she couldn't believe what she'd heard.
Dining means food.
Her mouth went dry. Her stomach twisted again, harder now that the word had reached her ears.
She tried to stand but her legs gave out. The servants caught her. One on either side. She had no strength to fight. Her body was paper, and even her breath felt fragile.
Even in Elareth, in all its cruelty, she never starved. There were always scraps. Always leftover bread. Always something to find if she searched the kitchens well enough. But here in Velmora? Here… she was nothing. Not even a mouth worth feeding.
They lifted her gently. Carried her toward the basin, stripped her of the wrinkled blue gown and bathed her, the water barely warm but cleaner than what she'd last felt. They dressed her again in fresh velvet-blue, smoothed her white hair into its braid, and fastened the silver clasps with mechanical precision.
She didn't speak once. She didn't need to.
They led her through the halls again—this time not to shame her, not to parade her, but to feed her. And her body, more than her heart, clung to the promise of food.
The royal dining chamber was tall, domed, and glowing with golden candlelight. The scent of roasted meat, herbs, and wine hung thick in the air. There was music playing faintly from a harp in the corner, plucked by a musician too afraid to look at the guests directly.
Aurora's eyes immediately darted to the long table.
Dishes—dozens of them— lined the dark wood: steaming loaves, fruits dripping with juice, golden potatoes roasted with rosemary, thick soups in silver bowls, and platters of poultry and game, browned to perfection.
At the head of the table sat Aldric, in a regal black ensemble trimmed with silver.
To his right, Queen Virelda, cold and composed.
To his left, Queen Selene, beautiful and smug, her expression unreadable at first.
Aurora bowed shakily, her body trembling with exhaustion and want.
But her eyes couldn't stop stealing glances at the food. Her mouth watered. Her stomach clenched so hard she winced.
Aldric watched her closely. After a moment, he spoke, voice smooth but empty of warmth.
"Because you danced well… days ago… I thought it only fair to reward you with food."
Aurora smiled, her heart rejoicing—finally, food. Her voice caught in her throat.
"I… I am grateful, Your Majesty," she whispered. Her voice cracked. It trembled.
Aldric nodded toward the table, "Sit, then."
Relief flickered in her chest. She moved forward, reaching toward one of the many unoccupied chairs—hands trembling as she touched the back of it.
Then—his voice again.
"No."
She froze.
"If you wish to sit at this table," he said coolly, "you must earn it."
He leaned back slowly, letting the words sink in.
"You danced terribly. The floor suits you better."
There was a beat of silence.
Then both queens let out soft chuckles, muffled behind gloved fingers.
Aurora's heart dropped.
She had sat on floors her whole life. In the stables. In the servant halls. Under staircases. It was not foreign to her. But here—here it felt different.
Here it was not necessity. It was humiliation.
She hesitated only for a moment. Then slowly, quietly, she knelt.
The cold stone bit through her dress. The velvet pooled around her knees like spilled ink. Her eyes remained low.
A servant approached and gently placed a plate before her—simple bread, soup, a few cuts of meat. No spices. No wine. No silver cup.
Aldric's voice came again, sharp as winter.
"Are you still grateful?"
Aurora's eyes remained on her food. Her voice was soft.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
He reached for a golden chicken leg from his platter, then—without warning—tossed it toward her like a scrap.
It hit her cheek before falling into her lap. The sharp bone left a small sting. The meat bounced onto her skirt.
Both Virelda and Selene chuckled again. Their laughter was soft, but it was made for her to hear.
Aurora didn't move at first. Then, slowly, she picked the chicken up. She looked at it. Her lips trembled.
Her stomach growled—loud and desperate.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared at the food. Not from shame.
Not entirely. But from how deeply she needed it.
And so—she ate. She devoured the meal in quiet gulps, her hands shaking, her face burning, but her hunger silencing every other emotion. For now, the need to survive was stronger than her pain. She ate until the plate was empty, until her fingers clutched only crumbs.
No one spoke to her again.
And when the table cleared and the servants returned, Aldric said nothing more.
Only waved a hand, and she was taken away again—back down the same silent halls, back to the same cold room, back to the thin bed with no fire.
There, breathless, she curled into herself once more. And though her stomach was no longer empty. Her soul had never felt more hollow.