The snow had softened under the noon sun by the time King Aldric returned from his journey. Cloaked in furs and shadowed by guards, he rode through the palace gates without much ceremony, his face unreadable as ever. Issues were resolved, rebellions quelled—Velmora remained strong under his rule.
But inside, the weight never left.
After attending to the urgent matters brought to his war table, Aldric made his way to a familiar place—the chamber of his mother, Lady Ava.
Her grand quarters smelled of lavender and old pages. A low fire burned in the hearth, and a modest meal was laid between them as they sat on opposite ends of a carved table in the chamber's warm glow.
They ate mostly in silence until Ava looked up at him, her elegant fingers curled around her cup.
"Do you still struggle to sleep, Your Highness?" she asked gently.
Aldric didn't look up from his meal. "Yes, Mother."
A soft sigh escaped her. She'd heard it since she birthed him—the curse whispered by a scorned witch, cast upon him while he was still in her womb. A lifetime of torment. Screaming. Wailing. Clashing swords. The endless noise in his head whenever he dared to close his eyes.
She set her cup down and asked, cautiously but clearly, "And…why haven't you lain with any of your wives?"
Aldric paused. His hand stilled. But he said nothing.
Not even a glance.
She smiled faintly, undeterred.
"You need peace," she said softly. "And heirs. You are not eternal, Your Highness."
Still no answer.
Ava leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice. "Visit the white-haired one's chambers tonight."
Aldric finally looked up—his cold eyes sharp. "Mother."
"She is unlike the others," Ava pressed. "Velmora whispers of her already. Her name is on the servants' tongues. Perhaps the heavens sent her for this reason."
He scoffed lightly. "You think one girl can chase out a curse?"
" I think," she said, folding her hands, "you've tried war and silence. Perhaps it's time to try something warmer. And this is not merely about chasing a curse—it is about producing an heir."
He didn't respond, but she knew he'd obey. He always did. Despite his iron, he was her son, and her words still held weight.
In Aurora's chamber, laughter filled the air like spring sunlight. She had grown comfortable with her servants. She sat at the table with half of her attendants, studying a leather-bound book on Velmora's ancient traditions.
Her feet were tucked beneath her robe, and her white hair spilled over her shoulders as she read aloud something she couldn't pronounce, and they all laughed with her.
Then the second half of her servants entered—silent and quick. They bowed.
"Your Highness," one said, "His Majesty has returned. He… will be coming to your chambers tonight."
The laughter vanished like smoke.
Aurora's eyes widened. Her hand trembled slightly on the page.
Tonight?
Her heart began to pound. The room felt colder.
Should I feign illness? Perhaps a fever? A sudden fainting spell?
But the thought that Aldric might see through her terrified her even more. He was a man who had sentenced her to die in the snow simply to test her endurance. What would he do if he discovered her deceit?
No. She couldn't risk it.
"Prepare her bath," one of the older maids said softly, already setting things in motion.
The bath water shimmered with lavender and milk. Aurora stepped in slowly, her body tense, her thoughts spiraling. Her servants poured water over her back gently, as if sensing her fear.
They dried her carefully, then dressed her in a pale silk night robe, so sheer it left little to the imagination, revealing the graceful lines of her body. The fabric clung to her, light as breath, glowing softly in the candlelight.
They brushed her hair until it gleamed like snow and laced her skin with sweet sandalwood and honeyed petals.
The bed was prepared with fresh linens. The hearth was glowing.
They laid her gently on the bed like a glass figure and withdrew quietly.
Aurora sat there, heart racing. Every tick of the clock on the wall louder than thunder.
Then—the door opened. And King Aldric stepped in.
His tall frame was wrapped in black and silver night robes. No guards. No sword.
Just him.
Aurora froze.
His presence stole the warmth from the room. His gaze drifted over her, from her face down to her bare ankles peeking from the robe and back to her eyes. His face revealed nothing.
He walked toward her.
Aurora's breath hitched.
Then, softly, he touched her lips with two fingers—barely grazing them.
She flinched.
But he said nothing. No anger. No affection. No hint of desire.
He simply smiled faintly, as if amused by her fear.
Then… he walked to the other side of the bed.
Laid down.
Facing away from her.
Aurora lay stiff as wood, unsure whether to turn or speak. The silence ached in her chest.
She couldn't bear it. So she whispered, voice shaking.
"Thank you… Your Majesty. For letting your physician attend to me… and for this chamber."
No reply.
She waited, tense. Wondering when his hand would reach for her. Wondering when the cold skin of command would press against her.
But it didn't.
Aldric's eyes had already closed.
He was waiting for her to fall asleep. That was his pattern. Once she did, he'd vanish—like he had with the others.
But this time…
He didn't.
Morning came. Light spilled softly across the marble floor.
The golden glow touched Aldric's face. His eyes fluttered open.
He blinked. Then sat up abruptly. He had slept.
Not just rested—but slept. And not tormented by screams. Not chased by cries or visions of war. For the first time in his life, the voices in his head had gone silent.
He turned sharply.
Aurora was already awake, fully dressed in a soft morning gown, sitting by the table with her hands folded tightly.
She gasped when she saw him stir—her whole body tensing. She stood instantly and bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty."
Aldric stared at her, still stunned. "I slept?" he asked in disbelief.
Aurora's voice quivered. "Yes, Your Majesty."
He stood, walked to her slowly. She didn't dare look up. He studied her face. Her presence. Her stillness.
He turned, walked back to the bed. Laid down again. Closed his eyes.
Aurora frowned,unsure.
Then… his breathing slowed. Deepened. And he fell asleep again.
No wails. No pain. Just peace.
Aurora stood still. Confused. Quiet.
And very, very afraid—because something was changing, and she didn't know what it meant.
The sun had climbed to its highest peak when the whispers began to crawl like vines across the palace.
"His Majesty had not left Queen Aurora's chamber."
He entered before the dawn light broke the sky—yet even as the golden sun reached over the courtyard tiles, and servants rushed through corridors with morning trays and linens, the door remained closed.
Queen Selene's Quarter...…
Inside her lavish chamber— draped in deep reds and adorned with glittering silver—Queen Selene sat before her tall mirror, three maids delicately pinning her curls in place.
She wore her signature crimson gown, the corset hugging her waist, her neckline adorned with rubies gifted from Aldric's last campaign.
She smirked at her own reflection. "I'm sure His Majesty would have left that witch chamber?" she mused aloud.
Just then, her most trusted maid stepped in quietly and bowed low.
Selene's smile faltered. She turned her head slightly. "Well?"
The maid raised her head. "Your Majesty... the King is still in Queen Aurora's chamber. He never left."
The brush in the other servant's hand froze mid-stroke.
Selene's face went pale, then reddened in an instant. Her jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing sharply.
"What?" she snapped.
The maid lowered her gaze. "Since last night, my Queen. The guards outside say he has not stepped out."
Silence fell. Then Selene stood abruptly, her silk robe fluttering with her movement.
"You," she pointed at the ones fixing her hair, "OUT!"
"But Your Majesty, your hair—"
"I SAID OUT!" she screamed, her voice shrill with rage.
The startled maids dropped their tools and scurried out like frightened mice.
As the doors slammed shut behind them, Selene paced her chamber like a storm in a cage.
Her thoughts raced. He slept there? All night? What had she done—what had that witch done?
Selene's eyes blazed. She rammed her fists against the polished table, knocking down the perfume bottles, the mirror, the brushes—everything clattered and smashed to the ground.
"She seduced him," she hissed under her breath, "That vile white-haired seductress—she used something. A charm. A spell. Or her skin—like a cheap concubine!"
Her servant remained silently in the corner, still and unreadable.
Selene clenched her fists till her knuckles turned white.
"No queen had ever made the king stay. Not even me." She screamed.
Queen Virelda's Quarter...…..
In contrast, Virelda's chamber was bathed in soft light and silence. Walls of pale blue and ivory created a calm oasis, a gentle refuge compared to Selene's tempest.
She sat at a carved writing desk, a steaming cup of rose tea before her, her posture elegant, her eyes still.
But the tension behind them was unmistakable.
Her lips hovered over the cup when one of her cloaked spies returned—her most trusted, silent-footed girl.
The girl bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty," she said, "I watched all night. The King is still in Queen Aurora's room. He has not emerged."
The porcelain cup halted midair.
Virelda's eyes dropped to the tea. Then she gently set the cup back down.
"I see," she murmured.
She gave a soft nod. The spy melted back into the shadows and joined the others.
Behind her composed expression, Virelda's hand trembled.
All night? Still?
She had seen Aldric sleep for no more than minutes before jerking awake like a man hunted. But now… a full night? And still going?
Her mind clawed for answers. What did she do? What had Aurora offered that six years of her own presence could not? What had changed?
She looked down at her hand. Her fingers dug silently into her palm. No scream. No outburst. But her body screamed with silent rage.
Lady Ava's Quarter...…
Elsewhere in the palace, seated by the window where golden light warmed her lap, Lady Ava received the same news.
A servant knelt and whispered it into her ear.
Her lips parted with a quiet breath, and then—a smile.
She leaned back in her chair, eyes gazing into the horizon.
"Well…" she whispered to herself. "Finally."
Her hand brushed gently over her robes. "My son has found rest. And perhaps… very soon… I shall have a grandson."
Inside Aurora's Chamber...…
The air in Aurora's grand room was still.
All day long, she sat by the table in her soft robe, her hands clasped in her lap. Her servants had long since stepped outside. No one dared enter, not while His Majesty still slept—on her bed.
Aurora's heart had pounded the entire night, and now into the long day. It hadn't stopped once.
She stared at Aldric, his body stretched across the bed in quiet, undisturbed slumber. His chest rose and fell in slow rhythm, the softest of exhales escaping his lips.
How? she wondered. How could the man who tossed me into the snow… the one who gave me no fire, no food… how could he sleep here? With me?
He looked… peaceful.
It made no sense. It terrified her more than if he'd tried to touch her.
He hadn't spoken. Hadn't moved. But he stayed.
And the palace noticed.
Outside Her Door
Her servants stood pressed to the side of the hallway, silent as statues. The guards stationed nearby had remained all day. No change of shift.
Even Aldric's right-hand commander, worried and unsure, had finally pushed the door open earlier—his sword half-drawn.
Aurora had risen quickly, startled.
But Aldric had not stirred.
Commander Kael examined him hastily. Still breathing. Still sleeping.
He glanced at Aurora, his eyes narrowing slightly—what magic is this?—but said nothing.
He sheathed his blade, bowed, and backed out of the room.
The rumors moved like wildfire.
"She put him to sleep."
"It must be her hair—white like snow."
"The king never sleeps, yet with her, he has."
And inside the chamber, hours passed.
Aurora remained still, her back aching, her eyes burning, but she dared not lie down. She dared not leave.
Because he hadn't moved.
And somehow, he was at peace.
-
The morning light stretched lazily across the golden floors of Aurora's chamber, painting warm rays across the silk sheets, the velvet curtains, and the unmoving figure still sprawled upon the bed—King Aldric.
And across the room, at the small corner table where she'd sat all night, Aurora had finally dozed off, her body slumped ever so slightly, cheek resting on her arm, white hair pooling down over her shoulder like moonlight.
Then—
Aldric's eyes fluttered open.
He blinked slowly, as though waking from a hundred-year slumber. The room was quiet. Too quiet. He lifted his hand and flexed his fingers, frowning.
No screaming.
No phantom war horns.
No wailing cries.
No crashing swords in his skull.
No pulsing agony between his ears.
Just… stillness.
He sat up slowly, disbelief wrinkling his brow.
He had slept. Soundly.
His head turned, eyes landing on the motionless girl across the room—Aurora. She had curled slightly in the chair, soft breath rising and falling, her hands folded like a child's in her lap, long lashes casting shadows over pale cheeks.
Aldric rose from the bed. He walked toward her slowly, like one approaching a dream he didn't want to startle.
He bent low, his shadow casting over her sleeping face.
He stared at her for a moment, trying to understand—What did you do to me?
But there was nothing strange about her in this moment. No sorcery in her expression. Just calm… and something warm beneath her fragile exterior. Something that settled the storm in him.
A ghost of a smile crept to his lips—barely there—and then he stood, turned, and walked quietly toward the door. It creaked as it opened.
And outside, the corridor that had buzzed with silent tension for hours suddenly held its breath.
Servants and guards straightened instantly, their spines stiffening like bowstrings as Aldric stepped out.
He didn't speak. Only gave a curt nod.
His commanders immediately fell into line behind him, matching his steps in perfect rhythm. Boots echoed like drums of power through the corridor as the King of Velmora strode down the hall—alive, well… and rested.
As soon as they disappeared from sight, Aurora's door burst open. Her maids rushed in, gasping.
"Your Majesty!" one whispered urgently. "The King… he just left!"
Aurora blinked awake, lifting her head groggily. Her muscles ached from the position, and she was momentarily dazed.
"Left?" she echoed, confused.
"Yes! Just now. He walked out, said nothing. You— you dozed off?"
Aurora's hands flew to her lap. He left… without a word?
And then—ggrrrrhhh…
Her stomach growled violently.
The maids giggled.
One said, "She hadn't eaten since!" and quickly dashed out with two others toward the kitchens.
Minutes later, warm platters of bread, roasted pheasant, and sweet fruits were set before her.
Aurora ate quietly, her thoughts spiraling. Why didn't he just go to his chamber and sleep? Why hers? Her whole body ached from sitting for so long. Was this a new punishment for her?
Not long after, the door opened again.
This time, it was one of Lady Ava's attendants, her robes bearing the Queen Mother's sigil.
She bowed. "Her Highness requests your presence, Queen Aurora."
Aurora rose immediately, wiped her hands, and followed, heart once again rising into her throat.
In the Queen Mother's Wing
The Queen Mother's private parlor was as regal as expected—walls adorned with ancient tapestries, a hearth glowing softly, and rose-scented air clinging to every inch.
Lady Ava sat in a high-backed chair, her silver-streaked hair swept elegantly around her shoulders. Her sharp eyes softened the moment Aurora stepped in.
"My child," she said warmly. "Come, sit with me."
Aurora curtsied and obeyed, sitting across from her, back straight.
Ava studied her for a long moment, lips curved faintly in amusement. "So… tell me, how did you do it?"
Aurora blinked. "Do… what, Your Highness?"
Ava chuckled softly. "Oh, don't be modest. You made my son sleep."
Aurora stared, wide-eyed. Hadn't he been sleeping before?
"I… I did nothing," she said truthfully, her voice barely a whisper. "I didn't touch him. I didn't speak to him. He simply laid down, and… and fell asleep."
Ava raised a brow. "That alone is more than anyone in this kingdom has achieved in twenty-five years."
Aurora looked away, unsure how to respond.
Then Ava's voice turned more serious. "He was cursed before he was even born. A spiteful witch, from the borderlands of Nareth—her people were destroyed by our forces when Aldric was still in the womb. She swore vengeance, not with swords, but with sleeplessness."
Aurora's heart tightened, realization settling in. She looked back up slowly.
"Every night since the day he was born," Ava continued, "he hears voices. Screams. War. Death. All in his head. We've tried every healer. Every charm. He can't sleep more than minutes. He doesn't sleep beside anyone. He can't." She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "But now… he has."
Aurora didn't know what to say. Her lips parted, but no words came.
"I don't know why it's you," Ava murmured. "But I thank the heavens."
Aurora gave a nervous smile—confused inside, but quiet outside.
Ava simply smiled at her, eyes warm but unreadable. Aurora returned the smile politely, but inside… her thoughts were anything but still.
How come?
How come the king was able to sleep in my chamber?
Why me?
She searched Ava's face for answers she knew the woman wouldn't speak. None of it made sense.
No one else could make him sleep. Not even his queens. So why… me?
The thought unnerved her. But also—relieved her.
Maybe it's for good, she thought, folding her hands together gently.
This… perhaps, is what will safeguard me.
For what it was now, the chances of king Aldric killing me were slim—and that was enough to breathe easier.
Not safety. But a chance to survive. A chance to exist beyond fear. A chance to matter—just a little.
And even though her heart still beat with quiet uncertainty…
For the first time since stepping foot in Velmora, Aurora believed she might live.
In Aldric's chamber, the fire in the hearth burned low, casting shadows along the stone walls.
He sat still on the edge of his bed, eyes unfocused, one hand resting idly over the carved armrest.
His thoughts hadn't quieted since morning.
He had slept. Deeply. Peacefully.
How…?
How did it happen?
He leaned back slowly, head resting against the tall frame of the bed, and after a long pause, he eased himself down fully, testing it—hoping, maybe, it was over. Maybe the curse had lifted. Maybe last night had broken it.
But the moment he shut his eyes— the screams returned.
Wailing.
Cries of battle.
Swords clashing.
Babies shrieking.
Women weeping.
Louder. Louder. Louder.
He snapped his eyes open and sat upright immediately, hands gripping the sheets. Jaw clenched. Breathing hard.
Silence returned.
But it was the kind of silence that came after a storm—heavy and uneasy.
He rose to his feet and walked to the window, pushing the drapes aside to let in the silver of the moonlight. Snowflakes drifted gently down onto the palace grounds.
His brow furrowed.
What is this…?
Why her…?
This white-haired girl.
Who is she…?
He narrowed his eyes at the night beyond the glass.
She had been nothing to him. Just a political exchange.
But now… Now, she was something else.
She had done what no healer, no potion, no priest, nor powerful spell had ever done.
She gave him sleep.
And not just any sleep—peaceful sleep. Without screams. Without agony.
He stayed by the window long after the wind had died down. Still, he did not understand her.