The palace had never been this clean.
Even the stones under my feet felt like they had been carved again from scratch — polished until the grains blurred together, reflecting every glint of torchlight.
We were told, two days ago, that a foreign envoy was arriving.
Not just any envoy.
An imperial visit.
From across the Dawnfold Sea.
From a kingdom called Aurélaire, where the gods still spoke in dreams, and the rivers ran white with light.
That's what the priest said, anyway.
I didn't ask questions.
Servants don't ask. They listen. They scrub.
I've scrubbed so much this week I've started to feel the marble bleeding into my fingers.
They said the prince of Aurélaire was coming.
A direct heir.
Heir to an empire that didn't kneel to anyone — not even our queen.
That alone made the court tremble.
But it wasn't just the empire.
It was what stood behind it.
A goddess.
The priests in Aeloria speak of five gods, but we only worship two.
The ones who answer.
The rest? They say those gods have gone quiet. Or died. Or never listened to us in the first place.
But Aurélaire… they have one who listens.
Virelle, the Lightbinder.
Goddess of judgment, protection, and radiant fire.
They say she anointed the Aurélaire bloodline personally. That her breath lingers in their halls. That those born under her name don't bleed — they glow.
I don't know if that's true.
But when the guards talk about her prince, their voices drop.
As if they're afraid he might hear from across the sea.
The hall outside my chamber was draped with white silk this morning.
Not gold. Not red.
White.
The color of peace. Of purity. Of divine offering.
It didn't belong here.
The palace has always been a place of shadows — silvered light, crimson tapestries, torchlit justice.
But this? This made the stone feel fake.
Like it had been dressed in something that didn't fit.
I was reassigned to the East Wing.
The guest wing.
The one they'd sealed for a decade after the war with Seravenn.
Now the doors were open.
And I was told to prepare the prince's private chamber.
The room was too quiet when I entered.
Massive. Empty. Over-furnished in gold and glass.
The kind of place where nothing feels real.
I wiped the windows. Polished the floors. Changed the linens.
When I finished, I didn't leave right away.
I stood at the far end, near the high window, and looked out.
The sea was visible from here.
I'd never seen it before.
It shimmered like a blade — sharp and endless.
And for a second, I let myself pretend it could take me somewhere else.
The door creaked open behind me.
I turned too quickly, expecting a guard.
It wasn't.
It was a boy.
No — a man. But young. Maybe sixteen. My age. Or what my age should be.
He had hair like late-summer fire — red, not gold. And skin kissed with warmth I didn't understand.
His clothes weren't royal. No heavy embroidery. No chains.
Just light white robes, cinched with silver and layered with runes I didn't recognize.
His eyes met mine.
And he smiled.
Not Kael's smile. Not the kind that weighs you down.
This one lifted.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said softly.
I bowed, immediately.
"I'm sorry—"
"No, I didn't mean it like that." He walked closer. "I just meant… I thought this room would be empty."
He paused.
"I'm glad it's not."
I didn't know what to say.
No one had ever smiled at me like that before.
Like I wasn't something forgotten.
Like I wasn't made of silence and old stains.
He looked at the floor I'd polished.
"You did this?"
I nodded.
His smile grew.
"It's beautiful."
I blinked.
Then dropped my gaze.
"You don't have to say that."
"I'm not saying it for you."
A beat.
"I mean it."
Silence stretched between us.
But it wasn't heavy.
It felt… full.
Then he stepped back.
"I should let you go."
I bowed again.
"I'm—" I stopped.
"I don't have a name," I said quietly.
I don't know why I said it.
But I did.
He looked at me for a long time.
"You should."
Then he turned and left.
I didn't move for a long time.
Not because I was afraid.
Because for the first time in years, someone saw me.
And I didn't know what to do with that.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I lay on my side, staring at the cold wall, and tried to remember the prince's face.
I didn't even know his name.
But his voice echoed.
"You should."
Like it wasn't a question.
Like it was a fact.
Like he was offering me something I wasn't allowed to take.
A wind moved through my room.
Soft. Cold.
No windows were open.
I sat up.
The walls were still.
The floor untouched.
But something… shifted.
A presence.
Faint.
Dark.
Watching.
I whispered nothing.
Said no prayer.
I just lay back down.
And closed my eyes.
Somewhere else, deep within the western tower, a shadow pulsed.
Kael stood at the center of a darkened sanctum, eyes closed.
The spell was simple.
Not invasive.
Not painful.
Just a string of thought — bound in blood, anchored to breath.
He saw nothing.
But he felt everything.
The shift in air when the prince smiled.
The pulse beneath the Hollow's throat when he was seen.
The breathless, trembling silence in the boy's chest when he dared to hope.
Kael did not speak.
But the spell hissed softly in his palm.
Like a name being drawn in smoke.