Liora had never been to the royal castle. But she was absolutely certain she already hated every golden inch of it.
"You mustn't frown in front of the king," Lúcia whispered, smoothing out the pale blue dress Liora had been forced to wear.
"Then I'll frown on the inside."
Morian, dressed in what he called "formal stylized penitence robes," seemed far too amused by the whole ordeal.
"You're about to meet the most powerful monarch on the continent. Keep your composure. And, if possible, don't explode anything."
"No promises."
---
The throne hall was offensively bright. Stained glass windows scattered colored light in every direction, as if the sun itself were showing off.
Liora entered with careful steps, fully aware of the stares. Her white hair shimmered under the light like enchanted snow. But it was her red eyes—burning embers hidden in winter—that drew the whispers.
"Eyes like Duke Hallow's," someone murmured.
"But… there's something else. That's not just noble blood."
She heard them. And hated every word.
---
King Edmar III—a man with a crown too big for his head and a sense of humor too small for the world—watched her with narrowed eyes.
"So this is the child who floated on a stage," he said, leaning on his scepter with all the enthusiasm of a dying candle. "You look… more alive than I expected."
"Thank you, I guess," Liora replied, unsure whether that was a compliment or a threat.
"They say you carry the touch of Light. That you summoned a dove. That you made the stage levitate. That you sang without destroying ears." He squinted at her like she was a suspicious magical artifact. "Is it true?"
"Technically… yes. But I was under extreme social pressure."
The king didn't laugh. Didn't blink. He just grunted like an old boar.
---
The High Priest stood nearby, dressed in white, gold, and an expression so holy it made Liora itch.
"Your Majesty," he said, in a voice too sweet for someone who condemned people for blinking during prayers, "I believe young Liora is a divine sign. The rebirth of the Primordial Light in human form."
"She's thirteen," the king muttered. "Even miracles should wait for puberty."
Morian cleared his throat. "With all due respect, Your Majesty, perhaps it was simply a spontaneous magical phenomenon. Nothing divine. Just rare. And visually impressive."
The High Priest stared at him as if he'd spat on a relic.
"Blasphemy!"
"Realism," Morian replied. "Far more practical."
---
After hours of circular discussion (and zero cake), the king finally decreed:
"Liora Hallow shall be educated at Solmaria Palace as the Emissary of Light. She will receive arcane instruction, sacred doctrine, and singing lessons… preferably with less levitation."
Liora's eyes widened. "I have to live here?!"
"For the good of the realm," the king said, "you belong to the Light. And the Light belongs to the throne."
"And what if I say I'd rather live in a cave?"
"Then we'll decorate the cave with stained glass."
---
Later, in one of the castle corridors, Liora leaned against a pillar and let the drama flow freely.
"I'm trapped. Trapped in a palace full of fanatics, with mandatory singing lessons. This is divine punishment for all my past lives… especially the last one."
Morian appeared, munching on an apple he'd stolen from the royal kitchen.
"Don't be so dramatic. It could be worse. They might turn you into a sacred statue. Which, by the way, is still on the table."
She groaned.
"You're coming with me, right?"
"Of course. Someone has to make sure you don't blow up the royal library."
She gave him a sideways glance. "Or that I don't blow up myself."
Morian took another bite. "That too. Definitely."
---
And so began a new chapter in Liora's life: luxurious prisoner, walking miracle, and diplomatic hazard with mandatory music class.
She already missed the barn.
And even the chicken.