The Eldorian Prince came seeking alliance.
What he found was a flame too wild to hold".
The sun hadn't risen yet, not properly but the palace was already awake.
Word travelled faster than light here. Faster than truth.
From the eastern wing to the kitchens, it passed in whispers:
The Eldorian Prince had crossed the borders.
Not with banners.
With knights.
And a letter dressed as diplomacy but barbed like a warning.
By the training pavilion, Elara stood still.
The fire beast coiled at her feet like a flame that chose to wait.
It wasn't caged. That was the part that unsettled them most.
No chains.
Just loyalty.
Unspoken, but burning.
She ran her fingers through its embered mane, the warmth familiar. Grounding.
Behind her, M stepped from the shadows like he belonged there.
"They move quickly," he said, voice low. "Kings don't throw alliances unless they smell blood or gold."
Elara didn't look at him.
"Let them move," she said. "I'm done dancing for thrones."
M tilted his head. "Even if you're the piece they're betting the board on?"
Her gaze flicked to him sharply.
"Then I stop being a piece."
Across the palace, Isla paced the length of her chamber like a trapped thing.
The air smelled like rose oil and tension.
With each step, a trace of worry seemed across the floor. The Empress, seated by the vanity, held a jewelled pin not to fasten, but to think.
"He's expected to arrive by dusk," she said, without looking up.
Isla turned, dress sweeping behind her.
"And what if he doesn't even ask for me or look my way?"
"He will."
"You don't know that." Her voice cracked. "What if all he sees is her?"
The Empress's eyes finally met hers. Calm. Cold. Calculating.
"Then make him see you."
"Seduce him?" Isla scoffed. "You want me to lure him in?"
"I want you to win. That's not the same."
"And if he doesn't want to be won?"
The Empress's fingers curled around the pin.
"Then leave him bleeding from the memory."
Twilight draped itself across the palace like a silk veil.
The obsidian carriage rolled to a stop at the steps, its surface slick with moonlight.
When the doors opened, everything held its breath.
He stepped down.
The Eldorian Crown Prince.
Young, yes but not green.
His eyes were winter storms.
His posture was practised Precision born of war or court. Maybe both.
Isla was already halfway down the steps, all poise and smile.
The picture of the royal welcome.
But his gaze slid past her.
Paused.
Held.
Elara stood near the edge of the court, wind in her hair, cloak unmoving, the fire beast flanking her like a secret she hadn't named yet.
And the Prince... smiled.
Not at Isla.
Not in the crowd.
At her.
The servant girl.
The almost-nobody.
The flame that wasn't supposed to burn anymore.
Inside the solar, King Theron poured a glass of black wine, the scent thick and bitter.
The Eldorian scroll lay open beside the fire.
"They move faster than I expected," he muttered.
"They always do when they smell prophecy," said the Empress from the hearth.
He didn't argue. Just drank.
"And Isla?"
"She'll play her part."
He set the cup down, harder this time. "She always plays her part. But it's not Isla he wants. It's her."
A pause.
"And if she refuses?" he asked. "If the fire she carries decides to burn us instead?"
The Empress turned to the window.
Wind stirred the curtains.
"Then we'd better choose what we want to save," she said, "before the crown melts in her hands."