## CHAPTER 7: _"The Palace Hunts Her"_
The sky turned the color of iron as dawn crept across the kingdom. It wasn't morning light that touched the palace—it was warning. Sharp. Heavy. Like a blade unsheathed.
Atop the highest tower of the Winter Palace, Queen Altheira of Elira stood wrapped in crimson silk, eyes fixed on the distant forest.
> "The girl lives," she said, voice as cold as the frost clinging to the glass.
The captain of her guard—a scarred man named Theron—knelt behind her.
> "We sent riders, Your Majesty. She eluded them."
> "Because you hunted her like a beast." She turned slowly. "She is not prey. She is a prophecy."
> "What would you have me do?"
She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a black ribbon, stitched with silver thread. Symbols glowed faintly—a weave of blood spells.
> "Unleash the Crimson Thorns."
Theron flinched. "The assassins?"
> "No," she whispered. "The crows."
---
Far from the palace, Lysia and Arien moved through the ruins of an old sanctuary—a temple overtaken by moss, quiet as bones.
Lysia pressed her hand to a carved wall. "This was built by the Moondamned. I feel it in the stone."
Arien nodded, touching an ancient glyph. "A place that prayed before they were hunted."
> "We are what they feared."
> "Then we are what comes next."
A sudden shiver rippled through the air. Lysia jerked back.
> "They're here."
> "How do you know?"
> "Because they brought silence with them."
---
High above, hidden in the trees, the Crimson Thorns watched.
They weren't soldiers. They weren't assassins.
They were blood-sworn. Bound by magic. Raised to end threats before they bloomed. And Lysia… she was in full bloom.
Each of them carried a blade laced with fire-sleep powder, strong enough to weaken even royal-blooded magic. Their faces were painted with ash.
One of them—young, eyes stitched with red ink—whispered into a crystal.
> "Target in sight. Engaging."
---
The first arrow struck the ground between Arien's feet.
> "Run," he said.
> "No."
> "Lysia, we're not ready—"
> "We'll never be."
She flung her arm forward. Vines erupted from the ground, lashing out, wrapping around tree trunks. Fire bloomed from her fingertips.
Arien grabbed her wrist. "Don't use too much. You'll lose yourself."
> "I'd rather lose myself than lose you."
Another arrow grazed her shoulder. She didn't flinch.
Arien moved faster than shadow. His hands, glowing with ghostlight, reached into the trees and pulled one of the attackers down, slamming him into the frozen earth.
Blood. Screams. Magic crackling like thunder.
But then—the air turned black.
A fog poured in from the trees, thick and sentient.
> "Mist magic," Lysia choked.
> "That's impossible. That art was lost."
> "Nothing's lost in war. Only waiting."
---
Inside the fog, figures moved like whispers.
Arien couldn't see Lysia. Couldn't hear her. But he could feel her.
Her heartbeat.
For the first time in his cursed life, he felt someone else's heart pulling his own into rhythm.
> *Thump.*
> *Thump.*
He followed it.
In the heart of the mist, he found her—surrounded. Bleeding. Glowing like a fallen star.
> "Lysia!"
She raised a hand, and the ground answered. Cracks split open beneath the assassins. One fell screaming. Two vanished in vines. But the last one—taller, masked in bone—raised a curved dagger and lunged.
Arien threw himself in front of her.
Steel met silence.
Pain exploded in his side.
Lysia screamed, a sound that broke the mist like shattered glass.
Her eyes flared silver.
> "Enough."
She raised both hands, and the world bent.
Wind roared. Trees split. Magic screamed.
Every assassin left standing fell—not dead, but dreaming. Cursed to sleep until time itself unraveled.
Lysia knelt beside Arien.
> "You idiot," she whispered, pressing her hands to his wound.
> "I felt your heart," he murmured.
> "Don't die."
> "I'm not allowed."
He smiled. Then passed out.
---
They limped back to the sanctuary by moonlight.
Arien's wound bled slowly, but it wasn't fatal. Not yet.
Lysia sat beside him, her hands trembling.
> "They'll send more."
> "Let them."
> "You don't understand. These weren't soldiers. These were shadows. My mother's wrath."
> "Then we hit back."
> "You still think we're not in love?"
He laughed. Coughed. "I think… whatever this is… it already started killing us."
> "Then maybe we kill everything else first."
And outside the sanctuary, deep in the trees, a raven watched.
And flew.
Back to the palace.
Carrying war beneath its wings.