## CHAPTER 9: _"Thorns in the Throne Room"_
The road to the palace was paved with names Arien and Lysia no longer remembered. Villages passed like ghosts. Rivers whispered their old reflections. At every stop, the air told stories—of a prince gone rogue and a girl with cursed blood.
By the fourth night, they arrived at the city outskirts. Elira's capital was still a thing of beauty, towering spires carved from obsidian and bone. Magic pulsed in its walls, not vibrant—but controlled. Oppressive. Like a caged storm.
Lysia wore a hood. Arien wore a silence thicker than armor.
> "I thought I'd never return," he said.
> "Do you regret it?"
> "No. I regret not burning it down before."
They entered through the old tunnel, one Arien remembered sneaking through as a child. Dust choked the path, cobwebs draped like shrouds. But the memories were clean—his mother's cold hands, the way guards looked away when he passed, the emptiness of rooms built to worship power.
At the end of the tunnel, they emerged beneath the palace gardens. Midnight roses bloomed, untouched by time. Statues of dead kings lined the path like frozen judges.
> "Do you know what she'll say?" Lysia asked.
> "Yes."
> "What?"
> "That I was never meant to be loved."
She took his hand. "She's wrong."
They moved like ghosts through the eastern wing, down to the lower halls. Arien stopped at a door carved with moons.
> "This was my room."
> "Are you going in?"
He hesitated. Then opened it.
Dust. Books. A cracked mirror. And a small music box.
He opened it. A lullaby played—off-key, but haunting.
> "She gave me that when I turned seven. Said it was for silence."
> "Not comfort?"
> "No. She hated sound. Said it reminded her of rebellion."
> "Then let's be loud."
---
They reached the throne room as dawn broke.
Queen Altheira stood in the center, back to them, cloaked in red. She didn't turn.
> "You walked into the serpent's mouth," she said. "How predictable."
> "I'm not afraid of you anymore," Arien said.
> "That's unfortunate. Fear is the only thing that makes you useful."
She turned. Her eyes glowed faintly. Not magic—madness.
> "And you," she said to Lysia, "wear her face."
> "Who?"
> "Your mother. I burned her once. I'll do it again."
> "Try."
Lysia stepped forward.
Arien followed. "This ends today."
The queen laughed. "You think love makes you strong? Love is decay. Power is bone."
> "Then break," Lysia said.
Magic exploded.
Altheira raised a hand. The walls screamed. Columns shattered. Guards appeared from the shadows. Arien drew his blade—not steel, but pure ghostlight.
> "Protect her," he told it.
They fought.
Lysia's magic danced through air—fire, earth, wind, soul. Altheira countered with precision. Every blow struck memory. Every spell tore history.
> "You were born to ruin," the queen said.
> "And you were born to rule ashes," Lysia answered.
Arien lunged.
Steel met skin.
The queen staggered.
> "You'd kill your own blood?" she whispered.
> "You killed what made us family."
She collapsed.
But her hands moved.
And Lysia screamed.
A mark flared across her chest—new, raw, and ancient.
> "I curse your name," the queen whispered.
> "Too late."
Lysia touched the mark—and it shattered like glass.
> "I choose what I carry."
The queen faded.
Her throne cracked.
And dawn poured in through the ruined glass.
---
Arien stood breathing hard, blood on his hands.
Lysia touched his face.
> "You did it."
> "No," he said. "*We* did."
And from that day forward, Elira was not ruled by fear.
But by two hearts that refused to break.
Even cursed.
Even hunted.
They stood—together.
And the world, at last, began to change.