ERIS
The dream slipped from me like smoke between fingers... the words, the ache, all fading into shadow except the heaviness in my chest. My heart felt bruised, as though it had been struck in my sleep.
Yet strangely, the burn in my blood was muted, reined in, as if something cool and foreign had threaded itself through me.
I stirred, eyes fluttering open.
The first thing I saw was him.
Soren Nivarre. Squatting before me, his large pale hands pressed against my cheeks, cold as glaciers against my overheated skin. His face was too close, his eyes fixed on me with something I despised more than hatred itself.
Pity.
That expression... soft, mournful, almost tender, made my blood roar hotter than flame. I hated it. Hated the way it made me feel small, fragile, like some broken thing to be pitied.
I was not.
In an instant, I was awake. Fully awake. My mask slid back into place with a snap, and the tears that had betrayed me evaporated off my skin in a hiss of heat. His hands recoiled at once, as though the fire had finally bitten him.
I stood, straightened, meeting his gaze with a stare sharp enough to cut. Whatever weakness had bled from me moments ago was gone, burned to ash.
"Do you make it a habit," I hissed, my voice sharp enough to cut stone, "to lurk about gardens and lay your hands on sleeping and unsuspecting victims Or am I simply a special amusement to you, Emperor?"
The words snapped through the air like a whip, and for a heartbeat, he did not move. He only looked at me, his silence a wall I could not read. His eyes glowed faintly too.
Then, slowly, he slipped his own mask back into place, gone was the softness, replaced by that cold, easy charm he wore so well. His voice was smooth, almost disarmingly so.
"My apologies," he said at last, inclining his head as though I were some fragile thing that might shatter. "I only wished to see you. For some… reasons of course. But they no longer matter."
Something in his tone unsettled me. Dangerous. That was the word. He was dangerous in a way I had not accounted for, not with power nor steel, but with something quieter. Something that could creep beneath the skin unnoticed.
I narrowed my eyes, watching as he stood, bowing once more before turning away with that unnerving calm.
When he was gone, I exhaled and sank back to my seat, the garden suddenly too silent, too heavy. I called for nearby servants, and they hurried to clear away the scrolls and maps, carrying the mess back to my chambers while I rose again unsteadily to my feet. My body ached, exhaustion pressing in like lead. I had pushed myself too far, staying awake through the night, only to collapse like some mortal girl at her desk.
I touched my cheek without meaning to, remembering the press of his cold hands.
Damn him.
And yet… the weight in my chest shifted, not toward him, but to someone else entirely.
Rael.
My son.
I missed him so much.
That ache inside me sharpened into resolve. I would see him… not tonight, not in secrecy. But come the day, when the sun stood high.
I would see Rael in the full light of day.
I collapsed into my bed the moment I returned, the sheets swallowing me whole. Hours shifted into the day, my mind wandering back and forth between maps and choices until the door creaked open.
"The conclusions from the Pyrosanct council, Your Majesty."
A neat stack of parchment was set before me: proposed routes for the sacred procession, allocation of temple offerings, seating arrangements for foreign envoys, even the color of the flames for the grand pyre. I skimmed it all with half my mind, stamping my seal where necessary. Formalities. Theater. When the scribe bowed himself out, the chamber was once more mine.
But the silence had grown irritating.
I rose, bare feet touching the warm floor, and slipped from my chambers, accompanied by my personal knights. The palace grounds of my wing were quiet, save for the soft rhythm of armored footsteps in the distance. I walked slowly, eyes unfocused, weighing my choices. I could see myself in each one, faceless among faceless villagers.
But how does a queen vanish? My hair was too pale, my eyes too sharp. I was fire personified, easily spotted in any crowd. A disguise would be necessary.
Disguises. Who in this gilded prison would know about such things? My ladies in waiting were too prim. My maids, too fearful. The priests, useless. That left…
My steps slowed. Behind me, steady and dependable, came Sir Caldus. Not too close, never intrusive, but always there. My shadow in iron.
"Sir Caldus," I said, my voice cutting through the hush.
At once, the man closed the distance, bowing low. His hair was iron-grey, his face a battlefield of old scars, and his left leg carried a limp that told stories no one dared ask about. He was once the empire's champion, the Flamebreaker of the Northern Rebellion. Respected, feared, loyal to the crown—and mine by inheritance, not by choice.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
I studied him, watching how the torchlight caught the dented edges of his armor. A man like this had seen every shade of survival. Surely he would know.
"Tell me," I said evenly, "do you happen to know someone skilled at making disguises?"
His head snapped up a fraction, his brows twitching in confusion before discipline snapped them flat again. "Disguises, my queen?"
I did not repeat myself. I never did.
The silence stretched, my stare burning into him until I saw the first flicker of unease cross his weathered face.
Caldus hesitated, shifting as if my question were a blade pressed to his throat.
"I have not seen her in years, Majesty," he admitted finally. "But rumor has it she has settled in the capital for a time. Pyrosanct always draws… unusual people. If she's here, she'll be feeding off the crowds."
I tilted my head. "So she would most likely appear in a crowded place."
He swallowed. "Yes."
The idea struck immediately. Lanterns, music, sweat, noise... the perfect hunting ground. "The night market, then. Tonight."