The Binding Test was set to take place at dawn, but by sunset of the day before, half the palace already knew.
Not that anyone spoke openly.
No. They whispered.
In corridors padded with red velvet. Behind lattice screens during banquets. In corners of the garden where moonlight painted the hedges silver.
"Did you hear?"
"She's not even of noble blood."
"They say she glowed in her sleep."
"Maybe she's cursed."
Lyra walked the halls of the palace like a ghost—present, visible, but not truly seen. The marble echoed her footsteps, and every bow from a servant, every glance from a noblewoman felt too measured.
Something had shifted.
Not long ago, she was the "star-blessed girl," the mysterious guest of the crown. Now, suspicion dripped from every glance.
---
She retreated to the palace gardens, hoping the breeze might clear her thoughts.
She didn't expect to see anyone else there.
But someone was waiting.
Lady Cressida.
Draped in a robe of cobalt and silver, she stood by the fountain, trailing her fingers through the water. She didn't look up as Lyra approached.
"You'll be tested tomorrow," Cressida said simply. "Did you think they'd let a village girl walk freely among them forever?"
"I didn't ask to be here," Lyra replied, arms folded. "I'm not trying to be anything."
Cressida turned to face her. "That's exactly why you're dangerous. You're unpredictable. And in this palace, unpredictability is a threat."
The way she said it—it wasn't cruel. It was honest. Almost… a warning.
Lyra's jaw tightened. "Let them test me then. Let them see."
Cressida stepped closer. "Just remember: whatever truth they find—someone will try to use it."
---
Later that night, in the servants' corridor near the kitchens, two maids whispered over bowls of peeled pears.
"She's the one, the bread girl," the first murmured.
"With the bright hair and strange eyes," said the second.
"Do you think she's... divine?"
"Or dangerous."
"I heard the High Priestess refused to meet her. Said her aura was... clouded."
"They should've never brought her here."
"They say the last time someone failed the Binding Test…"
"Hush! Don't even say it."
A footman cleared his throat and passed by. Both maids jumped back to their duties, eyes lowered.
---
Meanwhile, in the Hall of Advisors, the king's council was divided.
Lord Halden's voice echoed in the chamber: "We must be cautious. Divine or not, this girl holds power. Power with no training. No allegiance."
Across the table, Minister Yseult spoke with calm defiance. "She saved the prince, did she not? You think that was coincidence?"
"She might've caused the incident!" Halden snapped. "We don't know where she came from, and the timing—"
"The Binding Test will reveal all," said the High Mage solemnly. "The gods will not hide her truth."
King Alaric leaned forward, fingers steepled.
"She is no longer a village girl," he said quietly. "She is a piece on the board. And we must decide—do we shield her, or play her?"
---
Lyra didn't sleep.
She stood at her window, watching the stars.
There was a chill in the air, but she didn't move to close the shutters. She needed the silence.
"Are you afraid?" a voice whispered in her head.
She didn't know if it was memory, or magic, or madness.
Perhaps all three.
"I'm not," she whispered back. "But I am tired."
The stars offered no answer.
---
At breakfast, she barely touched the honeyed oats placed before her.
Elinor, her maid, watched quietly. "They say it doesn't hurt."
"What?"
"The test. The Binding."
Lyra looked up. "Have you seen it?"
"No," Elinor replied. "But I've heard stories."
"So have I," Lyra murmured.
She left her spoon untouched.
---
As the palace clock struck the ninth hour, Lyra was led through silent halls toward the Sanctum—a sacred chamber beneath the palace, built into the ancient stone foundation itself.
The walls were etched with runes older than the kingdom.
Waiting there were three figures: the High Mage, the Arch-Priestess, and King Alaric himself.
"Step into the circle," the mage instructed.
Lyra obeyed.
The stone beneath her feet began to glow faintly, lines of light tracing old sigils.
"Close your eyes," the priestess intoned. "Let your spirit be still. Let your heart remember."
The air thickened. It pressed against her skin like mist. Like memory.
Her mind spun—not with thoughts, but with images.
A sky of fire. A throne of gold. Voices like bells.
Pain.
Then silence.
---
When she opened her eyes, the light was gone.
The room was silent.
The mage looked stunned. The priestess was pale.
King Alaric stepped forward.
"What did you see?" he asked.
Lyra shook her head. "I don't know."
The High Mage spoke softly. "She holds divine essence… but it is fractured. Suppressed. Like something sealed her true self."
The priestess frowned. "It is not natural. Nor purely mortal."
"She's hiding something," Halden said from behind, stepping into view.
"I'm not hiding anything," Lyra said sharply.
"No?" Halden approached, eyes narrowed. "Then why do the gods remain silent around you?"
"That's enough," the king ordered.
Halden bowed stiffly but didn't look away.
King Alaric turned to Lyra. "You may return to your chambers. We will… discuss your role further."
---
Word of the result spread faster than wildfire.
"She's half-goddess!"
"She's cursed!"
"She failed the Binding!"
"She passed—it's just being covered up!"
Each version more twisted than the last.
In the court halls, nobles exchanged looks and tightened alliances.
In the kitchens, servants placed small tokens of protection on the shelves.
In the tower chambers, Lyra sat alone, staring at her hands.
She remembered the warmth of kneaded dough. The way flour clung to her skin.
These were not the hands of a goddess.
They were the hands of a girl who only ever wanted to belong.
And now she belonged nowhere.