The next morning, Thea woke to the pale light of dawn spilling across her chamber floor, soft and cold as spilled milk. The air was still, except for the muffled sound of footsteps in some distant corridor.
She turned in bed, gathering her blanket closer, when a scream cut through the silence—sharp, piercing, and achingly familiar.
Her blood iced over. A voice she knew by heart.
"That's… Mother," she whispered to herself, though her lips barely formed the words. Her chest felt suddenly hollow, a single echo thrumming in her ribs.
She bolted upright, her bare feet hitting the polished floor with a dull slap. The marble was icy under her skin, but she didn't stop to reach for slippers. Her nightgown swept behind her like a trailing banner of linen as she sprinted down the hall, the air thick with the scent of extinguished candles and last night's rain drifting through the high windows.
The corridors twisted and branched. Her shoulder brushed the carved edge of a column; she barely noticed the sting. The scream had gone quiet, replaced by ragged sobs. She followed the sound until she reached the living room door—slightly ajar. The crack in the doorway leaked a dim, golden light from the hearth.
Inside, Queen Liana sat slumped on a velvet chaise, her hands clutched around a handkerchief already soaked through. Her shoulders shook violently.
"Mother?" Thea whispered, the sound trembling in her throat. She took one hesitant step forward. "What's wrong?"
Liana's tear-soaked face lifted. Her eyes were swollen and raw, lashes spiked from crying. Her lips trembled as if even forming the next words was a labor too great.
"Thea…" Her voice was a frayed thread. "Your father…"
Thea's breath caught. She felt her heart pulling back from her ribs, as though trying to hide from what was coming. "What happened to Father?"
"He's gone," Liana choked, pressing the handkerchief to her mouth as if to dam the words. "He didn't come home. None of the soldiers returned—not even Leo."
"No…" Thea shook her head quickly, too quickly, as though speed could undo the meaning. "That can't be true. Maybe they were delayed. Maybe—" she swallowed hard "—the weather slowed them down."
"Thea, listen to me." Her mother's voice wavered, then cracked. "One of the search parties found their horses—dead in the forest. There was blood… so much blood. And your father's sword—left behind in the grass."
The room spun. Thea staggered back, her shoulder hitting the doorway. She clung to the wood as if it were the only solid thing left. "No, no, he's alive! He has to be!" Her voice was too loud, too brittle.
"We've sent messengers. Scouts. No one's found any sign of them," Liana whispered. Her gaze drifted unfocused, as if searching the air for something she'd lost.
Thea's knees gave way, and she sank beside her mother. Her hands shook violently as she reached for Liana's. The skin was warm, damp from tears. "He can't be gone," she sobbed, the words breaking apart. "He promised he'd come back."
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she saw him as he had been—leaning down to kiss her forehead before leaving, his cloak smelling faintly of cedar and horse. She had watched him ride out through the gates, sunlight glinting off his armor. She had waved until he vanished into the treeline. That image had always been safe in her memory. Now, it hurt to look at.
The search began before sunrise the next day.
And it went on for weeks. Then months.
Every corner of the surrounding forests was combed—oak groves thick with mist, marshes that swallowed boots whole, craggy ravines where the air was always damp and smelled faintly of iron.
Rivers were dragged, their currents murky with silt. Villages were questioned; shepherds and fishermen were offered gold for a scrap of news.
The palace became a place of constant movement—boots on stone, orders shouted down corridors, maps unfurled across tables.
Still, no trace of King Louis. No sign of the soldiers. No word from Leo, the captain of the guard and a man Thea had trusted since childhood.
Only silence.
Rumors began to curl like smoke through the capital. Some whispered of ambushes in the woods; others of betrayal within the palace walls.
There were darker mutterings too—that the King had fled, abandoning the crown.
Thea rejected them all.
He had been too kind. Too loyal. Too brave. She remembered the way he bent down to help a stable boy gather spilled apples, the way he laughed with the kitchen maids as though they were old friends. He would never leave them.
It was on a gray morning—sky heavy with clouds like unpolished lead—that the palace gates creaked open to reveal a lone figure.
The man didn't ride. He stumbled forward on foot, one hand clutching the ragged remains of a cloak. His once-golden armor was rusted and bent, every plate scored with deep scratches. His boots squelched in the mud, leaving uneven tracks behind him.
The guards at the gate shouted, their voices sharp in the quiet morning. Weapons lifted. But the man raised a hand—thin, trembling—and dropped to his knees.
"It's me…" he rasped, barely audible. "Leo…"
The name rolled through the air like a stone dropping into a well.
One guard knelt beside him, brushing away the grime from his face. "Quick—get the Queen!" he called, his voice carrying over the courtyard.
Moments later, Queen Liana and Thea emerged into the chill. Liana's eyes locked on the figure, and her breath hitched.
"Leo?" she whispered, her voice a mixture of disbelief and relief—and fear.
Thea was already moving, heart pounding as she helped the guards lift him. His weight was frightening—too light, as though the months had hollowed him out.
"Tell us what happened," Liana said, her tone sharp despite the tremor in it.
Inside, they stripped away the sodden cloak, wrapped him in wool blankets. The scent of mud and dried blood clung to him, faint but unshakable. He drank slowly, his hands shaking with each lift of the cup.
When his voice returned, it was roughened by exhaustion. "It was an ambush. We thought we were chasing bandits in the northern woods. But it was a lie. A trap."
"Who did this?" Liana demanded.
Leo's eyes lifted. Pain sat in them like a stone. "It was David."
Thea froze. "David? My uncle?"
"He betrayed us. He lured us into the forest with false reports. It was a massacre… Some of the men never made it out. I tried to stay with King Louis, but we were surrounded. We were forced to split up."
Liana's fingers dug into the armrest of her chair. "And Louis?"
"I lost him in the chaos. I searched, but I couldn't find him. His tracks disappeared near the river. There was no blood trail, no sign of death. Just… gone."
The room fell silent. The fire popped once, a small sound that seemed far too loud.
Thea felt a dull ringing in her ears. "Are you sure it was David?"
"Yes," Leo said. His voice was steady now, but the steadiness was bitter. "He knew everything—our routes, our tactics. He knew how to separate us. He wants the throne. With King Louis gone, he believes he can claim it."
That night, Liana locked herself in the chapel. Thea stood beside her as she lit a hundred candles, the scent of melting wax clinging to their skin. The flames threw restless shadows over the carved saints on the walls.
A king had vanished.
A brother had betrayed.
And the throne stood empty.
Weeks later, David returned.
He entered not as a grieving relative but as a nobleman gilded in gold-trimmed robes, flanked by mercenaries whose eyes swept the hall like predators. His smile was polite, practiced.
"I mourn the loss of King Louis," he said before the assembled court. "But we must think of the kingdom. A rulerless land breeds chaos. For the good of the people, I will take up the burden of the crown."
"You dare?" Liana rose, her voice echoing like a struck bell. "You speak of mourning while his blood may be on your hands?"
"There is no proof," David replied, calm as still water. "Only fear. Only rumors."
Thea's hands curled into fists. She wanted to shout, to drag the truth out of him by force, but the court was watching. Some lords avoided her gaze; others studied David with dangerous interest.
The Queen refused him. Until the King was confirmed dead, the throne would remain unclaimed.
But the kingdom grew restless.
A year passed.
No messages. No signs. No body.
Hope became a cruel shadow that followed Thea everywhere. Some days she believed her father was dead; other days she woke from dreams of him at the gate, smiling, whole.
Once, she rode alone to the northern forest's edge, where the dead horses had been found. She knelt in the grass, the earth cold under her palms. The sword was long gone, but she saw it there in her mind—gleaming, abandoned.
"Where are you, Father?" she whispered.
The wind stirred the trees, carrying no answer.
The king had vanished.
But his fire still burned in her blood.
And she would carry it forward, no matter how long the shadow lasted.