The court was a beautiful lie.
Silken gowns, jewel-dripped laughter, and the smell of cinnamon wine — all of it veiled a thousand unsaid truths.
Queen Elira knew this. And still, she played her part.
That morning, she entered the royal gardens where the nobles gathered for the weekly sunrise gathering — an event as shallow as it was political. Sunlight bathed the marble pathways in soft gold, and birds flitted between fruit-laden trees and blooming orchids. Servants moved like shadows, pouring rosewater into crystal goblets.
She stood out among the crowd.
Not for her jewels — though she wore the king's sapphire crest at her throat — but for the ease in her smile, the genuine way she greeted even the lowest-ranked lady. Her grace stirred envy. Her kindness only sharpened the blade.
"Queen Elira," a noblewoman curtsied. "You look… radiant today."
"Thank you, Lady Virelle," Elira replied warmly, accepting a rose from the woman's trembling fingers.
Behind her, a pair of sharp eyes narrowed.
Queen Sarith stood beneath a vine-draped arch, fanning herself slowly. She said nothing — just watched. Watched how the nobles whispered in delight when Elira passed. Watched how the king had started attending these gatherings again… only after his newest wife arrived.
And worst of all, watched how the kingdom began to hope again.
She hated it.
---
Later in the throne room, Elira sat beside King Thalion — not on a lesser seat, but beside his throne.
A bold gesture. A public statement.
Today was Justice Day — when citizens came forward to seek royal judgment. Elira had no formal power here, but the king listened when she leaned in. Listened when her brows furrowed in thought. Listened, and sometimes nodded before delivering his verdicts.
"Your advice," he whispered between cases, "is too precise for a mere woman's instinct."
She tensed.
A test.
"And yet," she murmured, "your rulings are all the better for them, my king."
He laughed. Low. Amused. A sound only she seemed to coax from him lately.
By the end of the hour, the entire room knew where the king's favor leaned.
And that made her dangerous.
---
That night, in the privacy of their shared chambers, he watched her from the balcony.
"You're careful," he said. "Even with me."
"I must be," she replied, undoing the pins from her hair. "A crown is a heavy thing."
Thalion walked to her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder.
"You don't have to guard your thoughts, Elira."
Her heart stilled. For just a moment.
If only he knew the truth — that she had never stopped guarding them. That even now, she kept her magic coiled like a sleeping serpent beneath her ribs. Listening. Watching. Hiding.
"I trust you," she said softly.
But not the world around you.
---
The following day, an envoy from the northern mountains arrived.
Lord Galen of Rynmarch — a stone-faced warlord draped in furs and steel.
He came to speak of borders, trade routes, and allegiance.
But when his cold eyes lingered on Elira for too long, Thalion's hand tightened around his wine goblet.
"You seem surprised by my queen," the king said evenly.
"Only that the gods gave such grace to one woman," Galen replied with a crooked smile.
"She was born of cliffs and storm winds," Thalion said, "and storm winds answer to no man."
Later, as they retired to the royal solar, Thalion turned to her.
"I'll have to guard you from more than just daggers."
Elira smiled. "I'll protect myself if I must."
He studied her then. "You always speak as if battle is close."
She turned to the window, watching storm clouds brew far in the distance.
"Because it is."
---
Back in the eastern wing of the palace, Queen Malina sat alone with her scribe.
She tapped her fingers against her tea glass, then whispered:
"Find me everything about Elira of Windhollow. Her bloodline. Her childhood. Her family's fate. All of it."
The scribe looked up, hesitant. "She is the king's favorite. This could—"
"I don't need a reminder," Malina snapped. "I need answers."
Something about Elira didn't sit right with her.
Something more than just charm or beauty.
A presence. A power. Unspoken, but undeniable.
She would uncover it.
Even if it meant tearing apart the past to do so.
---
That night, Queen Elira dreamed.
Of cliffs and waves.
Of her grandmother's voice.
Of hands that glowed with light and eyes that saw through lies.
She woke with a gasp, sweat on her brow.
Her fingers trembled as she pressed them to her temple.
The magic stirred.
The wall in her mind cracked a little more.
She whispered a vow into the darkness:
> "I will never use it… unless they leave me no choice."
By midday, a hush had fallen over the Queen's Hall — the long, ornate corridor that connected the private chambers of the three royal wives. Golden tiles shimmered beneath silken slippers, and perfume clung to the air like venom masked as sweetness.
Elira moved with purpose, flanked by her handmaidens. She offered gentle nods to the passing servants, a smile to a child who peeked through a curtain. Her presence here was unexpected — and deliberately so.
She paused outside Queen Sarith's door.
Not to speak. Not to knock.
Just to remind her:
I am not afraid.
She continued on, leaving a trail of whispers in her wake.
---
Inside the room, Queen Sarith was already fuming.
"She's toying with us," she seethed, fingers curling tightly around her goblet of blood-red wine. "The way she walks these halls, like she owns them."
Queen Malina sat nearby, calm as always, twirling a ring between her fingers.
"Then take what she owns," Malina said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Sarith looked at her, curious. "And how do you suggest we do that?"
Malina set down the ring and leaned in. "We don't fight her where she's strong — not in beauty, not in kindness, not in the king's eyes. No, we fight her where no one is watching. Her past. Her blood."
Sarith raised a brow. "You think there's something there?"
"I know there is," Malina whispered. "No woman shines like that without hiding shadows."
---
That evening, King Thalion found Elira in the royal library, curled on a velvet divan with a weathered book in her lap. Her hair spilled over one shoulder, her lips softly moving as she read to herself.
He stood there, watching her — quietly, with something unreadable in his eyes.
"You'll wear the pages out, beloved," he said.
She looked up and smiled. "I like the weight of old words."
He stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. "And what weight do your own thoughts carry tonight?"
Elira hesitated. For a second, the words tasted like steel on her tongue.
Tell him.
Tell him what you feel in the walls. In the eyes that follow. In the dreams that wake you gasping.
But she didn't.
Instead, she said, "That perhaps… not every queen in this palace wishes me well."
His expression darkened. "They wouldn't dare."
"They wouldn't need to," she replied gently. "Hate doesn't always need weapons. Sometimes it just needs silence."
Thalion exhaled and drew her close. "Let them whisper. You have me. You have the kingdom's heart."
But Elira wasn't so sure.
She could feel it — the slow, deliberate shifting beneath the surface. Like rot spreading beneath fine marble.
And worse…
She could hear a voice in the shadows of her mind.
> "They will betray you before they ever bow to you."
---
Elsewhere, Queen Malina received a letter sealed with black wax.
The spy she had sent into Windhollow's archives had finally answered.
She broke the seal, eyes scanning the lines quickly, then slowly again.
And then she smiled.
"Magic," she whispered. "So that's what you've been hiding."
She rose, smoothing her gown, and turned to Sarith who waited with sharp curiosity.
"Elira's not just a common-born beauty," Malina said. "She's a Mindbound. One of the old bloodlines — psychic and mental magic. The kind they burned at the stake generations ago."
Sarith paled. "But that line was supposed to be extinct."
"Apparently not." Malina's smile deepened. "And once the people know? They'll call for her head."
---
Back in her chamber, Elira's hands trembled as she dreamwalked that night.
It had started again — unbidden, unconscious. She had tried to bury her gift, to silence the voices, to lock away the visions.
But now…
Now, she saw more than dreams.
She saw a crown of snakes.
She saw herself in chains.
She saw fire behind palace walls.
And worst of all… she saw the king, broken on his knees, calling her name.
---
When she woke, she whispered into the dark:
> "If they turn against me…
May the storm they summon be one they cannot survive."