The morning light broke cold over Frizington Castle, glinting off marble stones and silver-trimmed windows. Yet inside the royal chambers, warmth had long abandoned the air. Servants whispered as they moved through the corridors, eyes lowered, their pity hidden behind practiced smiles.
Princess Eleanor Rhodes had always been the heart of the palace—gentle in speech, defiant in spirit. But now, as she walked through the hall with her long blonde hair unbraided and her silk green gown dancing against the stone floor, she felt every gaze weigh on her like a shroud.
Something was wrong.
She caught fragments of murmurs—"the wedding… poor thing… to the King himself?…"—before they fell silent whenever she approached.
Each word struck her like frostbite. Finally, in the royal garden where she often took breakfast, she turned sharply to the one person who could not lie to her.
"Ronita," she said, her voice trembling but sharp as broken glass. "What is everyone whispering about? Why do they look at me like I'm already dead?"
Her maid froze mid-step, clutching a silver teapot. Ronita's brown curls fluttered in the soft wind; her eyes, normally full of warmth, now looked anywhere but at her mistress.
"It's nothing, my lady," she began, but Eleanor cut her off.
"Do not lie to me, Ronita Tamra of Frizington," she hissed, invoking the full name like a curse. "You've never been able to hide the truth from me. Tell me now."
The silence stretched so long it seemed the garden itself held its breath. Finally, Ronita exhaled. "It is true, my lady. The alliance with Blueshire has been sealed. The marriage is… it is not to the prince."
Eleanor's eyes narrowed. "Then to whom?"
Ronita's voice faltered. "To the King. To Lucian Vauclair himself."
The world tilted. The teacup slipped from Eleanor's hand and shattered on the marble tiles.
For a heartbeat, she said nothing—only stared at the pieces scattered at her feet, her reflection broken among them. "You're mistaken," she whispered. "It must be Alaric. He was here for me—he looked at me"
"No, my lady," Ronita said softly. "The scroll bore the royal seal. It is his father's will."
Eleanor's breath came shallow, sharp. The garden seemed to close in on her. "A monster in his seventies.… six wives buried or bound to him… and my parents—my parents agreed?"
Her disbelief curdled into fury. "Where are they now?"
"In the dining hall," Ronita murmured. "With Prince Alaric."
Eleanor didn't wait. She turned and strode down the marble corridors, her steps echoing like thunder. Servants shrank against the walls as she passed, the golden hem of her gown sweeping like fire.
The grand doors to the dining hall burst open under her hands.
King Eldritch looked up from his meal, startled. Queen Tianaa, elegant as ever, set down her goblet. Prince Alaric sat across from them, composed as stone.
"So it's true," Eleanor said, her voice shaking with rage. "You would sell me like cattle to a vampire who's old enough to be my grandfather."
Tianaa's tone was ice. "Watch your tongue, Eleanor."
"I will not!" she snapped. "You told me this was for peace, but peace doesn't wear chains and bleed on an altar!"
King Eldritch stood, towering but weary. "You will not speak of duty as if it were cruelty. This marriage will save thousands of lives. It will end the bloodshed between our kinds."
Eleanor's lip trembled. "And what of my life, father? Is it worth nothing?"
Alaric shifted slightly, his silver gaze flicking toward her. For a fleeting second, compassion—or perhaps regret—crossed his face. But he said nothing.
Tianaa rose then, her patience long gone. "Enough, Eleanor. You will do as your kingdom demands. You are not a child anymore. You are a Princess with duties"
Eleanor's eyes burned with tears she refused to shed. "Then may the gods forgive you, mother," she said quietly, "for what you've condemned me to."
With that, she turned and fled the hall, her gown trailing fury in her wake.
Ronita was already running to catch up. "My lady....please.....wait!"
But Eleanor didn't stop. She pushed through the palace gates, past the startled guards, into the open wilderness beyond. Her lungs ached, but she didn't care. The world outside the castle walls was wide and wild—the only place she could still breathe.
They ran until the polished cobblestone gave way to moss and mud. The air grew thick and damp; the forest loomed, whispering secrets. The Rain Woods, it was called—a vast stretch of trees that separated Frizington from the edge of danger.
Eleanor slowed, pressing a hand to her chest. "let's rest here."
Ronita caught up, panting. "We shouldn't have come this far without guards. The forest isn't safe."
"Neither is my home," Eleanor muttered. "At least here the danger is honest."
As they ventured deeper, the light began to change. The air shimmered faintly gold, and the leaves above glowed with a strange hue—amber, goldenrod, and honey-yellow, as though touched by eternal autumn. The scent was sweet, almost intoxicating.
At the threshold between the Rain Woods and the glowing grove beyond, Eleanor stopped abruptly.
There, standing at the root of a great golden tree, was a tiny elf—no taller than a candle, its wings translucent as sunlight through dew. It tilted its head, studying them with curious black eyes.
Eleanor gasped softly. "By the stars… I thought the elves of the Forest were extinct."
"They should be," Ronita said warily, pulling her cloak tighter. "That forest is forbidden. Its magic is ancient—wild. Even the coven fears it."
The elf blinked once, then vanished in a flutter of light.
Eleanor took a step forward. "Did you see that? It's harmless."
Ronita caught her wrist. "No, my lady. We can't go in there. My magic won't hold in a place like that. The energies twist—spells turn back on their casters."
Eleanor turned to her, eyes defiant. "I was already condemned to a life worse than death, Ronita. What's one more risk?"
Ronita hesitated, torn between duty and devotion. Finally, she lifted her palm, whispering a spell under her breath. A faint shimmer appeared behind them—their scents, locked in place like invisible footprints wandering back to the trail their followed.
"If anyone searches, they'll know where we entered," she said. "But once we're inside, I can't protect us. The forest will decide what happens."
Eleanor looked toward the glowing woods, her heart racing. "Then let it decide."
" Are you sure " She asked, her eyes holding uncertainty and a a ting of fear
Eleanor spoke with a smile and certainty " Yes, I'm sure. Don't me scared and drop all your worries for just a few minutes. "
"Okay my lady"
And with that, she stepped across the invisible boundary. The air hummed, warm and alien, and the golden leaves whispered her name.
Ronita followed, the spell fading behind her like smoke. As the light swallowed them, the world of Frizington vanished—leaving only the silence of the Yellow Forest, ancient and waiting.