The corridors of the palace were quiet, save for the faint crackle of torches. Evelyn's silk robe fluttered behind her as she stormed through the hall, her steps sharp and restless. Her chest heaved, her fists clenched until her nails cut into her palms. She had woken again, heart racing, Aurora's face burning in her dreams like an insult she could not erase.
She burst into her mother's chambers without knocking.
Isadora looked up from her chair by the fire, a golden goblet in her hand. Her eyes narrowed. "Evelyn. What madness drives you to disturb me at this hour?"
Evelyn's breath came heavy, her eyes wild with a strange fervor. "Mother—I want to go to Velmora."
The queen's expression hardened instantly. She slammed her goblet onto the table, the wine sloshing over the rim. "Are you mad?"
"No," Evelyn snapped back, straightening her shoulders. "If Aurora is truly loved there, nothing will happen to me. But I will not sit in this wretched palace, listening to whispers of her glory while I rot. I will go—and I will bring her down."
Isadora leaned back slowly, her eyes glinting with dark amusement. "Bring her down?" she echoed. "And how exactly do you intend to do that?"
Evelyn's lips curled into a smile that did not reach her eyes. "I will go in pretense of reconciliation. Pretend I have come to see her, to mend what was broken. She will not expect me. There will be no letter—no warning. I will simply arrive. And once I am in Velmora, I will find my chance… to destroy her."
Isadora chuckled, low and dangerous. "And do you truly think Aurora will fall for such a farce? She knows we despise her. She knows you despise her."
"That is exactly why she will not send me back," Evelyn said quickly, her voice sharp with conviction. "Aurora is soft. Too soft. Even if she hates me, she will not allow Velmora to spill my blood. She would rather suffer than see me harmed. I know her."
Isadora studied her daughter for a long moment. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her lips. A cruel smile that deepened the lines of her face.
"You wicked little thing," she said, almost with pride. "Your mind is set, I can see it. And truth be told… seeing Aurora fall would delight me beyond words."
Evelyn's eyes gleamed. She stepped closer to her mother, lowering her voice. "Then you will let me go?"
"I will speak to Magnus," Isadora replied, swirling the remaining wine in her goblet before sipping. "If the king agrees, you will have your wish. But you must be clever, child. One wrong move, and Velmora may indeed kill you."
Evelyn smirked, unbothered. "Aurora will protect me. That is what makes her weak. That weakness will be her undoing."
For a moment, silence hung between them. Then Isadora let out a cold laugh, and Evelyn joined in—two serpents hissing in the dark, delighting in the thought of their prey.
"I cannot wait to see her burn," Evelyn whispered, her smile vicious.
Their laughter echoed off the chamber walls like an omen.
-
The morning was crisp, the air heavy with the smell of saddled horses and polished steel. Evelyn stood proudly at the palace gates, clad in riding attire of deep crimson, her hair braided and wrapped in a gold-threaded veil. A handful of soldiers waited, their armor glinting dully in the pale sun.
Magnus adjusted the leather strap on her horse himself, his jaw tight, his eyes flickering with unease. "Are you certain of this?" he muttered, keeping his voice low so only she could hear.
Evelyn smirked, resting a gloved hand on his shoulder. "Brother, you worry too much. I will be fine. Aurora is soft. She will not let Velmora harm me—she will protect me, even if she loathes me. That is her weakness."
Magnus clenched his jaw. "If harm comes to you—"
"It will not," she interrupted smoothly. "Trust me."
Isadora, standing a few steps behind, watched them with a serpent's patience, her hands folded in her dark gown. When Magnus finally gave a nod, Evelyn mounted her horse gracefully. She cast a final glance at her mother and brother. A smile curved her lips—sharp, hungry.
"I will return with victory," she said.
With that, she tugged on the reins, and the small company set out. Hooves thundered against the stones, fading into the horizon.
Inside the palace, whispers spread quickly: Princess Evelyn was traveling to visit an ally kingdom. Servants exchanged sighs of relief in quiet corners; guards loosened their shoulders. For once, the palace would breathe easier without her shadow looming.
But in a dimly lit chamber, Miri clutched Iridessa's sleeve, breathless with news.
"They say she travels to an ally, my lady, but…" Miri's eyes darted to the window, as though secrets might leak into the air.
Iridessa's brow furrowed. She shook her head slowly. "No. That is a lie. Evelyn does not leave unless there is a darker reason. And yet—" Her voice trailed off, troubled.
Miri leaned in. "But to where, my lady? Where could she possibly go?"
Iridessa's lips parted, her mind racing, but not once did Velmora cross her thoughts. She only knew danger was on the horizon.
-
The next day dawned quietly. At the long dining table, only three remained, Magnus, Isadora, and Iridessa. The air was heavy, the absence of Evelyn felt like a strange gap in the palace's heartbeat.
They ate in silence, save for the scrape of cutlery against plates. When the meal ended, Iridessa bowed her head politely and rose to leave.
But before she could take a step, her body swayed, her vision blurred. A rush of heat swept through her, then darkness.
"My lady!" Miri's voice cried out sharply as Iridessa crumpled. The hall erupted in alarm.
Magnus shot to his feet, his chair scraping violently against the floor. "Physician! Bring the physician at once!" he thundered, his face paling despite his hardened exterior.
Isadora only sat rigid, her sharp eyes fixed on Iridessa's limp form, her fingers curling slowly on the arm of her chair.
Hours later, Iridessa lay in her chamber, the shutters drawn to filter the light. The royal physician bent over her, his hands gentle yet precise as he completed his examination.
Finally, he straightened, his lined face breaking into a small smile. "The Queen is not ill. She is… with child."
Miri gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her eyes instantly glistening with joy. "Oh, praise the heavens…" she whispered.
Magnus exhaled deeply, a smile breaking across his features for the first time in days. He looked down at Iridessa—still pale on the bed, her eyes wide with disbelief.
Isadora, however, remained silent, her expression unreadable. Her sharp gaze slid from Iridessa to Magnus, then she turned, gliding out of the chamber.
Magnus hesitated, then followed.
Inside, Miri sank to her knees beside the bed, clutching Iridessa's hand. "Do you hear, my lady? A child. A blessing."
Iridessa lay still, her hand slowly rising to her stomach. She pressed her palm against it, trembling. A life… inside me? The thought was too large to grasp. Yet as the truth settled, a smile broke softly across her lips. Tears welled, and she whispered, almost to herself, "I carry life…"
-
Isadora's chambers were shadowed, heavy with the smell of incense. Magnus entered, his lips still curved faintly from the news. But his mother's cold voice shattered the warmth instantly.
"Do not let this make you soft," she said without turning from the window.
Magnus's brow furrowed. "She carries my child, Mother."
Isadora spun, her eyes sharp as a blade. "And what of it? Do you think a womb makes her less dangerous? No—it makes her more so. With that child, she will tighten her hold on you, on this court. She will think herself untouchable."
Magnus's smirk returned, cruel and cold. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I will never allow that. Iridessa may carry my heir, but she will never rise above her place."
Isadora's lips curved in satisfaction. She touched his cheek briefly, almost like a benediction. "Good. Remember that, son. She is dangerous. If you do not clip her wings, she may become the stumbling block in your way."
Magnus's eyes gleamed with the promise of control. "Her wings will never rise. I will see to it myself."
And though the child stirred hope in Iridessa's heart, in the shadows, two predators had already vowed to shackle her tighter than ever.
-
Candles flickered softly, their flames bending with the faint breeze that slipped through the shutters. The chamber smelled faintly of lavender, the herbs Miri had lit to calm her lady.
Iridessa lay propped against her pillows, her face pale but luminous with something new—a glow that came not from health but from hope. Her hands rested on her stomach, protective already, as if the child might hear her thoughts through the touch.
Miri sat at the edge of the bed, eyes sparkling with unrestrained joy. "A child, my lady. Can you imagine? A little one—yours." Her voice trembled with excitement, her smile wide.
Iridessa laughed softly, the sound delicate and almost disbelieving. "I never thought… in this place, with this life… that I would one day carry something so precious."
Miri nodded eagerly, her hands clasped together. "It is a blessing, my lady. Perhaps the heavens themselves have looked down and seen your kindness. Perhaps this child is a sign—that brighter days will come."
For a moment, the chamber filled with quiet happiness. Iridessa's lips curved, her eyes softened, and a tear slipped down her cheek—this time not from sorrow, but from something tender.
But then, as her fingers lingered on her belly, the smile faltered. Her gaze drifted toward the shuttered window, toward the distant kingdom beyond. The shadows in her mind returned.
"Brighter days…" she repeated faintly. Her breath caught, and her eyes grew troubled. "And yet… will this child know brightness here? In this cruel, starving kingdom? In a palace ruled by greed and hatred?"
Her voice trembled, barely more than a whisper now. "Will I raise this child under Isadora's gaze? Under Evelyn's scorn? Under Magnus's temper?"
Miri's smile faded, her joy curdling into worry. "My lady…"
Iridessa shut her eyes, the warmth draining from her face. The weight of the palace's walls pressed against her, heavy and suffocating. She had dreamed, for a fleeting moment, of a future filled with hope—but the kingdom she lived in was merciless, and she knew it.
Her hand tightened protectively over her stomach, as though shielding the life within from the very walls around them. "What kind of world have I brought you into?" she murmured to the unborn child.
Miri reached for her hand, holding it tight. "Do not think this way, my lady. This child will be your strength. Perhaps even the kingdom's hope. You must believe that."
Iridessa opened her eyes again, but they shimmered with unease. She forced a faint smile for Miri's sake, yet inside, her heart thudded with dread. Joy and fear warred within her, and though she cradled her unborn child with love, a haunting question clung to her thoughts:
Would this kingdom devour the very life she longed to protect?