Elira's POV
Elira's fingers scraped against empty wood.
She froze, kneeling beside her sleeping mat in the cramped servants' quarters. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she felt along the loose floorboard again, searching desperately for something that wasn't there.
The ribbon. Her mother's violet ribbon. Gone.
"No," she whispered, panic rising in her throat. "No, no, no."
She'd checked it just yesterday before sleeping. Like she did every single night for three years. The ribbon was always there, hidden in the tiny gap beneath the floorboard—the one piece of her old life that no one could take away.
Except someone had.
Elira tore at the floorboard with shaking hands, splinters digging into her already raw skin. Maybe it had just fallen deeper. Maybe she'd put it somewhere else and forgotten. Maybe—
"Elira? What are you doing?"
Maris stood in the doorway, her arms full of clean linens. Her friend's cheerful face shifted to concern when she saw Elira on her knees, frantically searching.
"It's gone," Elira gasped. "My ribbon. Someone took it."
Maris dropped the linens and hurried over. "Are you sure? Maybe you—"
"I check it every night!" Elira's voice cracked. "It was there yesterday. I held it before I went to sleep. And now it's gone!"
The other servants sleeping in the cramped room started to stir, disturbed by the noise. A few shot Elira dirty looks—the traitor was causing trouble again.
Maris grabbed Elira's shoulders gently. "Calm down. We'll find it. Maybe it just fell out and someone picked it up by accident."
"No one picks up anything by accident in this place." Elira pulled away, her mind racing. "Someone stole it. But who? And why? It's just an old ribbon. It's not worth anything to anyone except me."
That was the worst part. The ribbon had no value—no jewels, no gold thread, just faded violet silk with silver embroidery. Her mother had worn it every day, and after she died, Elira had kept it close. It was the only thing she had left of the woman who'd loved her unconditionally.
And now it was gone.
Tears burned behind Elira's eyes, but she blinked them back furiously. She'd learned not to cry in front of the other servants. Weakness invited cruelty.
"Help me search," Elira begged Maris. "Please. Maybe whoever took it dropped it nearby."
They searched Elira's tiny corner of the room—barely enough space for a sleeping mat and a thin blanket. They checked under other servants' mats, behind the water barrel, even in the ash pile by the cold fireplace.
Nothing.
"Elira," Maris said softly. "Maybe you should let it go. It's just a ribbon."
"It's not just a ribbon!" Elira's voice came out louder than intended. "It's all I have left! Everything else—my title, my home, my family, my name—everything was taken from me. That ribbon was the only thing they couldn't steal. And now it's gone too."
She sank onto her mat, defeated. Without the ribbon, she had nothing. She was nothing. Just a nameless servant who used to be someone important.
Maris sat beside her, taking her burned hands carefully. "I'm sorry. I know it meant everything to you."
Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Too many footsteps. Too organized.
The servants in the room went silent.
The door crashed open, and palace guards flooded in. Six of them, led by a stern-faced man Elira recognized—Captain Thorne, the prince's right hand.
Elira's blood turned to ice. Guards in the servants' quarters meant someone was in serious trouble.
"Everyone stay where you are," Thorne commanded, his hand on his sword. "We're conducting a search."
"A search for what?" one of the braver servants asked.
"Violet ribbons," Thorne said. "And anyone who has unusual dreams."
Elira's heart stopped.
Violet ribbons? Dreams? What was happening?
The guards began tearing through the room, dumping out sleeping mats, pulling apart the few possessions the servants owned. They were looking for something specific, and from the intensity in their movements, it was urgent.
Beside her, Maris shifted nervously. Elira grabbed her friend's arm, shaking her head slightly. Don't draw attention. Don't say anything. Stay quiet and invisible.
But Maris had never been good at staying quiet.
"Um, excuse me?" Maris raised her hand like a child in school. "Sir? Captain Thorne?"
No, Elira thought desperately. Maris, please don't.
Thorne's sharp eyes locked onto them. "Yes?"
"Elira lost a violet ribbon. Just this morning. Maybe that's what you're looking for?"
The world stopped.
Every guard turned to stare at Elira. The other servants backed away from her like she had a disease. And Captain Thorne's expression shifted from suspicious to shocked.
"You," he pointed directly at Elira. "Stand up."
Elira's legs wouldn't work. She stayed frozen on her mat, terror flooding through her veins.
"I said stand up," Thorne repeated, crossing to her in three long strides. His hand clamped around her arm, hauling her to her feet. "Describe the ribbon. Now."
"I... I don't..." Elira's mouth felt stuffed with cotton. "Why do you care about a ribbon?"
"Describe it!" Thorne's voice cracked like a whip.
Elira flinched. "Ancient silk. Violet. Embroidered with silver thread in a pattern of crescent moons. My mother gave it to me before she died."
The guards exchanged glances. One of them muttered something that sounded like "It matches."
Matches what? What was going on?
Thorne's grip tightened on her arm. "When did you last see it?"
"Last night. Before I went to sleep. I keep it hidden, but this morning it was gone." Elira tried to pull away. "Please, I don't understand. What does my ribbon have to do with anything?"
"Everything," Thorne said grimly. "The prince found your ribbon on his pillow this morning. After he dreamed about it. After seven years of being cursed, your ribbon appeared out of nowhere, and now he's searching for the woman who owns it."
The words made no sense. Prince Caelan? Her ribbon? Dreams?
"That's impossible," Elira whispered. "My ribbon was here. In my room. It couldn't have—dreams don't leave things behind. That doesn't make sense."
"Tell the prince that yourself." Thorne began dragging her toward the door. "He wants to see you. Immediately."
"No!" Elira dug her heels in, fighting against his grip. "No, please! I can't face him again! Please, I didn't do anything!"
But the guards were already surrounding her, blocking any escape.
Maris jumped up. "Wait! Elira didn't do anything wrong! She just lost her ribbon!"
"Step back," one of the guards warned Maris. "This doesn't concern you."
"She's my friend!" Maris protested.
"Then you'll want to stay out of this," Thorne said. "The prince is desperate, and desperate princes are dangerous."
Elira's mind spun. The last time she'd stood before Prince Caelan, he'd condemned her to this nightmare. Three years of torture and degradation because he'd signed a conviction without caring if she was actually guilty.
And now he wanted to see her again?
"What does he want from me?" Elira asked, her voice breaking. "I have nothing left. He already took everything."
Thorne's expression softened slightly—just a flicker of something that might have been pity. "He thinks you're connected to his curse. To his dreams. And if you are..." He paused. "Let's just say you might be the most important person in the kingdom right now."
"Or the most doomed," one of the other guards muttered.
They dragged Elira into the hallway. Servants pressed against the walls, watching the traitor being hauled away again. Some looked curious. Others looked satisfied—the traitor was finally getting what she deserved.
Elira's legs barely worked as the guards pulled her forward. Her mind kept circling back to the impossible words.
Your ribbon appeared on the prince's pillow. After he dreamed about it.
But that couldn't be real. Dreams didn't work that way. Dreams were just... dreams. Weren't they?
Unless the rumors about the prince being cursed were true. Unless magic was real in ways Elira had never imagined.
Unless her ribbon appearing in his room meant something terrifying.
The throne room doors loomed ahead, massive and threatening.
"I can't do this," Elira whispered. "Please. I can't face him again."
"You don't have a choice," Thorne said, but not unkindly. "None of us do anymore. The prince is dying, and you might be the only thing that can save him."
"Why would I save the man who destroyed my life?"
Thorne looked at her with something that might have been understanding. "That's what he's about to ask you."
The doors opened.
Inside, Prince Caelan sat on his throne, looking exactly like the monster from Elira's nightmares. Cold. Empty. Terrifying.
But something was different. His hand gripped the armrest so tightly his knuckles had gone white. And his eyes—those dead, emotionless eyes—were fixed on her with an intensity that made her skin crawl.
In his other hand, he held her mother's violet ribbon.
Their eyes met.
And Elira felt the world shift beneath her feet.
Because those eyes—ice-blue and supposedly empty—looked exactly like the eyes she saw every night in her dreams.
The eyes of the prince who laughed with her. Who held her gently. Who made her feel loved.
No. It couldn't be.
The monster and the dream lover couldn't be the same person.
But as Caelan stood, descending from his throne toward her, Elira knew with horrible certainty that they were.
And her nightmare had just gotten infinitely worse.