The cold stone walls hadn't changed overnight, and neither had the knot in Elira's stomach. She had barely slept, kept awake by questions and the lingering image of the prince's silver eyes.
She was still sitting on the bench when the heavy iron door creaked again.
This time, three guards stood outside.
"You," one of them barked, "on your feet. The prince has summoned you."
Elira stood cautiously. "Summoned? For what?"
"You'll find out," another muttered. "Don't make us drag you."
They led her through narrow corridors that opened into a vast hallway lined with stained glass and high arched ceilings. Sunlight streamed through crimson and gold patterns, painting the marble floor like a mosaic. Elira swallowed hard.
Where are they taking me? The throne room again? Another trial?
She had half a mind to bolt—if she knew where to run.
But then the guards stopped before a tall double door, marked with silver dragons.
One knocked once, then pulled the door open.
"In," he said.
Elira stepped through slowly—expecting another royal meeting, maybe the King seated on his throne again.
But what she found was something else entirely.
A private chamber, warm and elegant, lit by a chandelier of floating crystals. Velvet curtains swayed by the open balcony. Books, weapons, scrolls, and maps lined the shelves.
And there he was.
The prince.
Leaning lazily against a carved table, a goblet in one hand and a curious smile on his lips.
"Surprised?" he asked.
Elira blinked. "A little. I thought I was walking to my execution."
"Not today," he replied, sipping slowly. "I just wanted to ask you a few questions. In private."
She folded her arms. "You could've done that without sending the armed welcome party."
He gestured toward a seat across from him. "Sit. I don't bite. Well, not unless I'm asked."
She rolled her eyes but sat anyway. "So? What now, interrogation part two?"
He leaned forward. "That depends. Are you going to lie again?"
"I never lied," she snapped. "You just don't want to believe me."
A smirk tugged at his lips. "Touché."
Then he stood.
Walked around the table.
Stopped beside her.
"I've met spies," he said. "Killers. Even gods wearing masks. But you… you're different. You seem scared. Ordinary. But the mirror let you through."
"I told you, I don't know how or why—"
"I know," he said softly. "But I want to see something."
She looked up at him. "See what?"
He took a slow step closer.
"Stand up."
"…Why?"
"Because I said so."
Elira hesitated, then stood.
He stepped even closer. Now just inches away. She could see the shadows under his eyes, the gold flecks in his silver irises.
"Come closer," he said.
She swallowed. "I'm close enough."
"Closer."
"What are you doing?"
"Testing a theory."
His hand lifted, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear — his touch gentle, but calculating.
"You're not from this world," he said, almost to himself. "But something in you resonates. The mirror never chooses wrong."
"Okay," Elira breathed. "Are you always this dramatic?"
He grinned.
And then—his expression darkened.
"Tell me," he whispered, "what did you see after you entered the mirror? Did you hear voices? A name? A warning?"
She shook her head slowly. "Only… symbols. Words I didn't understand. And… your face."
His voice dropped lower. "What did I look like?"
She blinked. "Trapped."
Something flickered in his eyes. Pain? Guilt?
He took one more step, now barely a breath away.
And then, in a voice soft as a secret:
"Did you hear them say… the word Elarion?"
Her eyes widened.
"Yes. I did."
His smile vanished.
The goblet in his hand dropped to the floor with a loud clang.
And then—
The torches in the room all flickered out at once.
Darkness swallowed them .