Chapter twelve
The early sun shimmered like molten gold over Aetherra's crystalline rooftops, casting long shadows across the marbled courtyards and gilded towers. The kingdom glowed in its usual splendor, but beneath its beauty, unrest brewed.
In the high tower of the House of Vaerlon, far from the palace heart, Duke Malric stood alone, staring out across the valley below. His silver hair, so like King Thalen's, was tied back in a warrior's knot, and his fingers drummed slowly on the stone balustrade.
Twins, born of the same magic and blood. But only one crowned.
He had smiled through it all, the crowning, the royal marriage, the birth of the precious silver-haired heir. He had accepted his title of Duke, his lands, his seat on the council. He had nodded politely for two decades.
And now, he was done waiting.
Malric turned as three figures stepped into the chamber, cloaked in the deep emerald of the Eastern court. His supporters. Men who owed him favors. Men tired of bowing to the crown.
"She's the key," one of them said. "The girl."
Malric's lips curled. "The people adore Selene. The perfect princess. But make them question her… make them fear her… and everything changes."
"And how do we do that?"
"We don't have to," Malric said coolly, turning back to the valley. "We just let the kingdom see what she really is."
The public function was held in the Hillgrove Province, Aetherra's most fertile land, home to some of the kingdom's oldest temples and schools. Selene was to give a ceremonial speech at the ribbon-cutting of a new Hall of Scholarship built in her name. Diplomats, students, and nobility had gathered from far and wide.
Selene arrived in her silver and blue ceremonial gown, her hair braided with sunstones, Mara at her side with a tablet of the schedule.
"You'll greet the Temple Head," Mara murmured, adjusting the princess's sash, "then cut the ribbon, make the speech, and we'll be done before midday. No wandering off."
"No fun," Selene sighed, waving to the cheering crowd as they exited the carriage. "And here I thought a public function meant pastries."
Mara rolled her eyes. "This is serious, Your Highness. No slipping away."
"I heard you the first time."
The event began smoothly. Selene's words were elegant, poised, graceful as ever. The crowd applauded, petals rained down. Drian was present too, standing with other nobles in full dress armor, though his attention lingered more on her than the ceremony.
But just as the ceremonial curtain was lowered from the building's main entrance, a sudden explosion cracked the air.
The force rippled through the ground. Screams erupted.
A lantern, rigged with hidden powders, had been tied to the ceremonial ropes. Once lit, the flame triggered the volatile mixture. Fire shot up the curtains, onto the wooden beams, and in seconds, smoke began curling toward the ceiling.
Chaos.
Guests fled. Smoke clouded the entrance. Guards rushed forward. Drian barked orders. Mara shouted Selene's name, but she was already staggering back, hand pressed to her temple.
Her head pounded, a blinding pain like lightning ripping through her skull. Her lungs refused to obey. Her vision swam. She stumbled into a side hall as the smoke thickened, the fire creeping down the walls like crawling flame-serpents.
She tried to call out. Her voice cracked. No one heard her.
The heat scorched the air. The smoke coiled around her like a living thing. Her knees buckled.
Everything turned black.
When she awoke, it was not in the palace.
The air was cold, wet, and foul, heavy with the stench of moss, mildew, and decaying stone. Water dripped steadily somewhere nearby, echoing through the hollow chamber. She lay on the hard ground, damp and trembling, her ceremonial dress stained with ash and dirt.
The walls were jagged rock, slick and glistening. Long roots hung like withered fingers from the ceiling. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the skittering of something small. Rats, maybe. Or worse.
The flicker of a single torch cast shadows across the walls. Her head throbbed. Her throat burned.
Selene pushed herself up, gasping. Her hands trembled.
"M-Mara?" Her voice cracked. "Mara!"
No answer.
She crawled toward the wall, grabbing onto a jagged edge. She stood, slowly, wobbling like a fawn.
She called again. Nothing. Only the constant drip… drip… drip of water.
Her ceremonial slippers were soaked, her gown torn. Panic clawed at her chest but she bit down on it, hard.
Who brought her here? How? And why?
The last thing she remembered was the fire… the smoke… the pressure in her chest.
Someone had taken her.
And no one knew where she was.