The Cage

The palace of Valerith stood like a golden promise against the horizon, its ivory towers catching the last light of dusk. From a distance, it looked like a place of dreams. Up close, it felt like a cage. Princess Elowen sat by her window, her fingers resting lightly against the cool stone sill. The gardens below stretched endlessly—roses, fountains, marble paths—but she had walked them all so many times that they no longer felt like freedom. Only repetition. A soft trill broke the silence. “Lyra,” she whispered. Her cockatiel fluttered down from the carved bedpost, landing delicately on her wrist. The bird tilted its head, crest feathers rising slightly, as if sensing her unease. “You’re lucky,” Elowen murmured, brushing a finger gently along Lyra’s back. “You could fly away, if you wished.” But Lyra didn’t fly. She stayed. Just like Elowen. A knock sounded at the door—sharp, formal, unyielding. “Your Highness,” came the voice of her lady-in-waiting. “The council awaits you. Your father’s condition… has worsened.” Elowen’s chest tightened. The king was dying. And with his fading breath came a truth she could no longer escape—she was the only heir to the throne. The only future the kingdom had. Duty was closing in. Like iron bars.