CHAPTER 14 - The King's Ward
927 Words
Lyra woke before dawn, long before the sky had a chance to brighten.
She did not remember falling asleep. Only the weight of yesterday pressing on her chest until her breathing slowed.
The Shadows wanted her.
They had almost gotten to Kael.
And someone inside the palace was helping them.
Her palms prickled with the faint aftertaste of magic. Silver specks shimmered above her skin for a heartbeat before fading. She curled her fingers, hiding it from herself.
She washed, dressed, braided her hair—but the tremor beneath her calm refused to leave.
A soft knock.
“Enter,” she murmured.
Liora slipped inside, cloaked in pale wool, exhaustion tucked beneath her gentle smile.
“You are awake early,” Liora said quietly. “I came to take you to the King’s Ward.”
Lyra stiffened. “Why?”
“His Majesty wishes to speak with you. Privately.”
A cold sweep of dread settled beneath Lyra’s ribs, but she rose and followed.
THE KING’S WARD
The King’s Ward sat behind guarded ironwood doors—a restricted wing reserved for war councils, sacred relics, and the private chambers of the ruling Alpha. No outsider passed through without the king’s direct command.
The guards straightened as Liora approached.
“Lady Blackmane,” one said. “His Majesty is expecting her.”
Lyra stepped in—and felt it.
Power.
Heavy, ancient power pressed against her skin like a second atmosphere. The air smelled of storm, frost, and moonfire. Sigils along the walls pulsed faintly, shifting like living veins of light.
This place belonged to the Bloodborne kings.
Liora led her to a chamber lined with maps, sigils, and thick tomes whose spines were older than the kingdom itself.
Kael stood at the center, facing a cracked obsidian mirror.
His reflection flickered with shadow.
He did not turn when they entered.
“Liora,” he said. “Thank you. Leave us.”
She bowed and slipped out.
The door closed with a soft, final click.
Silence stretched.
Finally, Kael turned.
His expression was not cold, but controlled—his storm-blue eyes unreadable.
“Lyra,” he said quietly. “It is time you saw something.”
He gestured to the obsidian mirror.
Lyra stepped closer, hesitant.
The surface rippled as though something breathed on the other side.
“What is this?” she whispered.
“An echo of the Moonstone Vein,” Kael answered. “It reacts to corruption. Last night, it reacted violently.”
Her stomach twisted. “Because of me?”
“No.” He moved to stand beside her. “Because something inside Skyblood crossed the boundary.”
Her pulse quickened. “Something?”
“Or someone.” His jaw hardened. “The traitor acted again.”
A dark fog swirled inside the mirror—shapes shifting like spilled ink in water.
Kael’s voice deepened. “Ronin found traces of shadow magic near the southern armory. And the scent. Again.”
Lyra stared into the mirror’s swirling darkness. “What does any of this have to do with me?”
Kael studied her for a long, searching moment.
“Because the echoes shifted toward you the moment you entered Skyblood.”
Her breath caught. “Shifted?”
“Not in hostility,” Kael said. “As if it recognizes you.”
As if on cue, the shadows in the mirror curled toward her reflection—drawn, reaching.
Lyra stepped back. “Why would it recognize me?”
“That is what I intend to discover.”
“Eloween will join us soon. She believes the Shadows do not simply want you.”
His voice dropped.
“She believes you are tied to them in a way that predates your existence.”
Cold rippled through her.
“I do not understand,” she whispered.
“You will,” Kael said softly. “But until then, you stay under protection.”
Lyra’s chest tightened. “All this protection makes me feel like a prisoner.”
“Not a prisoner,” Kael said, voice steady and unyielding. “A target. There is a difference.”
His gaze held hers—firm, resolute, almost protective.
Lyra exhaled shakily. “What do you expect me to do?”
“For now, nothing.”
He stepped closer, lowering his tone.
“Rest. Observe. And tell no one what you saw in this mirror. Not Anara. Not even Liora.”
Lyra’s breath hitched. “Not even them?”
“Especially not them.”
A shadow moved behind his eyes.
“We do not know who the enemy has touched.”
A tremor ran through her.
“You will not move through the palace alone,” Kael added.
Lyra frowned. “You said this was for my safety.”
“It is.”
Before she could speak, hurried footsteps echoed through the hall.
Garron’s voice boomed from outside:
“Your Majesty, disturbance in the eastern courtyard. A message was found—bearing the Lieutenant’s mark.”
Kael’s expression darkened instantly. “I am coming.”
He started toward the door, then paused.
He turned back to her.
“Stay here,” he said. “Touch nothing. Wait for Eloween.”
Lyra nodded, silent.
Kael hesitated—just for a heartbeat—before he exhaled and left, the door shutting behind him with a heavy thud.
Lyra stood alone.
The obsidian mirror pulsed faintly.
She did not move.
But the shadows inside the glass did.
They shifted—slow, deliberate—until they formed the outline of a woman.
A woman with her face.
- Writer
