Talyria

Chapter 3

Zyraen’s hands shook as she dropped them from her temples. “So all this time,” she whispered, “you were lying to me.”

Lina flinched. “Not lying—”

“Not lying?” Zyraen’s voice cracked, sharp and raw. “You ate lunch with me, walked me home from school, slept over at my house when your parents were ‘out of town’—and none of that was real?”

“It was real,” Jessa said quickly, her words tumbling out. “Every second of it was real. We didn’t make up our laughter, or the nights we stayed awake telling stories, or how much you mean to us.” Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard. “But we couldn’t tell you everything. If we had…” She trailed off, unable to finish.

Kairen’s voice cut in, colder. “This is exactly why we kept her out. Look at her—she’s falling apart. She doesn’t belong here, and now she’s trapped.”

Zyraen turned on him, her face burning hot with tears. “Don’t you dare act like this was my choice! I didn’t ask to be dragged into your glowing door, Kairen. I didn’t ask for your stupid war, or your kingdom, or your lies. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

The words hung in the air, shaking. For a moment, no one spoke.

Then Lina stepped forward, placing her hands on Zyraen’s shoulders, her golden eyes searching hers with a quiet urgency. “Rae… please. I know it feels like betrayal. But it wasn’t meant to be cruel. Our parents thought they were protecting us—and you. If the other side had found us in your world, you would have been in danger too.”

Zyraen’s chest heaved, her breath uneven. She wanted to shove Lina away, to scream, but the weight in her voice stopped her.

“Where am I?” she finally asked, her voice breaking on the last word. “What is this place?”

Lina hesitated, then said the word with reverence: “You’re in Talyria.”

The name unfurled around her, echoing with something strange, something familiar, like the word itself had been waiting for her to hear it.

Jessa glanced toward the garden beyond the courtyard. “This house belongs to one of the royal families. They gave us a place here because we’re… connected to the princess. Kairen and I… we serve as her attendants.”

Zyraen blinked, the ground shifting again beneath her. “Attendants? You mean—like servants?”

“Not servants,” Kairen said tightly. “Sworn protectors. Trusted. It’s an honor. Something you could never understand from your world.”

Zyraen’s throat closed. A laugh—half-bitter, half-broken—escaped her lips. “You’re right. I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this.”

And still, the three moons hung pale in the daylight sky above them, proof that none of this was a dream.

“—she doesn’t understand what this means!” Kairen snapped, his voice sharp as flint.

“She’s our friend, Kairen!” Lina shot back. “She deserves more than secrets and half-truths!”

“Secrets that could get us all killed!” Jessa hissed, her arms folded tight.

Zyraen stood trembling, her fists clenched at her sides, ready to burst again—when a new voice cut through their argument, calm and commanding.

“She doesn’t belong here.”

The words stilled them all.

Zyraen turned.

Across the courtyard stood a woman of striking presence—her posture straight, her pale hair woven with silver threads, her gown flowing in shades of moonlit blue. A circlet rested lightly against her brow. Every step she took across the stone carried quiet authority.

Her friends bowed instantly. “Your Highness,” Lina whispered.

The princess’s gaze fixed on Zyraen, sharp and unwavering. “You came through the gate,” she said, not as a question but as fact. “That gate will not open again for five years. Until then… you are trapped here.”

Zyraen’s breath caught, her heart clenching. Five years? In Talyria, that could mean five months in her world—but her brother… He’d think she was gone forever.

The princess’s voice softened, though it never lost its weight. “You do not belong here, human child. But you may stay as a guest, under my protection. I will not cast you into the wild with no knowledge of this land.”

Zyraen swallowed hard, her chest tight with a mix of fear and fragile relief. “A… a guest,” she whispered.

Before anyone could speak further, pounding footsteps echoed through the archway. A messenger burst into the courtyard, his cloak torn from haste, his voice breaking with urgency.

“Your Highness! Forgive me—terrible news!” He dropped to one knee, gasping for breath. “It is your sister—Lady Aerylis. She collapsed upon arriving from Celesthra Academy. The healers… they cannot wake her.”

The courtyard froze.

The princess’s composure held, but Zyraen saw the flicker of pain cross her face, a c***k in her calm mask. Her hands clenched at her sides, white-knuckled, though her voice remained steady.

“Bring me to her,” she commanded.

The messenger bowed lower, trembling. “At once, Princess Elanthiel.”

Lady Aerylis. The princess’s little sister. Unconscious, unresponsive.

Zyraen’s breath snagged. She didn’t know this girl, but the devastation flickering in Princess Elanthiel’s eyes cut through her like glass.

“Lina. Jessa. Kairen.” Elanthiel’s voice snapped them to attention. “With me.”

Jessa bowed instantly, her cloak brushing the stone. Kairen’s jaw tightened, but he nodded sharply. Lina glanced once at Zyraen, her expression torn, before lowering her head as well.

Zyraen’s chest tightened. “Wait—what about me?”

Elanthiel’s silver gaze cut to her, assessing, cool but not unkind. For a long moment, the princess said nothing, and Zyraen felt as if the whole kingdom might hinge on her answer.

Finally: “You will come.”

Lina’s head jerked up. “Your Highness—”

“She is bound to us now,” Elanthiel said, her tone final. “If she wandered these halls alone, questions would rise. And I will not waste time weaving lies while my sister lies in peril.”

The princess turned, her gown flowing behind her like water, her voice calm despite the storm in her eyes. “Stay at my side, human. If you are a guest of Talyria, you will see what that means.”

Zyraen’s throat went dry. She didn’t want to see. She wanted her brother, her street, her ordinary house. But her feet moved anyway, trailing after them as the group swept through the stone corridors, their pace brisk and unyielding.

The halls grew grander as they went—tall ceilings hung with banners of deep blue and silver, windows spilling daylight across floors of polished marble. Servants and guards turned as the princess passed, bowing low, their gazes flicking with open curiosity toward Zyraen. She hugged her scarf tighter, wishing she could vanish.

At last, the doors loomed ahead: carved with constellations, glowing faintly as if stars themselves had been pressed into the wood. Guards pulled them open, and the group entered.

The chamber was hushed, heavy with incense. On a bed of pale silk, surrounded by healers murmuring spells and placing glowing crystals along her arms, lay a girl no older than Zyraen.

Her skin was too pale, her lips colorless, her chest rising and falling only faintly. Her hair, long and golden like Elanthiel’s, spread across the pillows like spilled sunlight. Her eyes were shut, lashes still as if frozen in sleep.

Zyraen swallowed hard. She didn’t need anyone to tell her. This was the younger princess—Aerylis.

Elanthiel crossed the room, each step deliberate. She reached her sister’s side and laid a hand against her cheek. For a fraction of a second, the mask of calm broke—pain rippled across her face, sharp and raw. But when she turned to the healers, her voice was steady.

“Report.”

The eldest healer bowed his head. “She collapsed not an hour after returning from Celesthra Academy, Highness. We have tried every spell known to us, but… her mind does not answer. It is as though she is trapped beyond reach.”

The chamber was hushed but for the healers’ murmurs and the faint, steady rhythm of Aerylis’s breath. The girl lay unmoving, her skin too pale, her hair fanned like molten sunlight across the pillows.

Princess Elanthiel remained at her bedside for a long moment, her hand resting lightly on her sister’s forehead. Then she drew in a breath, and when she turned to face the others, her eyes gleamed with something fierce.

“She must not be missed.”

The words struck through the silence like a blade. Lina glanced up sharply. Kairen stiffened. Jessa’s lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came.

Elanthiel continued, her tone even, her voice carrying the weight of command. “If the court learns the younger princess has fallen into a sleep beyond our reach, fear will spread. Whispers will coil through every hall, every council chamber. Talyria’s peace is delicate—it cannot afford doubt.”

Her silver gaze swept over the room until it landed on Zyraen. The human girl froze under the weight of it.

“You,” the princess said.

Zyraen blinked, startled. “Me?”

“You will take her place.”

A shiver slid down Zyraen’s spine. Trapped beyond reach.

Elanthiel’s gaze flicked briefly to Zyraen, lingering just a moment too long—as though the human girl’s arrival and her sister’s coma were threads of the same tapestry.