What Was Taken, What Was Hidden
1276 Words
The rain had started sometime before dawn.
It tapped softly against the windows, steady and unhurried, the kind of rain that soaked into everything instead of pounding it away. The house felt different in that hour smaller, quieter, like it was holding its breath along with them.
Malia sat curled into the corner of the couch, knees pulled to her chest, a thick blanket wrapped tightly around her shoulders. The mug in her hands was warmchamomile and honey, her mom’s go-to for everything will be okay, even when everything clearly was not.
Her hands were still shaking.
Across from her, Elara sat with her legs folded beneath her, her own tea untouched on the coffee table. She looked tired in a way Malia had never seen before. Not just physically something deeper. Like a door had finally opened and all the years behind it had come rushing out.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
The clock ticked softly. Rain whispered against glass. Somewhere down the street, a car passed through puddles, tires hissing.
Malia broke first.
“So,” she said, voice hoarse. “You gonna start talking, or am I supposed to pretend last night didn’t happen?”
Elara winced. “I deserve that.”
“You really do.”
Another silence fell, heavier this time.
Elara inhaled slowly, then let it out. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to have a childhood. A normal one.”
Malia snorted weakly. “You moved us every few years, never let me stay out past midnight, and freaked out if I got a paper cut.”
Elara smiled faintly. “Normal adjacent.”
Malia stared into her tea. The steam curled upward, twisting lazily. For half a second, she thought she saw it shimmer.
Her grip tightened around the mug.
“Just tell me,” she said quietly. “All of it. No weird pauses. No half truths.”
Elara nodded. “Alright.”
She leaned back against the couch cushions, eyes drifting to the rain streaked window as if the past lived there.
“I’m not human,” she said. “You already know that much.”
Malia nodded once. Her chest felt tight, like every word was another weight stacking on top of her ribs.
“I’m fae,” Elara continued. “Not just any fae. I was born into the Eastern Court.”
Malia’s heart skipped. “The like, fairy-tale East?”
Elara gave a sad smile. “The real one.”
Malia swallowed. “And me?”
“You,” Elara said, turning to her fully now, “are my daughter. Princess Malia Shaw of the Eastern Kingdom.”
The words didn’t feel real.
Princess. Kingdom. Eastern.
Malia laughed, sharp and breathless. “Okay, see, that sounds fake. Like very fake.”
“I wish it were,” Elara said softly.
Malia pressed her thumb into the side of the mug until it almost hurt. “So castles. Magic. That’s all real.”
“Yes.”
“And Dad?”
Elara’s face changed instantly.
The room seemed to dim, like the rain outside had crept indoors.
“Your father was King Calen,” Elara said. “He ruled the East before the war.”
Malia’s throat tightened. She’d never known her father not really. Just stories, old photos, a presence that felt more like a ghost than a person.
“He was kind,” Elara continued. “Brilliant. He believed in peace when others prepared for bloodshed.”
Malia already didn’t like where this was going.
“There was a war,” Elara said. “Between the fae and the vampires. It had been simmering for centuries. Old grudges. Old hunger.”
Malia’s stomach turned. “Vampires are real too.”
“Yes.”
“Cool,” Malia muttered. “Love that.”
Elara’s lips twitched despite herself. “They wanted the East because of its magic. Our light is different. Ancient. Powerful.”
Malia shifted. “That’s why I’m” She gestured vaguely at herself. “Like this?”
“Yes,” Elara said. “You carry that light.”
Malia’s fingers curled into the blanket. “And the war?”
Elara’s voice dropped. “They attacked the palace when you were still an infant. We fought back. But they were ruthless.”
She paused, steadying herself.
“Your father stayed behind to give us time. To let me take you and run.”
Malia’s chest burned. “He ”
“He didn’t survive,” Elara said quietly.
The words hit harder than Malia expected. She sucked in a breath, eyes stinging.
“I’m sorry,” Elara said, reaching for her hand.
Malia didn’t pull away. “So you ran.”
“Yes,” Elara said. “To the mortal realm. It was the only place I could hide you completely.”
“Hide me from what?” Malia asked.
“From everyone,” Elara replied. “Enemies. Allies. Even our own people.”
Malia frowned. “Why our own people?”
Elara hesitated. “Because power attracts control. And you were too young to protect yourself.”
Malia stared at her mother. “So you just shut it off?”
“I cloaked it,” Elara said. “Your magic. Your presence. Everything that would have marked you as fae.”
Malia swallowed. “Until yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“Because I turned eighteen.”
Elara nodded. “The cloak was never meant to last forever.”
Malia leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Her brain felt like it was buzzing, overloaded.
“So,” she said slowly, “I’m a fae princess with a dead dad who was a king , magical light powers, and enemies that drink blood.”
Elara winced. “When you say it like that”
“I’m saying it like that,” Malia said, “because this is insane.”
“I know.”
“And you just what expected me to go to school and worry about algebra?”
“I hoped,” Elara said gently, “you’d have time.”
Malia laughed softly, then stopped. “What happens now?”
Elara’s expression darkened.
“Now,” she said, “your magic has begun to wake up. It will grow stronger. Harder to hide.”
Malia’s fingers tingled faintly at the word magic.
“And the East?” Malia asked. “Is it gone?”
“Not gone,” Elara said. “Broken. Waiting.”
“And the West?”
Elara stiffened.
“There is another kingdom,” she said carefully. “Ruled now by King Theron Vallisian.”
Malia blinked. “You said his father ruled during the war.”
“Yes. Theron was a child then.”
Malia frowned. “Is he bad?”
Elara shook her head. “No. He is fair. Just. Strong.”
“That sounded rehearsed.”
Elara sighed. “Because politics are complicated.”
Malia snorted. “Great.”
They sat quietly again, rain filling the space between words.
Malia finally whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Elara reached out, cupping her cheek. “Because I wanted you to be Malia. Not a symbol. Not a crown.”
Malia leaned into her touch, eyes burning. “I don’t know how to be this.”
“You don’t have to yet,” Elara said. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”
Malia nodded, exhaustion pulling at her bones. “Okay.”
Outside, the rain softened.
Inside, everything had changed.
And Malia had no idea that somewhere beyond the veil, someone had already felt her wake up.
- Writer
