Her Silent Storm
1428 Words
The moonlight filtered through the balcony curtains, casting long, trembling shadows across the room. The warmth of the day had long faded, replaced by a biting chill that crept into her bones—yet nothing felt colder than the silence in her heart.
Aurora sat curled at the edge of her bed, knees drawn to her chest, her long hair tumbling over her shoulders like a curtain shielding her face from the world. She didn’t cry—not anymore. Her tears had dried days ago, leaving behind something heavier. Something that silence couldn’t soothe.
She hadn’t seen Damon in two days.
Not since the moment he had turned away from her in that hallway, jaw tight, eyes full of something he didn’t say. Something he didn’t trust her enough to explain.
“Rest,” was all he had said.
But there was no rest. Not when her heart pounded against her ribs every time she heard footsteps outside her door. Not when the emptiness gnawed at her, whispering reminders of what she already feared: that she was still unwanted, still barely tolerated, and no closer to being loved than she had been the night she was rejected.
The royal treatment meant nothing when affection was absent.
The knock came so gently that for a moment, she thought she imagined it.
“Aurora?”
She flinched. Not Damon.
“May I come in?”
It was Celene—one of the Queen’s personal attendants, someone Aurora had seen hovering in the halls but had never spoken to directly. She stood in the doorway now with a hesitant smile and a folded shawl in her arms.
“You’ve skipped every meal. The Queen noticed.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Celene stepped inside anyway. “I know. But… she also said that starving yourself won’t make the pain go away.”
Aurora said nothing, her gaze fixed on the cracks in the tiled floor. Celene sat beside her, quietly draping the shawl over her shoulders.
“There’s a garden at the back of the palace,” she said after a long pause. “No one goes there anymore. The Queen used to walk there when she was your age. Maybe it would help you to—”
“I don’t need help,” Aurora whispered, but her voice betrayed her. It quivered at the edges, fragile and cracked.
Celene didn’t respond. She simply reached into her pocket and placed something on the bed beside her—a folded letter, sealed with gold wax.
Aurora stared at it long after Celene left.
She didn’t recognize the seal.
Her fingers trembled as she broke it.
To the girl with fire in her spirit—
This kingdom will chew you up if you wait for permission to matter. It doesn’t offer crowns to the silent. Take yours anyway.
- Queen Liora
Aurora blinked, reading the words over and over, until her chest tightened and something deep within her stirred.
She rose from the bed.
Not because she believed she was strong.
But because strength was sometimes just standing, even when your knees shook.
The hidden garden was just as Celene described—forgotten. Overgrown ivy clung to crumbling stone benches, and tangled vines twisted around the wrought-iron gate. The moonlight bathed everything in silver, turning dead leaves into soft halos.
She walked through slowly, dragging her fingers over the thorns, bleeding quietly when they pricked her skin. The sting grounded her.
“Aurora.”
The voice behind her made her stop breathing.
Damon.
She didn’t turn.
Not right away.
He approached her slowly, his footsteps loud in the stillness. “I figured I’d find you here.”
She finally turned, eyes unreadable.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
He looked down. “I’ve been… thinking.”
“You’ve had time to think all your life, Damon. Why is it only now you’re doing it?”
He exhaled. “Because you’re not the girl I expected. And I don’t know what that makes me.”
His honesty cut sharper than any rejection.
“And what exactly am I, then?” Her voice trembled, but her stare didn’t. “An inconvenience? A mistake? Something you regret claiming?”
“No,” he said quickly. “No. You’re the only thing I haven’t regretted. And that’s terrifying.”
Silence.
She stepped back. “So you punish me for your fear?”
His jaw clenched. “I punish myself.”
“You left me alone in a place where I already didn’t belong. You offered no hand, no explanation. Just silence. I was already abandoned by my father, my mate—by fate itself. And now you, too?”
“I didn’t mean to abandon you,” he said, stepping forward. “I thought protecting you meant keeping my distance.”
Her laugh was bitter. “That’s not protection, Damon. That’s cowardice.”
The words hung between them like broken glass. His shoulders dropped as if her truth wounded him in a place deeper than pride.
“I’m trying,” he said, voice raw. “I never expected to feel anything for you. I tried not to.”
“You think that makes it better?” she asked softly. “You think I needed to hear that you tried not to care?”
He closed the space between them then, slowly, carefully, like approaching something wild and hurt. He reached out, hesitating, then gently took her hand—cut and bleeding from the thorns.
“You are not unwanted, Aurora. And I swear to the goddess, I’ll prove it every day until you believe me.”
She stared at him, her expression unreadable.
Then she pulled her hand back.
Not to reject him.
But to press it against her chest, where her heart was beating too fast, too loud, too painfully.
“I’m not ready to trust you,” she whispered.
He nodded. “Then let me earn it.”
The days that followed weren’t a fairytale. They didn’t magically fall into each other’s arms. Damon kept his word—he showed up.
He brought her breakfast himself.
He stood outside the training grounds just to watch her spar.
He never pushed. Never asked for more than she could give.
And slowly—like winter thawing into spring—something between them shifted.
Aurora no longer felt like a prisoner in a royal cage.
She started to walk the halls without fear.
She started to speak to servants by name.
She laughed with Celene once—just once—but it felt like sunlight after days of rain.
Then one morning, she found herself standing in front of the Queen again.
Queen Liora was dressed in black, her crown gleaming, her presence still as fierce as ever.
“I see you read my letter,” the Queen said without looking up.
Aurora bowed her head. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. You still haven’t earned that crown.”
Aurora raised her chin. “Then teach me how to earn it.”
Queen Liora looked up at that, eyes gleaming with something—respect, maybe. Or curiosity.
“Come to court tomorrow. There’s a meeting with the war council.”
“I know nothing about war.”
“You know how it feels to be hunted,” the Queen said simply. “That’s more useful than you think.”
Aurora swallowed hard.
And nodded.
That night, she sat by the window, staring out into the stars. Her world had turned upside down, but for once, it felt like she wasn’t falling. It felt like she was climbing.
Slowly.
Painfully.
But up.
Damon knocked once before entering, holding a glass of water and a hesitant smile.
“You didn’t scream at me today,” he said.
She took the glass. “Don’t tempt me.”
He chuckled. “I wouldn’t dare.”
She looked at him—really looked. And for the first time, she saw something in his eyes she had only seen in fairy tales.
Hope.
“You once said you didn’t choose me,” she whispered. “But what if I choose you?”
He froze.
“Not because fate demands it,” she continued, “but because you’re earning it. Slowly. Awkwardly. But honestly.”
Damon exhaled like he had been holding his breath for days.
“I’d be honored to be chosen,” he said softly.
And in that quiet, wounded room, something fragile bloomed between them.
Not love.
Not yet.
But the possibility of it.
And sometimes, that was enough.
- Writer
