CHAPTER FOUR — THE KING WHO SHOULD NOT KNOW MY NAME
895 Words
(Ella’s POV)
The chamber broke into chaos.
Whispers. Gasps. Accusing fingers.
The guards shifted, hands on their weapons.
And the six girls — the ones who moments earlier mocked me — now stared at me with something sharper than hatred.
Fear.
But I barely heard any of it.
My eyes stayed locked on the King.
He descended the stairs slowly, each step echoing through the hall like a drumbeat. His cloak swept behind him like a shadow that had come alive.
“Step forward,” he ordered.
Every muscle in my body refused.
Not because I didn’t want to move — but because I couldn’t.
My legs felt rooted to the stone.
The Seer nudged me gently.
“It is the King’s command. Go.”
My feet obeyed before my voice did.
When I stood before him, the heat in my mark intensified. I could feel the golden threads beneath my skin pulsing, pulling — reacting to him.
He stopped just inches away.
Too close.
He studied my mark, then the lines of my face, then my eyes.
It felt like he was reading a story inside me, one I didn’t even know existed.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“E… Ella.”
Something flickered in his expression. Confusion? Recognition? No — it disappeared too quickly.
He turned his head slightly, addressing the Seer without breaking eye contact with me.
“How long ago did she awaken?”
“Three nights, Your Majesty.”
The King’s jaw tightened.
“And the mark appeared naturally? No intervention?”
“None, sire. She woke with it.”
The King exhaled, sharp and displeased, as if he didn’t like the answer at all.
Then he said the words that made the entire room snap to attention:
“She should not exist.”
My heart stopped.
A murmur rippled across the chamber.
The girls exchanged fearful glances.
Even the Seer stiffened.
“Your Majesty,” she said carefully, “there have always been seven—”
“No,” he cut in, voice cold as steel. “Seven chosen, yes. But the mark she carries… it mirrors the Royal Sigil. That has not appeared in centuries. Not since—”
He stopped himself.
His eyes darkened.
Then his voice dropped low, so low only I heard:
“Not since the last Queen died.”
My breath caught.
The King straightened and spoke loudly enough for the chamber to hear:
“This girl will be monitored. Closely. No one is to touch her. No one is to question her. And no one is to be alone with her.”
He turned sharply.
“Escort her to the North Wing.”
The North Wing?
A wave of shock swept through the hall.
The North Wing belonged to royalty.
No trainee, no chosen girl, no one beneath noble blood had ever stepped foot inside it.
The armored woman from earlier protested immediately.
“Your Majesty, that is reserved for—”
“Are you challenging my order?” he asked without turning.
She fell silent.
Two guards approached me cautiously, as though I might explode. They bowed their heads toward the King, then motioned for me to follow.
I took one step.
Then another.
The Seer touched my arm as I passed.
Her voice was soft, trembling.
“Be careful, child. The palace moves around those with power. And your presence will shift things no one is ready for.”
I didn’t know what that meant.
I didn’t want to know.
All I wanted was air.
The guards led me through endless corridors, up a staircase that felt like it spiraled into the sky, and finally into a section of the palace that smelled of sandalwood and cold stone.
One of the guards opened a door.
“Your room.”
I stepped inside and froze.
The room was massive.
Polished obsidian floors.
High windows overlooking the dark valley.
A bed draped in silver sheets.
A desk carved from pure black stone.
It felt like it belonged to someone important.
Someone dangerous.
Someone not me.
“This place is too much,” I murmured.
The guard gave me a strange look.
“You carry the King’s sigil. Nothing is too much.”
Before I could respond, he added:
“Someone will bring food. Do not leave this wing.”
They left, locking the door behind me.
I sat on the bed and let myself breathe.
For the first time since the mark appeared, I allowed myself to be honest:
I was terrified.
Terrified of the palace, of the King’s stare, of the girls who wanted me gone, of the mark burning in my skin, of the prophecy I didn’t understand.
But most of all…
I was terrified because the King was right.
My mark wasn’t just a mark.
It was identical to his.
The Royal Sigil.
And I didn’t know why.
I rubbed the glowing lines on my collarbone, trying to calm the burning sensation.
But instead of fading…
…it pulsed again.
Brighter.
Hotter.
Then—
A whisper filled the room.
Not spoken.
Not heard.
Felt.
“Ella…”
I jerked upright.
The room was empty.
The whisper came again, soft as breath against my ear.
“You were not supposed to live.”
The torches flickered.
The mark seared.
And somewhere deep inside the palace…
a door slammed open.
- Writer
