Chapter Eight — A Face from Memory
459 Words
The palace was ridiculous.
Shiny marble floors, golden chandeliers, guards who looked like they ate steel for breakfast—and me, wearing a too-tight dress with my hair done like I was going to prom with someone I didn’t even like.
Lucien walked beside me, perfectly composed, like this was just another Tuesday. For him, maybe it was.
For me? This was a nightmare with glitter.
“You sure I won’t get thrown out?” I whispered.
“Only if you insult my father’s mustache.”
“…Tempting.”
The throne room doors opened slowly—of course they did, because apparently dramatic timing was a royal sport.
A long crimson carpet stretched toward two towering thrones. On them sat the King and Queen of Eryndor.
The king looked like he could start a war with one eyebrow. The queen, though… something about her made me pause. She was elegance itself—poise wrapped in frost and light.
Then her eyes met mine.
She froze.
Her hand gripped the edge of her throne. A sharp inhale.
Lucien’s brow furrowed. “Mother?”
“You…” she whispered, standing so fast her crown nearly slipped. “It can’t be—”
I instinctively stepped back. “What did I do?”
The queen moved closer, trembling now. “You look just like Elira.”
The name rang through me like a bell.
“My mother?” I asked softly.
Her eyes filled with something between shock and wonder. “Elira was my dearest friend—my sister in all but blood. She told me she had a child before she vanished. We searched every corner of the realm for her… and for you.”
My breath caught. “You knew about me?”
“I never stopped looking.” Her voice cracked, a thousand unspoken years weighing on her words. “But then the war came… the betrayals… and she was gone. No trace. No word.”
Her hand hovered near my cheek but faltered midair. “You’re her daughter. I’d recognize that face anywhere.”
I didn’t know what to say. The ache in her voice was too real.
“I don’t even know what happened to her,” I admitted quietly. “She died when I was young. I barely remember her.”
The queen’s face crumpled. “Elira deserved better. You deserved better.”
For a moment, the world went still—just two people bound by loss, time, and the ghost of someone we both loved.
Finally, she whispered, “Welcome home.”
Tears glimmered at the corners of her eyes. “It took too long, but… you’re home now.”
And for the first time since that horrible rejection, something inside me dared to hope.
- Writer
