The Moonbound Heir of Blackthorn

Elara Vale had always believed that walls were meant to keep people out. It was only recently that she had begun to wonder if the walls of Blackthorn Palace had been built to keep her in. She stood beside the enormous bedroom window, watching the morning mist slowly lift from the gardens below. Beyond the gardens stood the iron gates, black and imposing against the pale sky, guarded day and night by soldiers who had been ordered never to let her pass through them without her father's permission. Beyond those gates was the world she knew only through books: villages filled with ordinary people, crowded markets, distant cities, forests stretching toward the mountains, and an entire kingdom ruled by the father she barely understood. “One day,” Elara whispered, resting her fingers against the cold glass, “I'm going to walk through those gates without asking anyone.” She smiled at the thought, but it disappeared when she noticed two guards standing outside the palace entrance. There were more soldiers than usual. She had noticed them appearing around the palace for the past few weeks, always near her rooms, always watching. It was strange, especially because her eighteenth birthday was only two days away. Her birthday was supposed to be a celebration, yet her father had cancelled the usual festivities and ordered the palace staff to prepare for a private ceremony instead. Whenever Elara asked why, King Adrian simply told her that some traditions were better left untouched. She had never liked that answer. She liked even less the way his expression changed whenever anyone mentioned her mother. Queen Amara had supposedly died the night Elara was born, and that was all Elara had ever been told. No stories about her childhood. No explanation of what she had been like as a queen. Not even a proper portrait in the main halls of the palace. Elara had once asked why there wasn't a single painting of her mother hanging beside the king's, and her father had gone silent for so long that she wished she had never asked. “Princess Elara!” The bedroom door opened without a knock, and Mira Ashwood hurried inside. Her cheeks were flushed, and several strands of her dark hair had escaped the ribbon holding it back. “I've been looking everywhere for you.” Elara turned from the window. “I'm standing in my bedroom, Mira. Where else would I be?” “Apparently hiding from your father.” Mira closed the door behind her and lowered her voice. “Which is exactly why I came. The king is looking for you.” Elara groaned. “What does he want now?” “I don't know, but he told the guards to find you immediately.” Mira hesitated before adding, “He sounded angry.” Elara's stomach tightened. Her father was rarely angry with her. Strict, yes. Distant, certainly. But angry? That was different. She picked up the dark blue cloak lying across her chair and slipped it over her shoulders. “Then I suppose I should find out what I've done this time.” Mira followed her toward the door, but Elara stopped when she caught sight of the mirror across the room. For a moment, she thought she saw someone standing behind her. A woman. Tall, graceful, dressed in a silver gown that seemed to shimmer beneath the candlelight. Elara froze. The woman had dark hair that fell past her shoulders and eyes so similar to Elara's that her heart nearly stopped. There was also a faint silver mark beneath the woman's left eye. Elara slowly turned around. There was no one there. “Elara?” Mira asked. Elara looked back at the mirror. The woman had vanished. Only her own reflection remained. “Did you see that?” “See what?” Elara stared at the glass for another moment before shaking her head. “Nothing.” She forced a smile. “Come on.” They had barely stepped into the corridor when a strange sound echoed through the palace. It was a low, distant bell, unlike any bell Elara had ever heard. The sound rolled through the stone walls and seemed to vibrate beneath her feet. Mira stopped walking. “What was that?” Elara looked toward the eastern wing. “I don't know.” The bell sounded again. Once. Twice. Three times. Then silence. Elara's uneasiness grew. “Mira, has that bell ever rung before?” Mira shook her head. “Not that I know of.” Before Elara could respond, hurried footsteps approached from the opposite end of the corridor. A royal guard appeared, bowed quickly, and said, “Your Highness, the king commands your presence in the throne room.” Elara frowned. “Now?” “Immediately.” There was something unusual in the man's voice. Elara glanced at Mira, who gave her a small, uncertain nod. Together they followed the guard through the palace corridors. As they passed the western staircase, Elara noticed something she had never seen before: three heavily armed soldiers standing in front of a door at the end of the hall. The door belonged to the old northern tower, a section of the palace that had been abandoned for years. “Why are there guards there?” Elara asked. The soldier didn't answer. “I asked you a question.” “I wouldn't know, Your Highness.” His response came too quickly. Elara looked at Mira. They both knew he was lying. When they reached the throne room, the massive doors opened before them. King Adrian stood beside the throne with the royal mage, Rowan Blackthorn, speaking in hushed voices. The moment Elara entered, both men stopped. Her father's face changed. For a brief second, she saw something she had never seen there before. Fear. Then it disappeared beneath his usual stern expression. “Leave us,” the king ordered. The guards and servants immediately obeyed. Mira started to follow them, but Elara gave her a reassuring glance. “I'll be fine.” Once the doors closed, Elara looked at her father. “You wanted to see me?” King Adrian didn't answer immediately. His eyes moved over her face as though he were searching for something. “Your birthday is in two days.” “I'm aware.” “You will remain inside the palace until then.” Elara's eyebrows lifted. “I wasn't planning to leave.” “I'm serious, Elara.” His voice hardened. “You are not to enter the eastern wing. You are not to go near the northern tower. You are not to speak to anyone about the ceremony.” Elara stared at him. “What ceremony?” Her father's jaw tightened. “There are things you don't need to know.” “That's what you always say.” The words escaped before she could stop them. Silence filled the throne room. Elara took a breath. “Father, I'm eighteen. Everyone in this palace knows something is happening except me. There are guards everywhere, you've been whispering with Rowan for weeks, and now you're telling me I can't go near half the palace. What are you hiding?” King Adrian looked away. “I'm trying to protect you.” “From what?” He didn't answer. “From whom?” Still nothing. Elara felt frustration rising in her chest. “Is it about Mother?” The king's face went completely still. That was answer enough. Elara stepped closer. “What happened to her?” “Nothing happened that you need to concern yourself with.” “She was my mother.” “And she is dead.” His words were colder than she expected. Elara flinched. “You don't even have a portrait of her in this palace.” The king's expression darkened. “Enough.” “Why?” Elara demanded. “Why can't I know anything about her?” King Adrian turned away from her. “Because knowing the truth will not bring her back.” “Maybe I don't want her back. Maybe I just want to know who she was.” For a moment, her father's shoulders dropped, and Elara thought he might finally tell her. Instead, he said quietly, “Stay away from the northern tower.” Elara frowned. “Why?” He looked directly at her. “Because some doors are locked for a reason.” The conversation ended there. That evening, long after the palace had fallen quiet, Elara lay awake staring at the ceiling. Her father's warning replayed in her mind. Stay away from the northern tower. She knew she should obey. She also knew she wouldn't. Elara slipped from her bed, pulled on her cloak, and quietly opened her bedroom door. The corridors were nearly empty, and the guards stationed outside her rooms had changed shifts. She moved through the shadows until she reached the eastern staircase. Her heart beat faster as she climbed. She had never been this far into the abandoned section of the palace. Dust covered the stone floors, and old portraits hung crookedly against the walls. At the end of the corridor stood the northern tower door. There were no guards now. Elara slowly reached for the handle. It opened with a soft click. Inside, moonlight spilled through broken windows, illuminating shelves filled with forgotten books and objects covered in white sheets. She walked deeper into the tower, unsure of what she was looking for. Then she saw it. A large portrait stood against the far wall, hidden beneath a torn piece of cloth. Elara pulled the cloth away. Her breath caught. The woman in the painting was the same woman she had seen in the mirror that morning. The same dark hair. The same eyes. The same silver mark beneath her left eye. Beneath the portrait, carved into the wooden frame, were four words that made Elara's blood run cold: Amara, Queen of Blackthorn. Her mother. Elara reached toward the painting with trembling fingers. Before she could touch it, a faint silver glow appeared beneath the woman's painted hand. Elara stepped back. The glow spread across the frame, revealing symbols carved into the wood that had been invisible moments before. Then something fell from behind the portrait and landed at her feet. It was an old black book bound with a strange silver chain. Elara crouched and picked it up. The moment her fingers touched the cover, the candles in the tower burst into blue flames. A voice whispered through the darkness, so faint she almost convinced herself she had imagined it. “The Moonbound has awakened.” Elara's blood ran cold. She turned toward the door. No one was there. Then, somewhere deep beneath the palace, the ancient bell began to ring again.