What Fire Chose

Doubt

Vareth Royal Palace

The echo of footsteps rang through the black basalt corridors before coming to a halt outside the doors of the royal study. Three knocks sounded. "Enter." At the King's calm command, the young guard pushed the door open and stepped inside. Dropping to one knee, he lowered his head.

"Your Majesty..." Dorian didn't look up. He continued sealing the document before him with meticulous care. Molten crimson wax spread slowly across the parchment before taking shape beneath the royal signet ring that bore the seal of the Kingdom of Fire. "Speak."

The guard hesitated for only a moment. "A rumor has arrived from Nerevia, Your Majesty." Dorian's hand never stopped moving. "Go on." "They say the Nerevian Palace has been sheltering an unidentified guest for nearly twelve days." Only then did Dorian lift the seal from the parchment. His head remained lowered.

"What kind of guest?" "A wounded woman." Silence. For the first time... The signet lingered in Dorian's hand a fraction longer than it should have. The hot wax slowly overflowed the edges of the seal. The guard continued. "They found her near the border."

"She has black hair." For the first time, Dorian's fingers tightened ever so slightly. "Very pale skin." A single drop of crimson wax slipped onto the desk. The guard didn't notice. "They say she's quite young." "And remarkably beautiful." He cleared his throat. "And..."

"...King Cassian Thaleryn is said to be protecting her personally." Silence swallowed the room. Slowly... Dorian raised his head. For the first time, their eyes met. His expression remained calm. But beneath that calm... Something had cracked. Twelve days. An entire twelve days... Without a single report.

No body had ever been found. No one had claimed to have seen her. He had never been able to kill the doubt inside him. Only... Force it into silence.And now... That doubt had begun to breathe again. The guard couldn't understand why the King had gone quiet. Gathering his courage, he spoke once more.

"Your Majesty..." Without taking his eyes off the young man, Dorian asked, "Anything else?" "That's all we know for now." A long silence followed. Then Dorian's voice returned to its usual calm. "Very well." "You may leave." The guard rose to his feet. He had just reached the door when Dorian spoke again.

"Wait." The young man stopped instantly. "If you learn even the smallest piece of new information about this..." His voice was as calm as ever. But harder now. "You will come to me first." "And whatever you hear..." A brief pause. "...you will share it with no one but me." The guard lowered his head. "Yes, Your Majesty."

The door closed quietly behind him. Silence settled over the study once more. Dorian remained motionless for several long seconds. Then, with slow, measured steps, he walked toward the window. Below him, Vareth stretched across the horizon in all its splendor.

Towering black basalt spires pierced the sky, while streams of smoke drifted from countless chimneys, dissolving into pale gray ribbons beneath the shadow of Mount Ignis. The city carried on with its life. But Dorian's thoughts had already traveled hundreds of miles away. Nerevia.

A wounded woman. Black hair. Cassian. Every possibility he had forced himself to bury... Was beginning to surface once again. He clasped his hands behind his back. His fingers slowly tightened. For a long time... He said nothing. Then, almost too quietly to hear, his lips finally moved.

"Are you alive...?" His voice was barely a whisper. Silence answered him. For the first time... He spoke her name aloud. "...Elara?" The room offered no reply. But the hope Dorian had spent twelve days trying to suppress... Had finally risen to its feet once more.

The massive iron doors of the dining hall swung open. The conversations inside fell silent at once. As always, Dorian entered with measured, unreadable steps. His gaze swept across the room before settling on the long table ahead. Duke Rhydan. And seated beside him...

Lady Isara. A flicker of tension crossed Dorian's face. Gone almost as quickly as it appeared. By the time he reached his seat, his expression had become unreadable once more. "Duke Rhydan." His voice was calm. "I wasn't expecting your visit." The Duke smiled comfortably.

He cast a brief glance toward his daughter. "Some visits are better left unannounced, Your Majesty." "Especially if we're soon to become family." Dorian's eyes remained fixed on the Duke. He didn't spare Isara so much as a glance. He wasn't naive enough to misunderstand the purpose of this visit.

Without a word, he began eating. For several long minutes... The only sounds in the hall were the quiet clink of silverware against porcelain. At last... The Duke's patience ran out. "How are the wedding preparations coming along?" Dorian's fork stopped in midair. Slowly...

He lowered it onto his plate. Then he looked up. "What preparations?" The Duke's smile never faltered. "Your Majesty." "The entire kingdom is talking about your wedding."

"Isn't it time to set a date?" The atmosphere inside the hall grew noticeably heavier. Dorian rose from his chair. Unhurried. He met the Duke's eyes. "My Queen's funeral fire..." Silence stretched between them. "...hasn't even gone cold." The smile gradually disappeared from the Duke's face. Dorian continued.

"Do not speak in this hall..." His voice was colder than before. "...as though someone could simply take her place." No one moved. No one even seemed to breathe. Dorian walked slowly around the table. Stopping directly before the Duke. "Duke Rhydan." "I know your influence."

"I know your ambition." His voice dropped lower. "But don't presume..." "...to teach me how I should mourn my wife." The Duke's jaw tightened. "Your Majesty, I was only—"

"No." Dorian cut him off. "You were only thinking of your own interests." "As always." The silence grew even heavier. For the first time... The Duke looked away. Dorian drew a slow breath. Only then did he turn toward Isara. The young woman sat with her head lowered. She hadn't spoken a single word.

Her hands were tightly clasped in her lap. It was obvious she was frightened. Dorian studied her quietly for several seconds. Then turned back to the Duke. "My anger isn't directed at your daughter." "Never forget that." Isara's eyes widened ever so slightly. Dorian continued.

"It's directed at the man who is forcing her into this marriage." Silence. Then he turned away. He began walking toward the doors. Just before leaving, he stopped. Without looking back, he spoke. "There is a time for everything." A brief pause. "Today..." "...is not that day."

The heavy doors slowly closed behind him. No one spoke for a long time after he left. Duke Rhydan's face had turned crimson with rage. "Isara." The young woman immediately straightened. "Get up." His voice never rose. It didn't need to. His anger could be felt even in a whisper. Isara silently rose to her feet. Head lowered, she followed behind her father.

Once they stepped into the corridor, Duke Rhydan finally spoke. "This marriage will happen." "Do you hear me?" Isara remained silent. "It will happen." She still said nothing. She had learned years ago... That there were some arguments she could never win.

As they mounted their horses to leave the palace grounds, the Duke continued muttering under his breath. "He's playing games." "Still mourning." "Talking about funerals." "That isn't how a kingdom is ruled." Isara lowered her eyes. The wind gently stirred her dark hair. She didn't allow the thought forming in her heart to show on her face.

Maybe... Maybe this marriage will never happen. Even thinking it felt like a betrayal. And yet... For the first time... She couldn't stop herself from hoping. Silently, she urged her horse forward behind her father. The Royal Palace of Vareth gradually disappeared behind them. Dorian quietly closed the door to his chambers.

The footsteps in the corridor slowly faded into silence. The palace was still once again. For a long moment... He remained exactly where he was. As though he had been waiting to be alone before removing the mask he had worn throughout the day. He drew a deep breath. Then walked slowly toward the bed.

He stopped beside it. His eyes fell upon a burgundy scarf. Elara's scarf. Almost instinctively... His hand reached for it. He lifted it carefully. His thumb traced the delicate embroidery stitched into the fabric. There had been a time when he saw this scarf almost every day.

Sometimes draped across Elara's shoulders. Sometimes forgotten on her desk. Sometimes dancing in the wind as she mounted her horse. Now... It lay in complete silence. Dorian slowly sank to his knees. Resting his back against the side of the bed, he held the scarf tightly in both hands. He raised it to his face.

And inhaled deeply. Nothing. He tried again. Still nothing. The scent of cinnamon. Burnt wood. And the faint floral fragrance that had always belonged to Elara... Were beginning to disappear. The scarf had become... Nothing more than a piece of cloth. His fingers tightened around it.

He rested his head against the edge of the bed. Closing his eyes. Silence filled every corner of the room. For a long time... He couldn't speak. Then, almost inaudibly... His lips finally moved. "...Forgive me." His voice barely rose above a whisper. "If you knew..." His throat tightened. "...what I had done..." The words died there. Because even he... Was no longer certain.

He was alone. The King who sat upon the throne... Was gone. All that remained... Was a man who had realized his mistake... Far too late.

The following morning... A pale light filtered through the tall windows of the royal study long before the sun had fully risen. As always, Dorian's desk was buried beneath stacks of documents. Tax reports. Military correspondence. New appointments. One by one, he reviewed them. Signed them. Added brief notes in the margins.

To anyone looking in from the outside... It was an ordinary morning. But his mind never lingered on the words before him. It returned, again and again, to the same image. Black hair. A wounded woman. Nerevia. Cassian.

Slowly... He laid his pen on the desk. No. He couldn't ignore this any longer. He opened one of the desk drawers. Inside lay a stack of blank parchment. He withdrew a single sheet. Dipped his pen into the ink. For several long seconds... He wrote nothing. Every word had to be weighed before it touched the page.

Then... He began to write. The letter was not short. Yet not a single sentence was unnecessary. There were no threats. No pleas. No accusations. Only... The measured words of one king writing to another. When he finished, he folded the parchment with deliberate care. A drop of molten wax fell onto the seal. Then he pressed the royal signet of the Kingdom of Fire firmly into place.

At that very moment... A knock sounded at the door. "Enter." A young royal messenger stepped inside. Dropping to one knee, he lowered his head. "Your Majesty." Dorian extended the sealed letter toward him. "You will take this to Nerevia immediately." The messenger accepted it with both hands. "This is not a diplomatic courtesy."

Dorian's voice had become that of a king once more. "This letter..." "...is to be delivered into the hands of King Cassian Thaleryn." "And no one else's." "Yes, Your Majesty." The messenger was about to rise. Then Dorian spoke again. "One more thing." The young man lowered his head once more.

"Watch everything while you're in Nerevia." "Who the King meets." "What the people are saying." "And every change within the palace..." He paused. "...no matter how small." "When you return..."

"...you will report everything directly to me." "You will speak of it to no one else." "Is that understood?" "It is, Your Majesty." The messenger bowed one final time before leaving the study. The door closed quietly behind him. Silence settled over the room once more.

Dorian rose from his desk. With slow, measured steps, he walked toward the window. Below, Vareth was awakening to a new day. Guards changed shifts at the palace gates. Servants hurried across the courtyards, carrying out the day's endless duties. The city stirred with life. But Dorian barely saw any of it. His thoughts were somewhere far beyond the horizon.

In Nerevia. He rested one hand against the cold stone balustrade. His fingers tightened around the rough edge. If that rumor is about Elara... Everything will change. His lips moved once more. "If you're alive..." This time... He didn't let the sentence fade away.

Slowly, he closed his eyes. "...I'll find you." There was no threat in his voice. No hope, either. Only determination. Because for the first time... He admitted to himself that he did not want Elara to be dead. Not anymore. But that realization changed nothing. The choice he had made...

Could never be undone. No amount of regret could return what had already been lost. Some mistakes... Could not be forgiven. And some regrets... Were too heavy... Even for a king.