Chapter Nine — A Fire Without a Name
936 Words
The castle changed as the day of the royal ball drew nearer.
Servants hurried through corridors carrying bolts of silk and velvet. Chandeliers were polished until they reflected every flicker of enchanted flame. Musicians arrived from every corner of the Abyss, their strange instruments echoing through distant halls as they rehearsed for the coming celebration.
The palace was preparing for a queen.
Isella knew that.
And with each passing day...
She found herself retreating further into herself.
She declined several invitations to lunch.
Claiming she wished to continue her research.
Vaelthar did not press the matter.
Instead, trays arrived outside her chambers, always accompanied by a short handwritten note.
You should eat.
Nothing more.
No signature.
There didn't need to be one.
She spent her days in the library.
The ancient tome remained hidden behind the false shelf, though she often sat before it without opening its pages.
Her thoughts refused to settle.
The symbols blurred together.
Her dreams grew stranger.
The silver tree appeared every night now.
The voices of the man and woman came more clearly, though they still remained hidden by the brilliant light surrounding them.
"My little star..."
the woman whispered.
"You must remember."
The man answered.
"When the three realms become one..."
Then the dream always ended before she could hear the rest.
Each morning she woke with tears she couldn't explain.
The closer the ball came...
The less she wished to leave her room.
She knew exactly what it represented.
The noble daughters of the Abyss would arrive dressed in jewels older than kingdoms.
Powerful.
Elegant.
Immortal.
Everything a queen should be.
Everything she was not.
She caught herself imagining the evening despite her best efforts.
The grand ballroom bathed in crystal light.
Music echoing beneath towering ceilings.
Nobles dancing in magnificent attire.
She had never attended so much as a village festival.
A royal ball...
It sounded like something from the fairy tales mothers told their children.
She smiled sadly.
"I would have liked to see it."
Even if only from a balcony.
Just once.
To wear a beautiful dress.
To dance.
To pretend, for a single evening, that she belonged among them.
Her smile faded almost as quickly as it came.
She wouldn't be invited.
Of course she wouldn't.
She was a human.
If the nobles noticed her at all, they would assume she was another curiosity the king had chosen to display.
Nothing more.
Another thought slipped quietly into her mind.
One she immediately wished away.
Vaelthar.
She had never seen him dressed for ceremony.
Only in the practical elegance he wore during their meals together.
Yet she could imagine it.
Black formal robes embroidered with silver.
The ancient crown upon his brow.
Every noblewoman in the Abyss unable to look anywhere else.
A small, reluctant smile tugged at her lips.
"...He'll look handsome."
The words escaped before she realised she'd spoken them.
Silence answered.
Then...
Another image formed.
A noblewoman stepping before him.
Offering her hand.
Smiling.
Laughing at something he had said.
Standing where Isella usually stood beside him in the gardens.
Walking beside him through the palace corridors.
Sharing his meals.
His quiet moments.
His life.
A sharp ache settled deep within her chest.
Her breath caught.
"...No."
She pressed a hand against her sternum.
The warmth returned.
Not gradually this time.
It ignited.
Heat spread through her body in an instant, racing beneath her skin like liquid fire.
She staggered backward, catching herself against the edge of her desk.
Her breathing quickened.
"Why..."
The room suddenly felt stifling.
She pulled open the window overlooking the gardens.
Cold air rushed inside.
It did nothing.
The heat only intensified.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
She loosened the collar of her dress.
Still...
It wasn't enough.
The warmth wasn't outside her.
It was within.
Every image of another woman beside Vaelthar made it worse.
The thought of him smiling at someone else.
Touching someone else's hand.
Looking at another woman with the same quiet patience he reserved for her...
Something twisted painfully inside her.
Jealousy.
The realisation struck her almost as hard as the heat itself.
"...No..."
She whispered.
"I can't..."
Her knees gave way.
She sank onto the rug before the fireplace, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.
She had no right.
He was a king.
She was...
No one.
She had been purchased at an auction.
Sheltered out of kindness.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
She repeated the thought again and again.
It refused to soothe her.
Instead, tears blurred her vision.
The warmth became almost unbearable.
It coursed beneath her skin in rhythmic waves, as though responding to every frantic beat of her heart.
She couldn't understand it.
She couldn't stop it.
A strangled cry escaped her lips.
"Ah—!"
The sound echoed through the otherwise silent chambers.
She covered her mouth too late.
Another gasp followed as the heat surged once more, stronger than before.
Outside her door, footsteps halted abruptly.
One of the palace guards looked toward the entrance to her chambers, concern flashing across his face.
Far away, in the western wing of the castle...
Vaelthar froze in the middle of signing a council document.
The quill slipped from his fingers.
For reasons he could not explain, an overwhelming sense of alarm gripped him.
His heart hammered once.
Hard.
Then again.
His crimson eyes lifted instinctively toward the direction of Isella's chambers.
Without another thought, he rose from his desk.
The unfinished document fluttered to the floor as the Sovereign of the Abyss strode from his study, a single thought drowning out every matter of state.
Something is wrong.
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