Aurelia stood before the towering doors of her father's chamber, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the sounds of the castle around her. The flickering torchlight painted long, unsteady shadows on the stone walls, and the air carried the faint scent of old wine and smoldering incense. Two guards flanked the entrance, their spears gleaming in the dim light. One of them, a man she vaguely recognized from the training yard, gave her a curious glance, his brow lifting in quiet question. Neither made a move to stop her.
She didn't hesitate. If she paused, if she let the fear pressing against her ribs take hold, she would turn and run like a frightened girl. And she was done running. Drawing in a breath that tasted of dust and cold stone, she pushed the heavy doors open with both hands.
The chamber beyond was steeped in a heavy hush. The king sat by a tall window, his broad figure silhouetted against the night sky. A goblet of wine hung loosely from his hand, half-forgotten, while his other hand rested on the arm of the great oak chair. The crown that should have sat proudly atop his head lay abandoned on a nearby table, as if even it had grown weary of the burdens it once signified.
Aurelia stepped inside, her palms damp and her throat tight. She had rehearsed this moment in her mind a hundred times, but now, in the thick silence of the chamber, the words felt like stones in her mouth.
"Father."
Her voice was small, roughened by the weight of unshed tears. It cracked, betraying her.
The king turned, his face caught in the pale wash of moonlight. For a moment, surprise flickered in his gaze, softening the deep lines etched there by years of rule and war. The expression passed quickly, replaced by something gentler. A warmth he showed only to her, the daughter he'd claimed, though the court whispered she should never have existed.
"Aurelia," he murmured, gesturing for her to approach. "What troubles you, my dove?"
For a brief, fragile second, she wanted to crumple into his arms, to be a child again, free of the storm gathering around her. But she forced herself to stand straighter, to hold his gaze.
"I…" She faltered, her fingers twisting in the folds of her gown. "I cannot marry King Alderic. I don't love him. I don't even know him. Please, Father, I beg you, call off the engagement."
There. It was out. The air in the room felt heavier the moment the words left her lips, thick with something that tasted like iron and old sorrow.
For a moment, the king said nothing. The warmth drained from his eyes, replaced by the impassive, iron-hard stare of a ruler. He set his goblet down with a soft clink and rubbed his temples with a sigh so weary it seemed to echo through the room.
"Aurelia," he began, his voice lower now, heavy with the kind of patience that felt more like a blade than a balm, "this is not about love. It never has been. It is about alliances. About survival. You have lived in this castle long enough to understand what the world demands of people like us."
Aurelia's throat tightened. The room blurred at the edges as her eyes stung, but she forced herself to speak, even though it hurt.
"I am not asking for much," she whispered, the words barely carrying. "I just want to be free."
He rose then, his stature still commanding despite the years on his shoulders. He crossed the room in a few steps and cupped her cheek with a hand that was both rough and strangely tender. His thumb brushed away a tear she hadn't realized had fallen.
"My child," he murmured, his voice soft but unyielding, "there is no freedom for those of royal blood. Only choices made for the good of the realm."
She wanted to believe there was more in his gaze, some flicker of the man who had once carried her on his shoulders through the orchards in spring. But now, all she saw was the king, the man duty had carved hollow.
"You'll understand one day," he added, dropping his hand.
The air between them felt brittle, stretched thin as glass.
Aurelia shook her head, stepping back. The tears spilled over then, hot and blinding, and she didn't care who saw. Without another word, she turned and fled the chamber. The guards barely glanced at her as she stormed past, her footsteps echoing through the long, empty corridors.
She didn't know where she was going. She only knew she had to get away.
The torches flickered in their sconces as she hurried down narrow hallways, their flames stuttering in the draft. The music of the ballroom, where preparations for the feast continued, faded behind her. Voices rose and fell in distant rooms, but she paid them no mind. Her feet carried her deeper into the heart of the castle, past halls she barely recognized. The walls here were older, the stones darker, the air cooler and thick with dust. Cobwebs clung to the corners, and the scent of old wood and forgotten years filled her lungs.
At last, she came upon a door she had never noticed before. It was heavy, made of ancient, weathered wood, and marked with strange, faded symbols that made her skin prickle. The servants never spoke of this part of the castle, and it had never appeared on any of the maps she had pored over in the royal library.
Her hand trembled as she reached for the iron handle. The door groaned open on ancient hinges, and she stepped inside.
The room was small, dimly lit by a thin shaft of moonlight that slipped through a cracked window. Dust motes swirled in the air, glittering like tiny stars in the gloom. Tapestries hung from the walls, their once-vibrant threads now faded to dusky shades of gray and blue. Everything smelled of old stone, candle wax, and forgotten stories.
And in the center of the room, upon a narrow wooden table, sat a music box.
It was shaped like a seashell, crafted from pale silver. Tiny, glimmering stones were set into its surface, catching the light and shimmering like fragments of starlight. Her breath caught in her throat. She knew it.
Her mother's.
Aurelia moved closer, each step slow and hesitant, as though she were afraid the box might vanish before her eyes. She reached out, her fingertips brushing the delicate ridges of the shell. For a moment, she hesitated. Then she lifted the lid.
A gentle, sorrowful melody filled the room. The notes wound around her like a long-forgotten lullaby, and the ache in her chest tightened.
Memories rushed in.
Her mother's laughter, the way it had sparkled like sunlight on water. The scent of sea salt and roses in the woman's hair. The warmth of her arms pulling Aurelia close as the same melody played. She had not heard it in years, but it was imprinted on her soul.
And beneath the lid, hidden in the hollow of the shell, lay a folded piece of parchment.
Hands shaking, Aurelia lifted it free and carefully unfolded it. The paper was fragile, the ink faded but still clear enough to read.
"To my dearest child, should you ever find this, know that you are more than what this world tells you. My blood sings in your veins, and a promise binds you to a realm beyond these walls. Guard the flower, my love, for it holds the light of our home."
Aurelia's heart pounded, her breath coming fast and unsteady. The words made little sense, but deep within, something old and half-forgotten stirred. She remembered a necklace she had worn as a child, a crystal shaped like a blooming flower. She had stopped wearing it after her mother's death, burying it in the bottom of a chest along with her grief.
Her gaze shifted, and she noticed a small leather-bound journal tucked beneath the music box. She reached for it and opened the cover, her fingers tracing the familiar curves of her mother's handwriting.
The pages spoke of things she had never been told. Of a kingdom in the shadows, a crystal flower, a promise made to a prince whose name had been lost to time. There were whispers of magic older than the stones of the castle, of bloodlines that stretched beyond human lands.
Aurelia closed the book, clutching it to her chest. The world she had known was crumbling around her, every certainty cracking like old glass.
A soft voice called her name.
"Aurelia?"
She turned, startled, her heart leaping to her throat. Lira stood in the doorway, a lantern in hand. The flame cast her features in a warm glow, her brows furrowed in quiet worry.
"I'm here," Aurelia called back, her voice raw.
Lira stepped into the room, looking around with a frown. "This place… no one's been here in years."
"I had to get away," Aurelia whispered.
Lira crossed the room and wrapped her in a gentle embrace. Aurelia clung to her, the journal still pressed against her heart.
"Come, my lady," Lira murmured. "It's late."
Aurelia nodded, following her friend out of the room. But before she stepped through the door, she cast one last glance back at the table. The music box still played, its melody growing softer, notes unraveling into the night as a storm began to stir beyond the hills.
And for the first time in her life, Aurelia felt it too.
A storm inside her chest.
A storm called truth.