Days had passed since Elara had disappeared from Alderyn.
The halls of Aderlyn's palace were unsettled. Quiet questions about the disappearance of the Queen's sister were asked. Maltherion had given orders to search discreetly, but even whispered concern could spread like fire in a dry bush.
Some believed she had returned to Viremont, where her father is duke, but there has been no reports from there.
Her parents had even returned back to Viremont earlier than planned just to confirm, but there is still no news of Elara. Others claimed that maybe she had fallen ill. But the truth was far colder, and far more dangerous.
She had never left the North.
Elara had been in the Ice palace, Thalvorian's kingdom, since the night she vanished. Hidden away in the frost bitten corridors of the Northern kingdom, far from the watchful eyes of Alderyn. She had not wandered outside, had not sent a word. She knew they would be looking for her now, and she knew better than to be found.
The ice king did not keep her as a prisoner. Not quite. She was not shackled. She was not watched. But she was.... Contained. Kept close so that none of the servants will recognize her and send word to the outsiders. She was kept hidden. Like a secret.
There was something in him. A power, a sorrow, that kept her still. She didn't understand it yet. But she wanted to. Needed to.
And so, she stayed.
And now, after days of silence, he finally summoned her.
The room was dim, lit only by the low, blue flame buring in a wide silver basin. No torches. No windows. Just stone and silence. And him, Thalvorian, the king of frost, seated on a throne that looked carved from frozen bones.
Elara stood still, her hands folded closely to her chest, the cold clung to her skin like memory.
"You don't speak much," she finally said, her voice tight from the cold.
Thalvorian's gaze didn't waver. "Words are wasted on those who already believe what they want to hear."
" Do you think I won't listen?"
" I think," he spoke slowly, " you don't know what you need to hear."
She blinked. "How will I know, if I don't hear it."
A faint smile curled his lips. Cold, sharp. It wasn't cruel. Just...tired.
"I'll tell you a story," he said, his voice like the wind that travelled far. "One no singer sings. And no scroll dares to ink."
He didn't ask if she wanted to hear, he just simply began.
________________________________________
"There were two sisters. Born from the bloodline older than crowns. Amara and Selene. One burned with laughter. The other, with silence. Both born of the ancient dragon king, Vladimir. Amara, born of fire dragon, had a warm personality. While Selene, born of ice dragon, was cold and silent. Two girls born on the same night, falls for the same man. On the same night.
A man, came. Lost, wounded, and desperate to carve a kingdom from ash. The so called powers the gods had blessed past kings, with didn't seem to favour him.
No one befitting to be Queen and who shared a bond with him and the crown. He loved fire. But he also needed calm. And so, he took the both of them.
One night. One mistake. Two sons.
The firstborn. Amara's child, was celebrated . Dark haired, golden-red eyes, strong. The people cheered his name before he learned to speak it.
The second child, Selene's child, white haired, ice blue eyes was quiet. Unremarkable to those who measured worth in glory.
Both grew up, fierce and strong. The first born, Maltherion, grew up in the glory of both the court and the king. Inherited the fire of his mother. The fire of his mother, combined with the powers of his father, made him the perfect candidate.
The second son, grew up in the corners. Often neglected. Inherited the ice of his mother. Cold on both the inside and outside. Unfitting to be the heir of the throne, so the king sent him away. Said it was for his safety.
But silence is rarely for protection. It is punishment, dressed in politeness. So they sent him to the North.
They called him cold, so they made him so.
My brother, Maltherion, was raised to rule. I was raised to be forgotten."
He paused. The silence that followed was not empty. It was thick. It ached.
Elara's throat tightened. " You.. you are saying...."
"Yes," Thalvorian said, softly now. "I am the son they buried beneath the snow. The brother they cast aside to warm the fire.
His voice dropped, no louder than a breath.
"But snow remembers, what flame forgets."
She couldn't look away.
He rose then. Tall, regal, carved of winter itself.
"I don't want your pity," he said. "I want your understanding. You, Elara, know what it means to be overlooked. To be lesser. We are not broken. We are simply unchosen."
He stepped closer. Just one step. Close enough for her to feel the stillness around him. Not death. Something deeper.
"You are not like them," he whispered. "That is why you are here."
Elara said nothing. Not yet. But something cracked quietly in her chest. Something old. Something that made her wonder if perhaps, for the first time, she was hearing the truth.
And so. She made a silent vow. To forever fight beside Thalvorian. The guilt that had burned in her heart, froze. All that was left was a renewed zeal. A reason to fight. And she was going to fight to the end.
She was going to take everything back, everything that she had ever wanted.
She stared at Thalvorian, her eyes unwavering, her stance strong.
Even if the story changes, even if it turns out she is the villain, she will be the villain to the end.
"I'll forever remain loyal to you, King Thalvorian." Elara bowed down, her head pressed to the ice cold floor, a sign of her loyalty and faithfulness to the throne of Eryndor, The kingdom of the North.
"And together," he said slowly, raising Elara up from the ice cold floor. He stared at her, his eyes full of unspoken tales. Full of ancient history. "We will rule."
They both stared at each other, lost in the anger and resentment they had carried for years. Thalvorian's, much longer than Elara's.