Chapter 56
The halls of Valla were quiet when the Aethelgar messenger arrived—dressed in deep red and black, the colors of House Aragon. He bore a single scroll, sealed with gold wax and the crowned serpent of Aethelgar pressed clear in the center.
The messenger was led to the high chamber, where King Mathias stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, the weight of old thoughts upon his brow. General Grendy stood near, waiting in silence as the scroll was presented.
Mathias gave a nod, and Grendy broke the seal, unrolling the parchment with care. He cleared his throat, then read aloud:
> "To His Majesty, King Mathias of Valla,
His Grace, King Tommen of Aethelgar, invites thee to the grand feast of Prince Hosea's Name Day, to be held on the seventh night hence, in the great halls of Aethelgar.
Furthermore, the crown extends a most rare honor to thy daughter, Princess Alissa of House Valois, once betrothed to His Highness, Prince Hosea, by oath of the old blood pact made between our grandsires.
In light of Aethelgar's needs and the changing winds of alliance, the princess is offered a place among the maidens of high birth, that she may partake in a ceremonial trial—whereby one among them shall be chosen as bride to the crown prince.
Let it not be said that Aethelgar forgets her vows, nor forsakes honour, though kingdoms rise and fall by different measures.
Signed under the light of the royal seal,
Lord Roderick, Hand of the King."
When the last word was spoken, silence filled the room once more.
Mathias turned away from the window, his face heavy with thought, his eyes tired.
"I don't know what to do," he murmured.
Grendy said nothing for a moment. Then he answered, "Defying Tommen won't end well for Valla, sire."
Mathias's voice grew low, sharp with strain. "Don't you think I know that?" He paced away, rubbing his brow. "But she's just a girl. She knows nothing of the poison that waits in that court. Esmeralda would never allow her step son on the throne. And Tommen—" he paused, jaw tight—"Tommen burns witches, Grendy. " if Alissa truly bears the blood of old magic… he will have no mercy."
Grendy stepped forward, quieter now. "She doesn't have to win, sire. The letter speaks of a trial. We send her. She competes. She loses. No insult is given. The vow is honored, but the bond is broken."
Mathias looked at him, uncertain. "You believe it will be that simple?"
"No," Grendy said, plainly. "Nothing in Aethelgar is ever simple. But it may be the only path that spares her. Tommen seeks a queen who brings strength, gold, armies. Valla has little of those. Others will offer more. He will choose them."
Mathias sank into his chair, pressing a hand to his face. "I've fought wars, seen death in a hundred forms… but never have I feared so much for one soul as I do now."
Grendy moved closer and placed a steady hand on the king's arm. "We will protect her, sire. In all the ways we can. You are not alone in this."
Mathias turned his eyes to his old friend, then nodded slowly.
---
The room was dark, lit only by the soft flame of a single lamp upon the table. Thick curtains kept the light from spilling beyond the stone walls, and the cold air held a stillness that only the hour before dawn could bring. Prince Hosea stood by the window, hands clasped behind his back, his sharp eyes fixed upon the horizon that had not yet broken.
A faint rustle stirred the silence.
From the shadows behind him, a man emerged—his movements silent, his face half-veiled beneath the cowl of his dark cloak.
"My prince," the shadow guard whispered, bowing low.
Hosea turned, nodding once. "You followed her?"
"I did, my lord. As you asked."
"And?"
The shadow guard raised his head, his voice calm and low. "The queen has visited the Monastery of Saint Elandra thrice this week. Always at the same hour. She takes no carriage, nor guards, save one maid. The same girl each time."
Hosea narrowed his eyes. "Only one?"
"Yes, my lord. No footmen. No heralds. None of the noblewomen she oft surrounds herself with. She enters through the old gate near the eastern wall… and disappears for a time. Twenty minutes, perhaps more. When she returns, she says nothing. Walks out as though she merely knelt for prayer."
Hosea's gaze dropped, thoughtful. "Esmeralda has never done anything quietly in her life. She parades like a queen of queens—flanked by silks, adorned by voices. But now she walks cloaked and unseen?"
The shadow guard said nothing.
Hosea stepped forward, eyes dark. "The maid… the one who goes with her."
"Yes, my prince?"
"I want her name. Her family. Her loyalties. Everything she's done for the past year."
The guard bowed again. "As you command."
And like mist at sunrise, he vanished into the shadow from whence he came.
Hosea turned back to the window. The first light of dawn crept across the sky, painting it in blood and gold.
"Whatever you're hiding, Esmeralda," he murmured, "I will uncover it."
---
House Greymoor
The chamber was dimly lit, the soft glow of the hearth casting flickering shadows upon the stone walls. The hour was late, and all within the castle had long fallen silent save for the soft murmurs of two brothers deep in quiet talk.
Ronan sat upon the cushioned bench by the fire, his tunic loosened and a goblet of spiced wine in hand. His elder brother,Garran, leaned against the table, laughter dancing in his eyes.
"Do you recall the time you told Father you'd been studying all day, when in truth you'd gone hawking with Lord Kendric's daughter?" Garran asked, grinning.
Ronan gave a soft chuckle. "I remember it well. I came back with scratches and no books. He was not pleased."
"No," Garran laughed, "but Mother was. She said the bird had better instincts than you."
Their laughter filled the chamber for a moment, light and warm like the fire beside them.
Then, as Garran reached for a jug to refill his cup, his hand knocked against a pile of leather-bound books. One tumbled, hitting the floor with a soft thud. From within its pages, a folded sheet slipped out and drifted gently to the ground.
Garran bent to pick it up.
The moment his fingers touched it, Ronan turned swiftly. "Wait—" he began, rising to snatch it back.
But Garran was quicker.
He unfolded the page and gazed down, blinking at the image sketched in careful strokes. A woman's face, delicate and serene, eyes soft and haunting. Beauty so finely captured, it felt near alive.
"Well, well," Garran said with a slow smile. "Who is she, Ron?"
Ronan exhaled, setting his goblet aside as he lowered himself back onto the bench. He looked into the fire for a moment, then said softly, "Someone who lies beyond my reach."
Garran's brow furrowed. He moved to sit beside him. "No one is too fine for my brother. Tell me—what house does she belong to?"
Ronan hesitated, then turned to meet his brother's gaze. "Alissa. Of House Valois. The Princess of Valla."
The name hung heavy between them. Garran's smile faltered. "The crown prince's betrothed?" he asked, voice low.
"Yes," Ronan replied.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then Garran let out a quiet sigh and placed a hand upon his brother's shoulder. "Do not despair, Ronan. The girl must face the trial, must she not? There are others with greater power, greater wealth. She may lose her place."
"I know," Ronan murmured. "But she has already given her heart to another."
Garran was quiet, thoughtful. Then he stood, his touch firm upon his brother's shoulder. "If your love is true, the gods may yet smile upon you. Such feelings are not given lightly."
Ronan smiled faintly as Garran leaned his forehead against his own for a brief moment of brotherly closeness. Then Garran stepped back and handed him the drawing.
"I'll leave you to your thoughts," he said gently before slipping out of the chamber.
Left alone, Ronan unfolded the sketch once more, his thumb brushing softly over the lines that formed her face. A wistful smile touched his lips.
"Alissa…" he whispered into the firelight.