Chapter 5
Alora
Alora’s old bedchamber was exactly as she remembered it.
The walls were still adorned with faded tapestries of wildflowers. Her dolls were arranged neatly on the shelf, untouched and coated in dust. A music box sat open on her vanity, frozen mid-spin. The air was heavy and stale.
She ran her fingers over the carved wooden bedpost. Once she left, no one had ever stepped inside again.
And that made returning here feel worse.
Alora turned at the sudden burst of movement behind her.
A blur of gold silk slammed into her, arms thrown around her neck. “Alora!”
“By the gods!” She stumbled back, laughing as a familiar face clung to her tightly. “Theia?”
“You’re here!” Theia pulled back, her warm brown eyes shining with tears.
She was tall and striking, her skin a deep umber, warm as dusk at day’s end. Black coils fell around her shoulders in gleaming waves, threaded with gold. A silver seahorse brooch glittered at her collar, bearing the symbol of her noble House.
“I thought I would faint when I heard the Princess of Argyle has at last returned.”
Alora took her in, stunned. “You look… like a princess yourself.”
A shy flush colored Theia’s dusky skin. “Hardly.”
House Alder was of low nobility, with no real standing in the way of court, but when they had sent their daughter to the castle to become one of Alora’s ladies in waiting, she and Theia had found kinship right away. At last, fortune had been kind to her family.
“The king bestowed upon my father the title of a Duke when he named him Warden of the Seas,” Theia said timidly. “A reward for his loyalty and service.”
Alora raised her brows, smiling wide. “Lord Admiral of Argyle’s fleet! A high honor. Which I have no doubt was well earned. And now you have become a fine court lady like the ones we to play tricks on when we were children.”
“I think you mean you and Caelum.”
“Speaking of, where is he? Did he ever become a knight as he’d hoped?”
Theia fidgeted with her sleeve. “Yes, of course. As son of the Commander of the King’s Armies, it’s expected of him. He stands to take his father’s place one day.”
She glanced down at Alora’s plain skirts, humble and filthy compared to her gold gown.
“How have you been?” Theia asked softly. “I wrote to you … but I received no reply.”
Because Alora had never received any letters.
“Didn’t you know? Post in the Midlands should be sent by enchanted ravens made of smoke or your letters may be tucked away in walnuts and tossed in a rain pool.
” Alora teased but she could guess why she never received them.
Their smiles wavered, and she hugged her friend tightly again, inhaling her soft scent of daffodils “I missed you.”
“I missed you more,” Theia whispered. “I am sorry about your brother.”
“You heard?”
Theia pulled away, nodding with a sigh. “The whole kingdom has. His funeral was a grand thing to behold.”
Alora turned away to look out of the window to the kingdom outside. The setting sun burnished the buildings in deep auburn hues.
She didn’t blame Rhian for the life she had lived. She mourned the one she had never been allowed to share with him.
“How… how did it happen? When?”
“Illness took him a week past. He … went in his sleep.”
Good.
Then her brother didn’t suffer.
“It feels strange to come back like this,” Alora murmured.
“Everything’s strange lately,” Theia said, moving to stand beside her. “There’s been… unrest.”
The word was said carefully, drawing her attention.
“Argyle is not the same as you remember it, Alora. It’s changed…”
She faced her, trying to read her expression. “What do you mean?”
Theia bit her lip, like she had said more than she meant to. “I think it’s best I leave politics for the king to explain…”
The mention of her father made her stomach hurt.
Then Alora noticed the gold ring on Theia’s finger and she gasped loudly. “By the gods, look at this diamond, it’s almost as big as my head. Has Theia found herself a husband? Who, pray tell, has stolen my dear friend’s heart?”
Theia reddened, laughing nervously. “Um, well, we are courting at the moment… but it’s an arrangement between our families. We had no choice in the matter.”
Alora frowned at her teasingly. “Do you not like this man? Is he ugly and unbecoming? I must know.”
“Stop it,” Theia swatted her, but wouldn’t meet her gaze. “Go on and wash up. I was sent to help you dress for dinner. Your father is waiting for you in the dining hall.”
“Don’t think I will let this go,” Alora laughed as her friend pushed her toward the washroom. “You’re deflecting.”
“Says she who is stalling. We both know you don’t want to go down there.”
Alora paused on the threshold of the washroom, her smile fading. “I…don’t know what he wants to say …but why do I feel it will be worse than sending me away?”
Theia fell quiet behind her and Alora knew she was right.
“Well, if I am to suffer through it then you simply must tell me about this mysterious man you’re to suffer to marry.”
Theia groaned and rubbed her temples. “The Seven spare me.”
Alora cracked a smile. “Is he that awful?”
“No, he’s… wonderful.” Their sighed. “But it’s certainly no love match. I don’t even know what love is or if I even care to. I never wanted to get married. I dreamed of going on adventures and … writing about them.”
Alora smile faded at the sadness in her friends’ eyes and took her hand. “Oh, my sweet dreamer.”
Taking a deep breath, Theia rolled her eyes as if her feelings on the matter were foolish. “How unfortunate that we were born women, with little power over our fate.”
The statement stirred unease in Alora’s chest.
With glaring clarity, she realized that was true. She had little control over anything
Then Theia called in the new ladies-in-waiting.
They helped strip off Alora’s old peasant dress, promptly tossing it into the hearth. She was ushered into the waiting bath full of soap suds and sweet-smelling oils. While they washed her hair then helped her into a silken blue gown, Alora contemplated how her life would change now.
She stared at herself in the mirror, a tiara now sitting on her head. The fine fabric felt strange and heavy on her skin. She hadn’t been a princess for a long time. The title didn’t seem to fit her anymore.
It was suffocating and the urge to wish for escape tangled in her chest.
Alora glanced at the windows. Twilight had arrived, painting the sky in hues of pink and purple. In the distance rose a veiled peak.
“Do you remember the song about the shadow in the mountains?” she murmured.
Theia blinked at her and chuckled nervously.
She sent away her ladies and picked up a hairbrush made of ivory with soft bristles.
Taking locks of Alora’s golden-brown hair, she gently ran the brush through it.
“That’s merely a superstitious tale to keep the foolish from wandering too far. Odd that you should bring that up now.”
It was odd, but Alora couldn’t get the song out of her head. “I had been curious about it recently. I remember you were a keen one for reading of tales both of history and folklore. What do you know of Karag D?r?”
“Well, legends claim the mountain was once a sanctuary for fallen gods,” Theia smiled, letting her voice lower to a mysterious pitch.
“Some say a gate into the realm of shadows lies beneath the mountain’s root, a one-way door to the underworld.
And that he who roams there is but a shadowless form, devouring all those who dare to draw near.
The song is meant to warn most to stay away from the slopes of Karag D?r, or perhaps to lure those curious enough to venture into the dark. ”
A tremor curled down Alora’s spine. She forced a laugh. “You must find these ridiculous tales enthralling.”
Theia pinned up Alora’s hair, fastening it in place with the jeweled headpiece Lady Zinnia had gifted her. “What are stories if not enthralling tales woven from dreams?”
The grand dining hall was quiet.
The vaulted ceiling loomed high above, ribbed with aged beams carved to resemble curling vines.
Faded murals stretched across the walls displaying glories of Argyle’s past, their gilded edges dulled by time.
Tall, narrow windows framed the dying sunset, casting amber light across the long table that stretched nearly the length of the chamber.
And was only set for two.
“Daughter,” King Laurent greeted her softly. He motioned for her to come forward. “Come join me.”
Alora sat across from him, close to the hearth. The fire crackled gently, throwing flickers of embers across the flagstone floor. Shadows clung to the far corners of the room, as if they were silent observers of a reunion long overdue.
Servants moved with quiet efficiency, laying out dishes with silver-tipped utensils.
“I had the kitchen prepare all of your old favorites,” her father said.
Alora looked over platters of roast meat glazed with herbs and carrots, wild mushrooms sautéed in butter, a braided loaf of fig bread glistening with honey, and pastries layered with vanilla custard and strawberries. Everything she enjoyed as a girl.
Warm, comforting scents rose from the platters, but Alora could barely stomach more than a few bites. Her throat tightened. Every clink of a spoon or shifting plate echoed too loudly in the quiet beneath her father’s gaze.
He poured her a glass of cider. “Do you still like apples?”
Alora smiled, the tension easing. “I do.”
His smile brightened in return.
For a little while, they talked of past memories.
He spoke about the time she had used apples to lure out horses from the barn to ride in secret instead of studying.
She reminded him how he used to tuck her into bed with a story each night, and he laughed at how she always asked for one more to avoid sleeping.