14
The castle felt different now.
To Lyra, it felt bigger—not in size, but in noise. Servants walked faster. Doors closed quieter. Some smiled too brightly when they passed her in the hall, others didn’t smile at all.
But Lyra didn’t mind.
She had her own bedroom. Her own telescope. Her own hidden corner in the garden where she fed birds with crumbs from breakfast rolls.
And now… she had him.
“Faster, Daddy!” she giggled as Rylan hoisted her onto his shoulders and jogged across the courtyard. Her laughter echoed off the stone walls as guards tried not to stare too obviously.
Evanna watched from a shaded bench, heart full and aching at once. Rylan was trying—truly trying—to be a father. To give Lyra more than protection. To give her presence.
And for now, that was enough.
But the quiet couldn’t last.
Not in Ashmoor.
By nightfall, three letters had arrived.
Each one stamped with the seal of a different highblood house. Each one colder than the last.
The first questioned Lyra’s birth records.
The second requested Evanna’s "lineage documentation."
The third... offered a match between Rylan and a noblewoman in exchange for "stability."
Rylan read all three in silence.
Then burned them.
But Evanna saw the tension return to his jaw. The distance slip back behind his shoulders.
The throne didn’t forget who you were—just because you remembered who you loved.
That evening, Lyra wandered the west wing alone. Her fox tucked under her arm, her bare feet making soft sounds on the carpeted stone.
She had gone looking for the mirror room — the one with the tall windows and painted ceiling where light danced like stars.
But she’d turned down the wrong hall.
And this one… felt wrong.
Colder.
She paused.
A faint voice floated from behind one of the closed doors. A man’s voice. Sharp. Whispering.
“… too much power in that bloodline… she’s already showing signs…”
Another voice answered, older, more bitter. “The child is a threat. So is her mother. If the king won't act, others must.”
Lyra’s breath hitched.
She stepped back—too fast—and her foot caught the edge of a carpet. A vase near the door rattled slightly.
Silence.
Footsteps moved inside.
Lyra ran.
Back in her bedroom, she dove under the blanket and hugged her fox tightly. Her heart thumped like a drum in her ears.
She didn’t know who the men were.
She didn’t understand all the words.
But one thing was clear:
They didn’t want her here.
The next morning, Evanna found her daughter curled up in the reading nook, eyes darker than usual.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
Lyra looked up, her voice barely a whisper. “If someone wanted to make me go away… would you let them?”
Evanna froze.
Then knelt in front of her, hands on her cheeks. “Never, Lyra. Never, ever.”
“Even if they’re in charge?”
Evanna’s voice cracked. “Then I’d stop them. I’d protect you with everything I have.”
Lyra stared at her a long moment.
Then whispered, “Okay.”
But Evanna saw it.
Something had changed.
Her daughter wasn’t just dreaming anymore.
She was watching.