His smile sharpens.
“Then what I am about to ask you next, my sweet,” he says, his voice taking on a deeper resonance, “I hope it is something you will want just as much as I do.”
Unease stirs in me, though I keep my expression calm.
My mind races through possibilities: another task, another lesson, another piece of his endless strategy. From his desk, he retrieves a folded parchment sealed with his unmistakable crest. Without a word, he extends it toward me, his eyes holding mine with quiet expectation.
I take the paper, my fingers brushing against the embossed wax. The weight of the moment presses down on me as I break the seal and unfold the parchment. The elegant script leaps off the page:
With the Blessing of the Divine, Sovereign of the Kingdom of Astral, I, King Clyde, do hereby extend to you, our noble subject, an invitation of great joy and importance. It is with the deepest pride and the utmost reverence that I announce the forthcoming union of my beloved daughter, Princess Lailah of Astral, with Lord Jason of Alystan, son of the esteemed House of Striden.
The words blur as my pulse quickens, the full weight of their meaning settling over me.
“Marriage,” I whisper, the word barely audible, as though speaking it aloud might make it more real.
Clyde steps closer, his voice quiet but firm. “Yes. Jason of Alystan. The son of Lord Striden.”
He turns then, moving toward the far wall where the map of Astral is pinned between two brass rods. Candlelight casts flickering shadows across its surface—the jagged mountains of Arinstor, the winding rivers, the clustered cities marked in crimson ink.
I know this map well. I used to study it endlessly, searching for places I’d never see. But now, with Clyde’s words still echoing in my mind, the map feels like something else entirely—a battlefield held together by threads ready to snap.
Only three human lords remain now—one in the Riverlands, another in the Striden Territory, and the last in Emberwich. They are the remnants of a fractured people, tolerated more than trusted, allowed to govern only so long as their obedience remains absolute. Their borders act as fragile seams holding Astral together, lines not guarded by loyalty, but by fear. Fear of what Clyde would do should they waver.
And far to the south, nestled deep within the mountains of Arinstor, there are whispers of a king who crowned himself with stones plucked from the bones of a dead kingdom. They say he lives among jeweled caverns and halls of crystal, surrounded by riches beyond imagination—hoarding gold, ghosts, and grievances atop his frozen throne. A mad king, some call him—not because he marches, but because he stays. Content to rot in opulence. Content to speak only to his stones.
My eyes drift toward the northern edge of the map, where the ruins of Castle Astelis are marked with a faded ink star—barely more than a smudge on parchment, as if time itself tried to forget it. A knot coils in my stomach, slow and sickening. The shame is instant and searing, wrapping its fingers around my chest, clawing higher until it presses against my throat. That place is ash now. A ghost. And yet, it’s where my story began—where magic first tore through flesh and blood, where a child’s scream turned a kingdom to dust.
I don’t remember it. But it haunts me just the same.
My breath catches, something like grief stirring inside me before I can lock it down. Clyde steps forward, his silhouette severing the map in two, casting Castle Astelis into shadow. As if he knows. As if he’s always known.
“Eyes on the living, Lailah,” he says, his voice a blade wrapped in velvet. “You’ll be standing beside Jason soon enough.”
Jason.
The name strikes something deep within me, stirring a flood of memories I can’t suppress. His deep laughter, the way his warm brown eyes would light up when we debated over ancient texts in the library. The way he used to look at me, as if I were more than a weapon, more than a witch. We met when Clyde issued the summons, opening Duskmere’s gates to the noble houses of men, cloaking his ambition beneath the veil of unity. Even then, Jason stood apart—steady, inquisitive, his gaze never flinching from mine.
My voice is barely above a whisper. “Jason…”
“Yes,” Clyde continues, his tone measured, as though allowing me a moment to absorb the news. “He is loyal. Strong. A man of honor and conviction. He will not only ensure your happiness but solidify the kingdom’s strength. I have chosen himcarefully, my sweet, just as I have chosen every step of your path.”
I know he believes this. To him, this isn’t just an arrangement; it’s another piece of his carefully crafted strategy, another move in the endless game of power. And yet, there’s something softer in his tone, something almost tender.
“This union is for the kingdom,” he says, his words laden with purpose. He pauses, letting the silence stretch before continuing, “but it is also for you.”
Another pause. His gaze lingers on me, searching, measuring.
“Jason has loved you for years, Lailah,” he continues. “Just as I believe you once cared for him.” A beat passes. “Perhaps you still do.”
The words strike deeper than I expect, and I struggle to find my voice. The boy I once knew, full of dreams and unshakable determination.The way he made me feel less alone in a world that has always feared me.
The question slips out before I can stop myself.
“Is that why he’s here?”
My father’s brow lifts, just slightly, the faintest hint of amusement touching his features.
“You are as perceptive as ever,” he says, his tone smooth, almost indulgent. “And here I thought I’d managed to keep that particular detail from you.”
