Days passed.
To the others, Elle was simply recovering from heartbreak and spending her time in quiet study. The second prince's former fiancée had always been quiet, a little strange — and after the engagement fell through, it made sense that she'd retreat even further into her books. That was the version the world saw. Neatly tragic. Easy to pity. Easy to forget.
But within the walls of her private chamber and the ancient library nestled in the oldest wing of the estate, something far more profound was unfolding.
"Again," Faye instructed, her voice cutting through the air like glass over stone. "Clear your mind. Push your spirit outward, not inward."
Elle sat cross-legged at the center of a rune-inscribed circle, the chalk lines glowing faintly in shades of silver and indigo. The runes pulsed softly with old magic — not magic she could wield, but magic she could borrow. Her fingers trembled as she extended her will, reaching toward something that didn't quite exist in this realm. It felt like trying to scream underwater — unseen, unheard, silenced.
"I can't feel anything," she whispered, frustration crackling at the edges of her voice.
"You're not supposed to," Faye replied calmly, her tone utterly unbothered. "The spirits aren't pets. They don't come when called like hounds. You don't summon them. You challenge them."
Elle pressed her palms into her knees, digging her nails into the fabric of her skirt. "But if I can't even feel their presence—"
"Good," Faye cut in. "That means they're watching."
Elle looked up, startled.
Faye smiled, folding her arms across her chest. "Spirits are prideful. They don't make their interest known until they're sure you're worth their time. They observe first. They test your patience. Then your pain. And if you endure that…" She stepped closer and knelt just outside the circle, eyes narrowed. "They offer a test of your truth."
"My truth?" Elle asked, voice barely above a breath.
Faye nodded once. "Not what you say. What you carry. What you bleed for."
---
Later that day, Elle stepped out into the snow-covered garden, needing space to breathe. The chill in the air didn't bite as it once had. Snow fell softly, blanketing the ground and branches in a gentle hush. Everything was quiet — beautifully still.
The snow lilies had bloomed early this year. Tiny white petals dusted with frost peeked up from beneath the hedges. Their scent was faint, but it lingered in the air, laced with memory.
Elle trailed her fingers along one of the petals. Her mother used to pluck these each year and dry them in silk sachets for her wardrobe drawers. She remembered watching her do it, legs swinging from a chair too tall for her at the time. That warmth came back to her now — slow and aching.
Nearby, she spotted movement — Nara, the head cook, scolding a young maid who had dropped a tray of empty tea cups on the cobblestones.
"Oh, Lady Elodie!" Nara gasped when she noticed her. "Forgive me, I didn't expect you out here. Should I prepare your favorite rose tea? The one with cinnamon bark?"
Elle smiled gently. "If it's not too much trouble."
The young maid bowed so deeply it looked painful, and Elle startled her by kneeling to help pick up the cups.
"No need to panic," she said softly. "I dropped things more often than I care to admit when I was younger. I broke one of Father's vases once and tried to hide it behind a curtain for a week."
Nara's eyes widened, and then she chuckled. "You were a quiet terror, weren't you?"
Elle smiled, brushing the snow from her skirts. "I think I was just lost."
"You seem different now," Nara observed, her tone softer. "You're... warmer than before."
Elle looked away, hiding the ache in her chest. No, she thought. I was just colder back then. Too afraid to feel.
---
That evening, she returned to her room to find it already occupied.
Her twin brothers had somehow picked the lock again. Elijah lounged on her window seat, legs up on the frame like he owned the place. Eleazar was thumbing through one of her spirit theory tomes, squinting at the archaic text like it had personally insulted him.
"Still hiding in books?" Elijah teased, raising an eyebrow. "You're acting suspicious lately. You didn't even come down for breakfast. Are you secretly plotting to join a wandering mage cult?"
"Or writing love letters to the prince of a foreign land," Eleazar added, flipping the page upside down. "Preferably one with less snow."
Elle shut the door behind her with a thud and rolled her eyes. "Yes. I've decided to run away and marry a desert emperor with fifty concubines. We'll raise camels and argue about sand."
Both brothers blinked.
Then they burst into laughter.
She didn't laugh — but the warmth their presence brought settled like a blanket over her shoulders.
"Give me that," she said, taking the book from Eleazar's hands and gently smoothing out the crumpled pages. "You're creasing the spine."
"Still such a tyrant," Elijah muttered.
Moments later, their mother entered, holding a thick wool shawl embroidered with the Cecilia crest.
"It's cold, dear," Marielle said, walking over with quiet grace. "Don't sit near the windows so long. You'll get sick again."
Elle took the shawl, touched by the familiar act. "Thank you, Mother."
Marielle's gaze lingered. Their eyes met — and in her mother's, Elle saw it: worry. Faint but deep. Marielle always saw more than others. She had the kind of heart that felt things before words were spoken.
But she said nothing. Simply placed the shawl around Elle's shoulders and kissed her forehead. The touch was light, but grounding.
Nigel arrived shortly after, snow still clinging to the hem of his cloak.
"You look livelier than usual," he remarked, removing his gloves. "Your studies are helping?"
Elle nodded. "Yes. More than I expected."
He smiled faintly. "Then I made the right choice hiring Faye early."
She said nothing more — but that night, as the household settled into its rhythm, Elle returned to her private chamber.
The runes on the floor still glowed faintly.
Faye was gone for the evening, leaving behind a stack of translated scrolls and a strange, rune-etched crystal sealed in a box.
Elle opened the window and stepped onto the balcony. The stars above were blinding in their clarity. The wind nipped at her hair, whispering secrets she couldn't yet understand.
She closed her eyes.
The spirits had not appeared. There had been no voice. No image. No crack of power.
But she could feel it now. A presence. Distant, flickering — like a flame trapped beneath ice. Something was watching.
And that was enough for today.
She reached up and touched the amulet she had begun wearing — an old family relic with no known magical properties. But it had once belonged to her grandmother, who died the year Elle was born. Faye believed it might be significant. Elle believed it might be more than memory.
"I will earn your power," she whispered to the wind. "I won't lose them again."
Her breath clouded in the cold, then vanished.
Inside, the runes pulsed once — brighter than before.
And from the dark edges of her spirit, something stirred.