The palace had always been too bright for Kael.Gold ceilings, white marble, glass polished until it blinded. A perfect place to forget the smell of burning wood.Yet lately, every reflection showed her face.
He told himself it was guilt. Saints forgive; princes rule. That was how the story was supposed to end.
Still, he woke before dawn drenched in sweat, hearing a name he had not spoken in years.Elira.
A candle had guttered out beside his bed, leaving a wisp of smoke that twisted like a hand reaching for him. He pushed the memory away and stood, dragging a cloak over his shoulders. The night air bit against his skin—sharp, honest.
The guards at the door straightened. "Your Highness?"
"Ready my horse. No attendants."
They hesitated only a moment before obeying.
-
The ride to Everfell took two hours. Mist clung to the trees like breath on glass. By the time the first light broke through, the estate appeared ahead—black spires against a pale sky. Too quiet. Too still.
Kael dismounted alone. A servant recognized the royal crest and ran to summon the Duke. The man greeted him with forced warmth, bowing deeply.
"Your Highness honors us again," said Duke Alaric Dorne. His voice was smooth, but his eyes flicked toward the east wing. "May I ask what brings you?"
"Inspection," Kael replied. "And unfinished business."
The Duke paled slightly but said nothing more.
They met in the courtyard where frost still clung to the statues. Seraphina stood waiting, black gown trailing like spilled ink. She looked carved from the same stone as the manor itself—cold, unyielding, beautiful in the way storms are.
"Your Highness," she said, curtsying with flawless grace. "I hope Everfell has not grown dull in your absence."
He studied her face. The same eyes, the same mouth… and yet not. She carried herself differently now, lighter somehow, as if gravity itself feared to touch her.
"Lady Dorne," he managed. "I came to ensure the priests finished their work."
"Oh, they did," she said. "They prayed over the walls and blessed the dust. I suppose the ghosts are satisfied."
Her words had teeth. He almost smiled.
"I've heard stories," he said. "Strange lights. Whispers in the halls."
"Superstition," she said lightly. "Everfell likes to talk."
They walked beneath the gallery arches, the air smelling faintly of iron and cedar. Kael found himself glancing at the mirrors lining the corridor. Each reflected them clearly—until they passed the last one. For an instant, only her reflection remained.
He stopped. "What trick is this?"
"No trick," she said without looking back. "Perhaps the mirror prefers me."
When she turned, the pendant around her neck caught the morning sun. He recognized it instantly—the same one he had sent her, the same one he had once clasped around the Saint's throat before ordering her to burn.
Kael reached out before he could think. His fingers brushed the gem.
Blue light flared.
The world vanished.
-
He stood on the steps of the old cathedral, but the sky was wrong—too red, too close. Bells screamed instead of ringing. Below him, a crowd roared Saint! Saint! Saint!
And she was there. Elira. Kneeling, bound, light pouring from her eyes as the flames rose.
"Kael," she whispered. "Do you still dream?"
The fire swallowed her voice.
Then she was gone.
-
He stumbled back, gasping. The courtyard returned. Seraphina caught his arm before he fell.
"Careful, Your Highness. The ground remembers, even when we don't."
"What did you do to me?" His voice was raw.
She released him. "Nothing you didn't begin."
He stared at the pendant, still faintly glowing between them. The light pulsed once—his heartbeat, or hers, he couldn't tell.
"I saw her," he said. "I saw Elira."
A small smile touched her lips, sharp as a blade. "Then you remember what you took from me."
Her words cut deeper than he expected. "Who are you?"
She stepped closer until he could smell the faint trace of smoke in her hair. "A consequence."
The word hung between them like a curse.
He left soon after, the Duke's protests chasing him down the hall. Outside, the mist had thickened. His horse stamped and snorted, uneasy.
Kael mounted but didn't move. Behind him, Everfell loomed—silent, watchful.
When he touched his chest, the spot beneath his armor burned faintly, shaped like the same sigil that had flared on her skin.
He whispered, "Elira…"
The wind carried back a single answer, soft and feminine, from somewhere deep within the estate.Remember.