The forest breathed with ancient silence.
Not the cold, empty silence of loneliness… but one full of watching eyes, rustling leaves, and the soft thrum of life hidden beneath moss and bark.
Elira walked barefoot across damp earth, her skirts gathered in one hand, the other holding a small knife she'd sharpened herself. The cottage behind her—King Thalion's grandmother's long-forgotten home—sat tucked between thick pine trees and a winding creek, cloaked in ferns and shadows. It had become her prison… and her refuge.
She had been here for six weeks.
Six weeks of waking to birdsong instead of bells. Of learning how to boil root tea and gather mushrooms that didn't kill. Of pressing her ear to the soil and listening, truly listening.
The silence no longer frightened her.
But the solitude still hurt.
---
Traces of the King
Some nights, she dreamed of Thalion.
Not the cold ruler the court knew, but the man who used to trace the length of her spine while she slept. The man who laughed—really laughed—when she teased him in the bath chambers. The man who kissed her wrists like they were sacred.
He had not abandoned her.
At least… not completely.
He came once every ten days, cloaked and hooded, bringing food, letters, warm bread, blankets stitched by her former ladies-in-waiting. He could not stay long, and he never touched her without trembling. But his eyes—those burning gold eyes—spoke of torment.
"I had no choice," he whispered once, forehead against hers.
"I know," she whispered back.
And she did.
But knowing didn't ease the ache.
---
Magic in the Quiet
Elira knelt beside the creek now, washing herbs. Her powers—those that had damned her—buzzed faintly beneath her skin.
Truthseeing.
Compulsion.
Dreamwalking.
They whispered to her sometimes in the stillness.
The truth was that she could feel her child growing—too small to be seen, but very real to her mind. A flicker of thought, a new heartbeat echoing in the edges of her psyche. It soothed her when the silence became unbearable.
She didn't use her magic, not truly. But she didn't suppress it either. In the forest, it flowed freely in the air, in the dirt, in the bones of trees older than time.
> She belonged here.
Not as a queen.
Not as a prisoner.
But as something more ancient.
---
A Visitor in the Dark
That night, she heard the owl call twice—then pause. A signal.
She lit the lantern by the window. A moment later, the door opened.
Thalion stood in the doorway, soaked in rain, the scent of war and roses on his cloak. Elira didn't speak. She stepped forward, and he wrapped his arms around her, resting his forehead against her crown.
"Are you well?" he asked softly.
"I miss firelight. I miss glass. I miss the sky without branches in the way," she said truthfully. Then added, "But I am alive."
He pulled back and studied her. "You've lost weight."
"You've lost sleep."
They smiled at each other like strangers pretending not to be lovers.
And then she stepped aside, and he entered the cottage, where time would stop for just one night.
The cottage was small—barely enough space for the hearth, a table, and a bed of woven reeds and pelts. But to Elira, it had become a temple.
Thalion sat by the hearth, his armor removed, his cloak hung by the door, watching her move through the room like a ghost cloaked in dusklight. She had changed.
Not in beauty—no, that remained untouched, but in weight. Not of body, but of spirit. Her gaze had grown quieter. Her steps more grounded. The forest had not broken her. It had carved her into something fiercer, older… elemental.
"Elira," he murmured, not just her name but a prayer. "You are still… more than I remember."
"And you," she said softly, pouring him tea from the herbs she gathered that morning, "look like a man who is drowning in a kingdom made of sand."
Thalion chuckled—dryly. "You see too much."
"I always have."
They sat across from each other, firelight casting shadows across their faces. Her belly was still flat, her pregnancy not yet visible—but her magic had already sensed the shift. The child hummed faintly at the edge of her thoughts, a beacon of quiet hope.
Thalion didn't know.
She hadn't told him.
Not yet.
---
What Was Lost, What Was Owed
"Do they still speak of me?" she asked, not meeting his gaze.
He didn't answer right away. Then: "Every day. They call you witch. Demon. Deceiver."
"And you?"
"I call you my wife."
Her throat closed.
He reached across the table, taking her hand. His was calloused, hers warm from the mug she held. Their fingers twined in silence.
"Do you regret it?" she asked. "Saving me. Hiding me."
"I regret not burning the court to ash the moment they turned on you."
That made her smile. Small. Honest.
"You've always had a gift for dramatics," she teased, setting the cup down.
"And you've always had a gift for softening monsters."
---
Nightfall and Hearts Laid Bare
Later, as the wind howled outside and firewood cracked in the hearth, Thalion laid beside her on the small bed, boots off, tunic unbuttoned.
Elira curled into his side.
There was no need for words.
No need to explain the ache in her bones or the restlessness in her magic. He understood, and she understood him. The silence between them was no longer lonely—it was sacred.
"You could run," he said quietly, brushing her hair back.
"I could."
"I wouldn't stop you."
"I know."
She turned her face into his chest. "But I won't. Not until it's safe to come home. Not until they understand that what they fear… saved them more times than they know."
He held her tighter then.
---
A Glimpse into Dreams
That night, Elira slipped into sleep with her fingers on Thalion's wrist.
Her magic stirred.
Not summoned. Not forced.
It drifted from her naturally, as it had always done. Into dreams.
In her mind, she stood beneath the tree where she first kissed Thalion after their wedding—its leaves glowing silver in the moonlight. She saw the people of the kingdom, faces twisted with fear and guilt. She saw flames licking the edge of the land.
And then… she saw herself.
Cloaked in white. Crownless, barefoot, blood on her hands and a child in her arms—standing in front of the palace gates, facing an army.
Her heart thundered.
> It was not just a dream.
It was a glimpse.
A warning.
She awoke with a start—Thalion still beside her, fast asleep.
Her hand instinctively moved to her belly.
> "You are not alone," she whispered.
"You are coming… and you will be powerful."
The next morning, Thalion was gone.
He had left her a simple token—a wolf-shaped pendant carved from darkwood—and a note burned into a piece of bark:
> "You are not forgotten.
When you are ready, so am I.
—T."
Elira held it in her hand, wind catching her unbraided hair. She stared out into the trees, heart clenched.
He always left before she could say goodbye.
Perhaps it was easier that way.
She tucked the pendant into the folds of her cloak and turned toward the woods, spear in hand. There was hunting to do. Roots to gather. Mushrooms to sort. Her stomach had been turning each morning, nausea clinging to her in waves, but she pushed through it. She had survived betrayal, banishment, slander.
Pregnancy would not undo her.
---
The Mindbound Magic Awakens
That afternoon, while collecting water by the spring, Elira paused.
Her fingers trembled just above the surface, and then—
> The water moved.
Not from wind.
Not from touch.
From thought.
She gasped. Her magic, long suppressed to survive the court's cruelty, had found her again—stronger, unshackled.
She focused.
The water shimmered, rising into a globe above her palm. She guided it with a thought, watching droplets twist and form into a delicate crown that hovered before her face.
Then it fell, splashing against her tunic.
Elira smiled.
> "I'm still hers," she whispered. "The Queen's Gift never left me. It only waited."
Her mind thrummed. For the first time in weeks, she didn't feel alone.
---
Voices in the Trees
That night, by the firelight in her cottage, Elira closed her eyes.
She reached out—not with hands, but with thought.
With Mindbound magic.
And the forest answered.
The animals were not afraid of her. The trees hummed with whispers only she could hear. And deeper still, beneath moss and soil, a power older than language stirred. It did not speak in words—it spoke in feeling.
And what it felt was warning.
A sharp crack echoed in her thoughts—a vision of the kingdom.
Blood.
Crows circling.
A scream echoing through the corridors of the palace.
Thalion's scream.
Elira's eyes snapped open, sweat beading on her brow.
> "It's coming," she whispered, breath shaky.
"The danger… it's closer than I thought."
She placed both hands on her belly.
"I will not let it reach you. Not while I draw breath."
---
The Naming
The next morning, while tending to herbs, she found herself whispering names aloud.
Not names of kings or nobles.
Names that came in dreams.
> "Serian…"
"Althea…"
"Noor…"
She didn't know if she would have a son or daughter. But somehow… the name didn't matter yet. What mattered was protection.
The child growing inside her—barely a flutter yet—would one day walk the halls she was exiled from. Not in shame. But in power.
Not just because of who their father was.
But because of who she was.
> Elira of the Mindbound Line.
First of her name.
Exiled Queen.
Bearer of Truth and Flame.
And soon…
> Mother of Reckoning.