Lyra's words hung in the candlelit room like smoke. The warmth from the pastries they'd shared had faded, replaced by a chill that crawled up Aurelia's spine.
"The king …" Lyra began softly, her voice barely a whisper, "was not born of royal blood."
Aurelia turned to her, her eyes wide. "What do you mean?"
"The previous king....King Alden....had a son. Prince Caledon," Lyra said, glancing toward the door as if shadows might be listening. "His mother was Queen Isolde, the younger sister of Lady Miranda. But after the queen's sudden death, the prince vanished. Some say he was taken, others say he ran away. No one truly knows. The search lasted for a few months—then suddenly ended."
Aurelia's chest tightened. "And then?"
Lyra swallowed. "Then the king adopted a boy—a young boy from nowhere, they said. A prodigy with silver eyes and charm enough to make even councilmen obey and his fighting skills impressed the king. His name was Malion."
The name rolled coldly between them.
