Chapter 5: The Moon in the Marble
The chamber was too large.
Alaida stood in the center, wrapped in silks that shimmered like frost. The walls were carved with lions—some roaring, some sleeping, some crowned. A fire burned low in the hearth, casting golden shadows across the marble floor.
She didn't know how to sleep in a bed so soft.
She curled beneath the covers, her white lashes brushing the pillow, her hair fanned out like spilled light. The silence pressed against her ears. No wind. No owls. No forest.
She missed the ache of roots beneath her feet. The scent of moss. The way the stars peeked through branches like shy gods.
She closed her eyes.
And dreamed.
---
She was small again, running through the trees. Her mother's voice echoed like birdsong, her father's laughter like thunder softened by leaves. They were gathering herbs. She was chasing fireflies.
Then the fire came.
Then the silence.
---
Alaida woke with tears on her cheeks.
She sat up, heart aching, and whispered a prayer to the forest gods—if they still listened. Her voice was soft, barely audible.
"Let me be more than prey."
Outside her chamber, Thalion stood in the corridor, arms folded, gaze fixed on the door.
He hadn't meant to linger.
But something in her silence called to him.
Not as a king.
Not as a hunter.
As a man who had forgotten how to feel.