Chapter 9: Whispers Beneath the Crown
The palace was no longer silent.
Servants spoke in hushed tones. Courtiers lingered in corridors they once passed through without pause. The girl from the forest—barefoot, white-haired, dressed in silks—was becoming a story. And stories, in Thalion's court, were dangerous.
Alaida felt it.
The way eyes followed her. The way doors closed just before she reached them. The way her name was never spoken aloud, only mouthed like a secret.
She wandered the garden again, seeking the comfort of silver leaves and forgotten fountains. But even there, the air felt different. Watched.
Thalion summoned her that evening.
She entered the throne hall, its vastness swallowing her steps. He sat on the golden seat carved with lions, his cloak draped like a mantle of fire.
"You've unsettled them," he said.
Alaida bowed her head. "I didn't mean to."
"They think you're a spell."
She looked up. "Am I?"
Thalion's gaze was sharp. "You are something I didn't choose. And that frightens them."
Alaida stepped closer. "Does it frighten you?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he rose, descending the steps of the throne until they stood face to face. His height towered over her, but his silence no longer did.
"I dreamed of you," he said.
Alaida's breath caught.
"You were standing in the forest," he continued. "But the trees bowed to you. And I… I couldn't move."
Alaida reached for his hand, slowly, gently.
"Then maybe," she whispered, "I'm not a spell."
Thalion's fingers curled around hers.
"Maybe," he said, voice low, "you're the truth I buried."