Ever since the news of Iridessa's pregnancy spread, hopeful eyes followed her wherever she went. In the streets, whispers clung to her name—soft, almost prayerful. A villager, unable to hold back her reverence, sent a small gift: a handmade cloth, embroidered with trembling care, meant for the child to come.
But the present never reached Iridessa. Magnus, on his mother's command, seized it and tore it in his hands.
The sender was fished out—a teenage girl. She was dragged from her home, her parents beaten as they begged on their knees for her life. Their wails echoed through the village streets until they reached the gates of the palace, where they and a crowd of villagers gathered, desperate.
Inside the courtyard, the girl was flung to the ground before Magnus.
"She wished harm upon my wife," he declared, voice sharp, eyes burning with jealousy.
But the truth lay bare: he could not stomach the villagers' love for Iridessa, their whispers of hope, their glances that weighed him against her and found him lacking.
"No—please, no!" Iridessa cried, dropping to her knees, pleading with her husband. Tears streamed, her voice breaking as she begged. Miri clung to her arm, whispering frantically for her to stay calm.
But Isadora stood watching, satisfaction glittering in her eyes.
The girl was tied and beaten until her skin split, her blood painting the stone. Her cries grew weaker, her body limp, until she was barely breathing.
Outside the palace gate, her parents and the gathered villagers wept bitterly, their grief shaking the walls.
The lords stood present, but not one dared to interfere.
At last, the girl was dragged away, half-dead, locked up in a dark cell.
Magnus, his chest heaving, turned to the gate. He bellowed with all the fury of a wounded beast.
"Your loyalty is to me! To your king—none else! Whoever dares raise another above me will share the same fate—or worse!"
The palace slaves trembled. The maids lowered their heads, silent tears staining their cheeks.
When Iridessa tried to follow the girl, Magnus ordered her seized. She was dragged back to her chambers, more guards placed at her door. Just before she disappeared inside, her eyes caught Lord Hale's across the court. His expression told her everything—this was only the beginning.
That night, as the lords departed, a few lingered. Lord Hale, Lord Fenn, and others whispered gravely among themselves.
"This is madness," one said.
"Worse than madness," Hale answered, his face like stone. "Only the heavens can save us now."
-
In her chambers, Iridessa wept until her chest ached. The girl's screams still rang in her ears. King Rael's final words returned to her: Swear to me you will hold this kingdom together. But how?
Miri pressed a cup of water into her hand, but Iridessa pushed it away. "That child suffers because of me," she whispered. "I cannot sit idle."
Miri fell to her knees, clutching her arm, sobbing. "Please, my lady, do not do anything reckless. Think of the child you carry—please, think of the child."
Iridessa placed her hand over her swollen belly. For a moment, hesitation gripped her. But just as quickly, she shook her head.
"No. If there is to be change, it must begin now."
She rose to her feet, resolve burning in her eyes. She began pacing, whispering to herself, searching for a plan. Miri buried her face in her hands, crying softly. She knew Iridessa would not turn back.
-
Inside the Queen's Mother chamber, Isadora reclined with a smile.
"You showed them, son," she murmured with pride. "Now they will know who is king."
And Magnus, chest still heaving, smirked at his mother's approval.
-
Iridessa did not sleep that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the girl's body—bloodied, broken, her faint breaths trembling in the silence of the courtyard.
By dawn, the palace stirred to life, but Iridessa remained seated, her hands clenched over her belly, her mind burning with one thought: I must reach her.
Two guards stood posted outside her chamber door, Magnus's order. Their footsteps and hushed voices came in shifts, reminding her that escape was impossible. Almost.
Miri approached, her eyes swollen from crying. "You are still thinking of her," she whispered.
"I will not let her die in chains," Iridessa said firmly. "But I cannot act alone. I need you."
Miri hesitated. Fear flickered across her face, but she finally nodded. "Tell me what I must do."
That night, after the palace corridors grew quiet, Iridessa wrapped herself in a plain cloak, hiding her pale gown. She had smuggled food—small loaves of bread tucked into a basket beneath folded cloth, and a flask of water mixed with herbs to cleanse wounds.
Miri went ahead, carrying a tray of wine and dried meat as if she were bringing supper to the prison guards.
The descent to the dungeons was suffocating. The air grew damp and heavy, lanterns casting weak light on stone walls. The stench of rot and unwashed bodies clung to the place, enough to make Iridessa press her sleeve to her nose.
Two prison guards stood at the barred gate. One eyed the tray in Miri's hands and smirked. "For us?"
"Yes," Miri replied softly, bowing her head. "From the kitchens."
The men snatched the food greedily. Their laughter echoed as they carried it to a nearby table, tearing into the meat, gulping down wine.
Miri's eyes flicked to Iridessa, signaling the moment. Quickly, Iridessa slipped past the gate and deeper into the corridor of cells, the heavy basket hidden in her arms.
The girl was at the far end, slumped against the wall. Her wrists were torn from rope, her lip split, her face swollen. When she raised her head, her eyes widened at the sight of Iridessa.
"Your Majesty…" Her voice was a croak. "You came."
Iridessa knelt at once, tears rushing to her eyes. "Forgive me. I could not save you that day. I am so sorry."
The girl shook her head faintly. "No… no. You gave us hope long before this. To see you again… it is an honor."
Her words broke Iridessa's heart. She set the basket down, unwrapping bread and a small flask. "Eat. Slowly. And drink this—it will heal your wounds."
The girl's trembling hands took the bread. Iridessa guided the water to her lips, wiping away the blood on her chin with a cloth. Her fingers brushed the girl's cheek, and she whispered, "You will not die here."
Miri stood at the corridor's entrance, her back pressed against the wall, watching the guards as they laughed and drank. Her hands twisted anxiously, but she did not call Iridessa back.
Iridessa moved cell to cell, slipping small pieces of bread to the other prisoners—men and women starved into shadows of themselves. Some kissed her hands, others wept silently as she passed.
"You are not forgotten," she whispered to each.
By the time she returned to the girl, color had begun to return faintly to her face.
"Rest now," Iridessa said. "I will come back."
The next night, she did.
Again, Miri carried food for the guards. Again, Iridessa slipped through. This time, she brought strips of cloth torn from her own gowns, binding the girl's wounds as gently as she could. She poured more of the healing mixture across her torn skin, watching the angry red fade to a calmer pink.
The girl clutched Iridessa's hand. "They think you are weak… but you are not."
Iridessa pressed her hand against her belly. I cannot be.
Meanwhile, outside the palace gates, the girl's parents remained. Every day, they knelt from morning till dusk, weeping and begging for mercy. Guards chased them away with whips, but they always returned, their cries tearing through the silence of the kingdom.
The villagers whispered among themselves. Though fear bound their tongues, their hearts knew the truth, the king's cruelty deepened.
-
In Iridessa chamber, after her third visit to the dungeons, Iridessa stood at the window, staring out into the night. Miri lingered behind her.
"My lady… this is too dangerous. If they discover you—"
"They will not," Iridessa said firmly. Her voice carried a strength Miri had never heard before. "I will not let her death become another stone on this kingdom's grave. If Elareth is to survive… then hope must breathe in its darkest places."
And though Miri trembled, she bowed her head.
Because in her heart, she knew Iridessa had already begun her rebellion.