The lords gathered, the air heavy with unease. A sealed parchment lay on the table before them, stamped with the crest of Dhalmar. Iridessa's heart hammered in her chest as she stared at it, her breath short. For hours she had been thinking about releasing the beaten girl from the prison tonight—but all of that collapsed when the letter was finally unsealed.
The scribe's voice rang through the chamber.
"To the Kingdom of Elareth… from King Vernos of Dhalmar…"
Iridessa leaned forward, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the table.
"...an urgent plea. We face invasion from the western kingdom of Selvarn. Our lands burn, our soldiers fall. We request immediate aid from Elareth, bound by ties of blood and union. Help us in this hour of war."
Her chest hollowed. War. In Dhalmar. My home. Images of her mother, her siblings, her village—they swirled in her mind like smoke choking her. She trembled as the words "lands burn" echoed over and over.
When the letter ended, silence lingered.
Across the table, Magnus leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes darting first toward his mother, then toward his wife. A slow, mocking smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. "What say you, my lords? Shall we send our men to fight another's battles?"
The lords stirred, their whispers tumbling over one another until one finally spoke.
"Your Majesty, your union with the Queen was made to strengthen our two kingdoms. If Dhalmar calls upon us, surely we must answer."
Another nodded firmly. "Yes. The Queen is their daughter, our bond to them. It would be dishonorable to turn away in their hour of need."
For a brief, fragile moment, relief swelled in Iridessa's chest. Hope flickered. Perhaps they would help.
But then a low laugh rose, smooth and cutting, from Isadora. She leaned back in her seat, her rings glinting in the sun as her fingers drummed lightly on the table.
"Soldiers?" she echoed, her tone dripping with scorn. "Into a war that is not ours? Elareth barely has enough to guard her own borders. And you would send our men into a foreign squabble? Fools."
The chamber murmured again, but this time the sound was restless, uneasy.
Iridessa felt her heart plummet. Her lips parted in disbelief. "Foreign squabble?" she whispered, then louder, her voice breaking, "That is not some distant quarrel—it is my kingdom! My family—my people—"
Her voice cracked, but her grief carried it louder. Every word rang raw with desperation.
Isadora's gaze snapped to her, sharp as a blade. "You forget yourself, girl. To raise your voice in this chamber—before the king himself—is insolence of the highest order."
But Iridessa could not stop herself. The fire in her blood rose higher than her fear. She stepped forward, eyes wet with tears she refused to hide. "And what then? Will you let them wilt away? Dhalmar trusted you—they sent this letter believing you would stand with them! And you laugh? You mock their suffering while my kingdom burns?"
A fist slammed down on the table, the sound cracking through the chamber like thunder. Magnus rose slightly from his chair, his face twisted with cold fury. "Enough!"
The chamber froze. Every whisper, every breath fell silent. The lords watched with wary eyes, trapped between fear and sympathy.
Magnus's voice was low, but it cut like steel. "No soldiers will march. Not one man will be sent. Dhalmar must fight its own war. And as for you—" his eyes fixed on Iridessa, hard and merciless—"you will not disgrace this court again. To shout at my mother, to spit your insolence in front of these lords—" His lips curled in contempt. "You will be confined. Without food. Let hunger teach you respect."
A gasp swept the chamber. At the back, Miri could no longer hold her tongue. She darted forward, dropped to her knees, and pressed her forehead to the floor.
"Your Majesty, she carries your child! Do not starve her. Punish her if you must, but spare the child she bears."
A few of the lords shifted uncomfortably. One muttered under his breath.
"Yes, at least food, even in confinement." Another echoed, "To withhold sustenance from a mother with child—this is unjust."
But Isadora rose slowly, silencing the murmurs with the icy force of her presence. She placed one hand on the table and leaned forward.
"You dare question the king's word?" Her eyes swept over the lords, pinning each man in place. "Iridessa will be confined. And she will have no food. That is final."
The decision was sealed.
Iridessa's heart was a storm of disbelief, grief, and fury as the guards seized her arms. Her ears rang, her vision swam, but her mind was not in the chamber anymore. It was in Dhalmar—in the fields she had walked as a child, in the laughter of her siblings, in the faces of her villagers. Were they crying out even now, waiting for aid that would never come?
The heavy doors swung shut as she was dragged down the corridor. The bolts clamped behind her with a metallic clang. She stumbled to the cold wall, her strength collapsing with her spirit.
Outside the chamber, Miri fought against the guards.
"Lock me in with her—please, let me serve her still!" she begged, tears staining her cheeks. But she was shoved away, left trembling in the empty hall.
Inside the darkened chamber, Iridessa pressed her palm to her stomach. The silence around her was suffocating, yet within her chest raged a storm. Elareth had shown its cruelty once again.
And far away, in Dhalmar, her people bled and burned while she sat in confinement.
-
The council chamber had long emptied, but the lords lingered still. The heavy oak doors had been shut, and with them, the echo of the queen's command seemed to hang in the stale air. The parchment from Dhalmar lay forgotten at the end of the table, its plea for aid now nothing more than a discarded cry.
Lord Rendal, his brow furrowed deeply, leaned forward on the table. His voice was low, but heavy with unease. "To starve her? A woman with child? This is not discipline—it is cruelty. It may break her entirely."
Another lord, older, stroked his grey beard in thought. "The queen was fierce today. Too fierce. A man may chastise his wife, yes, but this… this was done to shame her before us all. It serves no purpose but to crush her spirit."
"Crush her?" scoffed Lord Brennor from across the table, his jeweled fingers drumming lazily on the wood. "The girl has grown too bold for her place. A few days in darkness will remind her she is no queen in Elareth, no matter what blood runs in her veins."
A murmur of agreement and dissent rippled around the table. The lords were divided—some whispering pity, others coldly justifying the punishment.
At last, Lord Hale, who had been silent through it all, spoke. His voice was steady, grave, carrying weight that stilled the chamber.
"You speak of breaking her, or humbling her. But perhaps you see it wrongly."
All eyes turned to him. He rose slowly from his chair, his gaze sharp, cutting through the flickering torchlight.
"Queen Iridessa has bent herself like a reed since the day she entered this palace," he continued. "She endured mockery, labor, silence, all without rebellion. Yet today, in this chamber, she raised her voice—not as a wife, nor as a daughter, but as a queen. Her anger came from love for her people, not defiance for its own sake."
He let the words settle before leaning forward.
"And now she is cast into darkness. Starved. Alone. Some of you say this will break her spirit." He shook his head slowly. "No. I believe it may do the opposite. Hunger sharpens. Pain awakens. A woman who has borne quietly may find her voice in suffering. And when she does… Elareth may face more than a silenced queen."
The lords shifted uneasily at his words. The fire in the brazier crackled, spitting sparks into the silence.
Lord Rendal muttered, almost to himself, "Heavens preserve us if she truly awakens. For the court has already sown the seed."
Lord Hale gave no reply. He only turned toward the parchment from Dhalmar still lying on the table, its plea unanswered, and let the silence answer for him.
-
The days dragged on in silence. Behind the heavy door of her chamber, Iridessa lay weakened, her body thin from hunger, her spirit restless. Outside, laughter echoed from the grand hall—Magnus had even thrown a royal ball while she starved, as if her suffering were nothing more than a forgotten punishment.
On her knees before the narrow window, she whispered into the night.
"Dhalmar… my home. Mother, father, my siblings, my people—please, let them live. If I were free, I would have written to Aurora. She would not abandon us. But here I am, a prisoner, while my kingdom bleeds." Her fists tightened. "Magnus will pay. By heaven, he will pay."
-
When the door at last creaked open days later, she was too weak to rise. Miri rushed in with tears spilling freely, clutching her mistress to her chest. She had slept at the threshold every night, refusing to leave.
Magnus appeared only once, his tone careless, his smirk cruel.
"I trust you have learnt your lesson now."
And then he left, as though she were a mere servant who had erred.
Iridessa said little in the days that followed. She recovered quietly, her lips tight, her eyes hollow.
The ballads in the hall, the murmurs of politics, the callous laughter—none of it mattered. All her thoughts circled back to Dhalmar. By now, the war must have reached its end, and she had been locked away while her kingdom cried for help.
But one night, when her strength returned, she rose. Candlelight flickered across her face as she pulled her cloak close. Miri stood waiting by the hallway, her hands trembling, but her loyalty unwavering.
The dungeon was silent when they arrived. The guards had eaten their bread earlier, unaware of the sleeping herbs Miri had slipped into it. Their heads slumped against the walls, their snores echoing faintly.
Iridessa pressed the ring of keys into her hand, the metal cold, heavy with resolve.
When she reached the cell, the girl inside gasped, tears already streaming down her dirt-streaked cheeks.
"I thought you had been caught," she whispered hoarsely, "that they punished you—that is why you never came."
Iridessa only smiled faintly, her hand steady on the iron lock.
Miri caught her wrist suddenly. "My lady, no—if you open it, they will know. This will come back to you."
But Iridessa shook her head, her eyes sharp with decision. "Let it."
The key turned, and the gate creaked open.
The girl clung to her hand, fear trembling through her. "This will implicate you. Your Majesty."
Iridessa's smile widened, cold and quiet. "No. This will remind them I am not broken."
One by one, she opened the cells. Shackled men, hollow-eyed women, thieves, rebels, servants forgotten by the crown—all of them.
She pointed them to the hidden back gate. "Run. Do not look back."
The girl lingered for a heartbeat, whispering, "Thank you." Then she vanished into the night with the rest.
Iridessa stood in the empty dungeon, a strange calm washing over her. This was only the beginning.
She slipped back to her chamber through the forgotten tunnel—an old passage she had once stumbled upon while cleaning, hidden behind a loose stone in her wall. She had left it untouched out of respect. But respect had long since died.
By morning, chaos gripped the palace. Guards stormed the halls with shouts of disbelief—the dungeon was empty. All the prisoners had vanished.
The dungeon soldiers were dragged forward for questioning. They swore a maid had brought them bread the night before, but the corridor had been dark, the face unknown.
Queen Isadora burst into Iridessa's chamber like a storm. Her eyes burned with fury. "You! It was you!"
Iridessa sat calmly on her bed, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, her face the perfect mask of innocence.
"Me? I have not left this chamber. Ask the guards—have they not kept me confined?"
The soldiers at her door bowed their heads. "She did not step out, Your Majesty."
Isadora's lips curled in frustration. She could find no proof. With a hiss, she turned and swept from the chamber.
As the door slammed shut, Iridessa let her smirk slip free. A sharp, quiet smile.
This was only the beginning.