Eunice of the Silver Moon
Chapter Two
After that morning, nothing in the palace felt ordinary again. I walked through familiar corridors as though they had shifted while I slept, their stone walls heavy with secrets I was no longer allowed to ignore. The air itself seemed restless, thick with unspoken tension that followed me from room to room. Servants lowered their voices when I approached, and guards lingered longer at doorways, their hands resting uneasily on their weapons. I could not explain why, but I felt as though the palace was watching me, measuring every breath, every step, as though I had become part of a game whose rules I did not know.
Lady Mireya's presence only sharpened that feeling. She had settled into the palace like a queen in waiting, her laughter ringing through the halls at all hours, her confidence unwavering. At meals, she sat close to my father, speaking to him in low tones that made him smile in ways I had not seen in years. She praised him openly, admired his decisions, and reminded everyone who listened that a kingdom needed strength, clarity, and heirs who could carry its name without question. My mother endured this with a composure that bordered on painful, her back straight, her voice calm, even when Lady Mireya's words were clearly meant to wound. I watched it all in silence, anger coiling inside me like a living thing.
In private, Lady Mireya was far less subtle. She questioned my mother's authority, dismissed her traditions as outdated, and spoke often of change—as though the palace were already hers to reshape. Toward me, her behavior was calculated and unsettling. She smiled when others watched, complimenting my appearance and intelligence, yet her eyes remained cold, assessing. "You observe too much," she said to me once as we passed in the gallery. "Curiosity can be dangerous, especially for young women." The warning in her voice lingered long after she walked away. I did not respond, but I felt the familiar warmth stir in my hands, a quiet pulse I forced myself to suppress.
My confusion grew daily. The strange sensations within me refused to fade. At night, I dreamed of silver light spilling across endless skies, of doors opening where walls should have stood, of power pressing against my chest as though it were seeking release. I woke breathless, my heart racing, my skin warm to the touch. Once, I caught my reflection in the mirror and barely recognized myself. My eyes seemed brighter, sharper, as though they were learning to see beyond the surface of things. I did not understand what was happening to me, and that ignorance frightened me more than any danger I could name.
It was around this time that the witches arrived.
Their return to court was announced quietly, yet the impact was immediate. The witches of the kingdom—guardians of ancient knowledge and servants of the crown—were not figures one ignored. Their presence carried weight, history, and unease. I watched from a balcony as they crossed the courtyard, their cloaks dark and unadorned, their movements deliberate. The air shifted around them, subtle but undeniable, like the pressure before a storm. My heart leapt in response, a sharp, involuntary reaction that left me gripping the stone railing for support.
I had been warned about them all my life. Keep your distance. Do not stare. Do not speak unless spoken to. The witches were not cruel, I was told, but they were not gentle either. They dealt in forces that could not be undone once awakened. When my mother noticed my interest, she placed a firm hand on my shoulder. "You must not involve yourself with them," she said quietly. "Whatever they seek, it is not meant for you." I nodded, though something inside me recoiled at the certainty in her voice.
From that day on, I noticed the witches everywhere—moving through restricted corridors, entering chambers closed to the rest of us, speaking in low voices with council members and my father. They never looked at me directly, yet I felt their presence keenly, like a distant hum beneath my skin. Once, as I passed the great hall, I heard one of them say, "The balance is disturbed." Another replied, "Yes, but the source remains hidden." Their words sent a chill through me. Hidden. Unseen. Unnamed. I wondered, with growing dread, whether they were speaking of something within the palace—or within me.
Lady Mireya did not share the court's caution toward the witches. She watched them openly, her gaze sharp and thoughtful, as though measuring their usefulness. I saw her speak with them once, her posture confident, her voice light, though I could not hear the words exchanged. Something about that meeting unsettled me deeply. Lady Mireya smiled afterward, a slow, satisfied expression that made my stomach twist. Whatever game she was playing, it was far larger than I understood.
My mother grew quieter as the days passed. She avoided the great hall, spending more time in her chambers, her strength worn thin by constant undermining. When we spoke, she tried to reassure me, yet I saw fear in her eyes—fear not just for herself, but for me. "There are forces at work you must not challenge," she warned one evening. "Promise me you will stay away from the witches, no matter what you feel." I promised her, though my heart rebelled against the words.
That night, the warmth within me surged stronger than ever before. I stood at my window, watching the silver moon rise, its light spilling across the palace grounds. My pulse raced as the familiar pressure built in my chest, sharper now, more demanding. Somewhere below, the witches' quarters glowed faintly with candlelight. I felt drawn to them, not by choice, but by something older, deeper, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I did not move. I could not.
From the shadows of the corridor behind me came the softest sound—a breath, a shift of fabric, the sense of being watched. I turned slowly, my heart pounding, but the hallway was empty. Still, the feeling remained. The palace was no longer merely observing me. It was responding.
I did not yet know what power stirred within me, nor who might seek to control it. I only knew this: the witches had arrived, Lady Mireya was tightening her grip on the crown, and whatever destiny awaited me was drawing closer with each passing night. The silver moon watched silently from above, and for the first time, I feared not its promise—but what it might demand in return.