The Following Days
In the days that followed, Selene returned often to the Palace Archives.
She searched until her eyes ached and her fingers smelled of old ink and dust. Rory always arrived later, breathless from training, eager to read beside her, while Lyra remained occupied in the yard—drilling new recruits until dusk, then stopping by to collect them.
Selene did not cross paths with Princess Kylie again.
But the palace maids noticed her.
They whispered when she passed. Snickered behind their hands. Muttered just loudly enough to be heard.
Selene ignored it—until one afternoon, when the whispers became something more deliberate.
On her way to the archive, she found herself surrounded.
Maids blocked the corridor ahead, their skirts brushing the stone floor like a closing net. One stepped forward and shoved her shoulder—not hard, but not gentle either.
Selene steadied herself.
"Please," she said calmly. "I need to get through."
No one moved.
"What are you doing?!"
The sharp voice cut cleanly through the hall.
Selene turned to see Vivian striding toward them, expression thunderous. The maids stiffened instantly and dropped into hurried bows.
Vivian was the Duke's daughter.
And the Governess of Berthold.
One of the younger maids stuttered, "W-we were told—"
"This will not happen again," an older one interrupted hastily. "We are very sorry."
They bowed to Vivian, then to Selene, and scattered down the hall as if chased.
Vivian crossed her arms, unimpressed. "Really."
Then her expression softened. "Are you all right?"
Selene didn't answer. She stepped forward and hugged her.
"Thank you," she murmured. "What are you doing here?"
Vivian sighed. "Gessa is currently receiving a very loud lecture from the King and the council. I decided I didn't want to be present for that."
At Selene's worried look, she laughed lightly. "Don't fret. My father will handle it. He is the King's favorite cousin, after all."
Then she studied Selene more closely. "You're too kind, you know that? Why do you let people walk all over you?"
Selene hesitated. "I just… don't want to make things difficult for Lyra."
Vivian hummed thoughtfully, recalling the faces of the maids—and one in particular, familiar from Kylie's circle.
"…Is Kylie involved?" she asked quietly.
Selene didn't answer fast enough.
Vivian sighed. "That girl. She wasn't like this before." Then she briskly changed the subject. "Where are you headed?"
"The palace library."
"Perfect. I'm going there too."
They walked together, conversation lightening the air.
Later, Vivian was collected by Gessa, her expression carefully neutral. Rory arrived soon after, dropping into the chair beside Selene with a grin, and together they returned to legends and myths.
Until—
Hiss.
The candles guttered violently as the air warped between the shelves.
Shadows thickened.
Two figures stepped out from the darkness itself, cloaks embroidered with faint silver stars that caught the dying light.
Rory stiffened, hand snapping to his wooden blade.
"Who—"
"Selene," one of the intruders said, ignoring him. His voice was low. Reverent. "We've found you at last."
Selene's heart stumbled. "You… know me?"
The two exchanged a glance.
"Just as last time," the first said.
The second tilted their head. "It seems you forgot."
Rory shoved the chair aside and planted himself in front of Selene. "Stay back!"
The first mage raised a hand.
Force exploded outward.
The chair shattered against the wall. Books tore free from their shelves. Rory was flung backward, crashing into the desk with a cry.
"Rory!" Selene rushed forward—
—but the second mage seized her wrist.
Cold burned where the gloved hand touched her. Embedded in the back of it, a stone glowed faintly, feeding the unnatural strength of their grip.
Books ripped from the air, hurled wildly. Rory threw everything he could reach.
The second mage snarled and froze the spiraling books midair. Ice sealed them in place before they shattered to the floor.
Rory stared, wide-eyed.
"Let her go!"
Lyra's voice split the chaos.
She was already moving—sword drawn, silver edge flashing. In a heartbeat, she struck the mage's arm.
Steel rang against stone. Sparks burst. The mage reeled back, hissing.
Rory scrambled upright, clutching his ribs. "General!"
"Stay behind me!" Lyra barked, placing herself squarely between Selene and the intruders.
Her gaze flicked to the glowing glove.
Stones, she realized.
The same kind the bandits wanted from Rory's village mines.
But these were weaponized. Amplified.
The first mage advanced, both hands raised. White fire flared—unnatural, edged with blue, sharpened by the stone in his palm.
Lyra adjusted her stance, blade steady. "So. You use toys to make your magic bite."
"We were mages," one hissed. "We were reduced to this by your kind."
The other laughed softly. "Mock us if you like. Your steel will not hold against us."
"This doesn't have to be difficult," he continued calmly. "Just give her to us."
His gaze slid past Lyra, locking onto Selene.
"She is ours. Her ability belongs to us."
Lyra's grip tightened.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Selene shouted.
"Lies will not protect you," the second mage snarled, frost weaving into the air.
The clash was immediate—fire and ice crashing against relentless steel. Shelves shattered. Books ignited. Frost crawled across stone.
Lyra's sword iced over—then snapped in half.
She fought on.
"Selene, move!" Lyra commanded.
Selene dragged Rory toward the far wall, heart hammering. That familiar pull stirred again in her chest—a low, humming pressure.
The mages felt it too.
Lyra struck true, slicing across one mage's arm.
He fell to his knees—and began to laugh.
The stone in his glove flared violently. Fire consumed him from within. Selene screamed as the smell of burning filled the library.
When the blaze faded, nothing remained but ash.
The second mage recoiled, fury etched into every line. He retreated toward the shadows.
"You're not leaving," Lyra said, advancing.
"Enough."
The word rolled through the wreckage like winter.
Three more figures stepped through the shattered archway, star insignias glinting. At their center stood a taller mage, his presence crushing the air.
His gaze swept the destruction—then fixed on Selene.
"You idiots," he said coldly. "I told you she was not to be harmed."
The surviving mage bowed, trembling. "Forgive me—"
A raised hand silenced him.
Flames engulfed the mage in an instant, reducing him to ash.
"No matter," the leader continued. "Plans change."
His eyes gleamed.
"We take her now."
Two more mages stepped forward, magic already gathering.
Lyra moved without hesitation, broken sword raised, shielding Selene with her body.
"Over my body."
The mage smiled.
"That," he said softly, "can be arranged."