Night fell over Feulène.
In the chamber, Sérenya paced. Her ceremonial dress lay on the bed like a dead skin.
She thought of her sister back in Tsaravina.
Of her mother, gone too soon.
Of the songs from the harbor. Of Kamintha's laughter from long ago.
She thought of Caelus.
Of his motionless hands.
Of that thing in his gaze a silent anguish, violent, beautiful, and terrifying.
She wrote in her journal:
"He is a riddle carved in flame.
And I am the water he refuses to drink."
Then she pulled at the golden chain. Again.
She tightened it. Until the skin marked.
She screamed.
Kamintha entered.
"You cannot break it."
"No. But I can make it sing."
In the silence of the palace, a servant ran.
A scream had been heard in the north wing.
The King.
He had burned from the inside, they said. A seizure. A fall.
And she, the Queen, was summoned in the middle of the night.
Next Chapter:
Chapter 3 : The King Who Burns
"He was born under the constellation of Efama.
They say those ones live between two worlds.
Tonight, she will see his fire.
And perhaps, lose herself in it."