The next morning, sun spilled through the stained glass windows of the Rose Pavilion, casting fractured rainbows across the marble floor. The scent of rosewater and ink lingered in the air — a strange mix of beauty and bureaucracy. She wore a pale green robe embroidered with golden thread — a color that symbolises her royalty.
Alessia stood just outside the chamber doors, her hands clenched at her sides. Her heart thudded like a war drum in her chest.
She had been summoned.
Not to a private meeting. Not to a quiet corner of the palace.
To court.
The doors opened with a groan, and a steward bowed low. "Her Highness, Princess Alessia of Elarion."
She stepped inside, trying not to trip on the hem of her robes. The hall was already full — nobles, generals, and Dominion envoys lined the sides like carved statues, their eyes sharp and curious.
At the far end, beneath the great sigil of the Five Dominions, sat her siblings.
Prince Vaelen, heir to the throne, wore black and gold like a blade sheathed in silk. His expression was carved from stone.
Beside him, Princess Mireya lounged like a cat in sunlight, her crimson robes flowing like blood over the throne. Her smile was sweet. Her eyes were not.
Alessia bowed. "You summoned me?"
Vaelen gestured to the center of the hall. "Step forward."
She obeyed, her footsteps echoing too loudly in the silence.
A scribe stepped forward, holding a scroll bound in silver ribbon. He unrolled it with a flourish.
"By decree of the Crown and the Council of Five, Princess Alessia of Elarion is hereby appointed as Envoy of the Realm to the Thorne Front, where she shall represent the will of the Starborne Court in the defense against the Dreadborn incursion."
Alessia blinked. "I'm sorry — the what now?"
Mireya's smile widened. "Congratulations, sister. You're going to war."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the court.
Alessia looked around, trying to make sense of the faces.
To her left stood Lady Thalienne of Solara, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. Proud, fiery, and clearly annoyed.
Near the pillars, General Thorne Vexar of the Stone Dominion stood like a mountain in armor, his jaw clenched.
At the back, Serin Vale, the Noctis archivist, watched with unreadable eyes, a scroll tucked beneath one arm.
And beside the dais, Prince Lysian of Virelle leaned against a column, twirling a ring on his finger, his smile too smooth to trust.
Alessia swallowed. "I… I don't understand. I'm not trained. I'm not—"
Vaelen's voice cut through the hall like a blade. "You are Starborne. That is all the realm requires."
He rose from his throne, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow.
"The blood of the Constellant runs through your veins. You were born beneath the Veil, marked by the sky itself. You don't need training. The stars will answer you when the time comes — if you are worthy."
Mireya's voice followed, smooth as silk. "And if not… well. The Dreadborn are always hungry."
Alessia stared at the scroll. Her name was written in gold ink, beneath the royal seal. It was real. It was happening.
She was being sent to die.
She took a breath. Her hands were still shaking, so she folded them behind her back.
"Well," she said, forcing a smile. "I suppose I should start packing. Do you think I'll need a parasol? Or will the Dreadborn provide shade?"
A few nobles chuckled, startled.
Mireya's smile faltered.
Vaelen's eyes narrowed. "You leave at dusk. Dismissed."
Alessia bowed again, turned, and walked out of the hall with her head held high.
Only when the doors closed behind her did she let out the breath she'd been holding.
"Okay," she whispered. "That went great. I only insulted two people and got conscripted into a war. Not bad for a Tuesday."
She didn't see the shadow that slipped from the far corner of the hall, silent as a breath, following her into the light.
The moment the heavy doors of her chambers closed behind her, Alessia let out a strangled noise — something between a groan and a scream muffled into her hands.
"Stars above," she muttered, pacing across the polished floor. "They're actually sending me to the front. Me. The girl who nearly fainted when she saw a blood beetle in the bath."
She kicked off her shoes — one flew across the room and hit a vase. It wobbled dangerously but didn't fall.
"Ugh. Cowards. All of them."
"Should I be writing that down for your memoir?" came a voice from the corner.
Alessia spun around. "Lily! Don't sneak up on me like that!"
Lily, dressed in her crisp butler suit, stood by the window with a tray of tea and something flaky and sweet-smelling. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes sparkled with amusement.
"I didn't sneak. You were just too busy plotting the vase's demise."
Alessia flopped onto the nearest couch, burying her face in a pillow. "I hate them."
"I gathered."
"They smiled the whole time," she said, voice muffled. "Like they were sending me to a garden party. With demons."
Lily set the tray down and perched on the armrest. "To be fair, the Dreadborn do throw very lively parties. Screaming, fire, a touch of soul-rending despair. Quite the ambiance."
Alessia groaned again. "Why are you like this?"
"Balance," Lily said, pouring tea. "You panic. I joke. The world keeps spinning."
Alessia sat up, her silver hair falling into her face. "They're not even trying to hide it anymore. I'm a pawn. A sacrificial lamb with a fancy title and a death sentence written in gold ink."
Lily handed her a cup. "You're not a pawn."
"I'm not a player either," Alessia said. "I don't even know the rules."
She stared into the tea, watching the leaves swirl like galaxies.
"I don't remember anything, Lily. Not just my past — I mean, I don't remember how to cast. I don't know the sigils. I can't even read the old scripts. What kind of Starborne can't read the stars?"
Lily's voice softened. "Thins have changed a lot."
Alessia looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"
But Lily only sipped her tea, eyes distant.
Alessia narrowed her eyes. "You know something."
"I know many things," Lily said. "Like how to make a perfect moonberry tart. Or how to forge a royal seal in under three minutes."
"Lily."
Alessia stared at her. "You're terrible at comfort."
"I'm excellent at packing," Lily said, holding up a pair of boots. "Now, do you want the storm-leather ones or the shadow-stitched?"
Alessia managed a weak smile. "Storm-leather. If I'm going to die, I want to do it with dry feet."
Lily nodded approvingly. "Practical. I like it.
Outside, the bells of the palace began to toll — a low, solemn sound that echoed through the marble halls.
Dusk was coming.
And with it, destiny.
She then came closer holding out a small, leather-bound book. The cover was worn, the edges singed, and the clasp shaped like a crescent moon.
"What's this?" Alessia asked, taking it carefully.
"The Codex of Veiled Flame," Lily said. "Basic Starborne spellwork. Defensive scripts, mostly. Shields, wards, lightbinding. Nothing too flashy, but enough to keep you breathing."
Alessia flipped through the pages. The symbols danced before her eyes — elegant, curling lines that shimmered faintly in the candlelight. They stirred something in her chest, like a half-remembered melody.
"I don't know if I can read this," she whispered.
Lily's voice was gentle. "Then try to remember. Not for them. For yourself."
Alessia looked up, and Lily met her gaze with quiet steel.
"We can't back down," Lily said. "Not with your siblings watching. They'd never let you return. But don't worry, my lady."
She stepped forward, adjusting the clasp of Alessia's cloak with practiced fingers.
"No matter what happens out there… I'll always stay by your side. And I'll protect you."
Alessia's throat tightened. "You're coming with me?"
Lily raised an eyebrow. "Of course I am. Who else is going to make sure you don't accidentally set yourself on fire?"
Alessia laughed, the sound breaking through her fear like sunlight through storm clouds.
"Thank you," she said softly.
Lily gave a small bow. "Now drink your tea, finish your tart, and let me pack your underthings before the entire palace finds out you only own two pairs."
Alessia groaned. "You promised never to bring that up again."
"I lied."
As the sun dipped below the horizon and the shadows lengthened, the two of them moved through the room — one folding robes, the other tracing ancient runes with trembling fingers.
And far below the palace, in the deepest vaults of Noctis, a sealed door trembled.
Something was waking.