Chapter Sixteen · Beyond the Crown’s Reach

“Who’s been playing on my board without permission?”

Syveris stroked the parrot perched on his hand.

Amid its sleek red feathers, one dark blue feather stood out.

“Ugly.”

He yanked it free.

The bird shrieked, wings thrashing as it took flight.

Syveris stepped out and headed straight for High Commander Derron’s residence.

Within minutes, he reached the front gate.

“An honor to receive the Chancellor.” The servants at the gate bowed.

He crossed the courtyard, where shields and spears lined the walls, relics of Derron’s glory from the Great War.

Syveris stopped at the doors of the main hall. Voices drifted out from within.

“My prince, which one do you want? This one… or this one?”

Luca’s satisfied laughter spilled into the air.

He had not noticed the Chancellor standing just outside.

A maid lifted a grape toward Luca’s mouth, her dress slipping from one shoulder.

“Ahem.”

All three turned.

The maids flinched, hastily fixing their clothes before bowing and retreating.

Luca did not greet him.

He stayed sprawled on the sofa, reaching lazily for the grapes and popping them into his mouth one by one.

Syveris stepped inside.

“Prince, I thought you were under confinement.”

Luca spat out the grape.

“You think this is the palace?”

Syveris smiled faintly, his gaze drifting around the room.

“Out in the wild, the loudest creatures are noticed first.”

Luca shot to his feet, tossing the cluster of grapes onto the table.

“You calling me loud? When my father returns, we’ll settle this.”

“High Commander Derron was dispatched to Aulith at dawn. You may be waiting for some time.”

“You…” Luca’s glare flickered.

He sat back down, pulling his collar back into place.

Syveris stepped closer, leaning in until he was just short of Luca’s face.

“The assassin sent to kill the princess last night. Was that your doing?”

Luca laughed, turning his head away.

“What does that have to do with you?” He curled his lip. “One man, and he still couldn’t finish it.”

Syveris held his gaze. Luca did not look back.

Syveris rapped the table once, straightened, and turned away. Grapes rolled and fell to the floor.

At the door, he paused without looking back.

“Even eagles mind where they cast their shadow.”

Luca felt a faint itch at the edge of his ear, though he could not quite grasp the meaning.

“The door’s still there, Chancellor.”

Syveris snapped his fingers. A flicker of violet flame sparked, then died.

Luca flinched. Barely.

A hint of a smile touched Syveris’s lips as he left.

The wind swept along the castle walls, then seemed to die when it reached the palace.

The Lapis Chamber remained lit well past noon.

Sunlight mingled with candlelight. The deep blue lapis walls dulled beneath the gold.

King Eryndar sat motionless. His cloak still hung from his shoulders. One hand rested on the arm of his chair, the other against his brow.

No one entered.

No one dared break the silence.

Word of the princess’s disappearance had arrived in the night.

His fingers tapped softly against the armrest.

His thoughts turned and turned, searching for a way out.

Rogan had been played.

Now the princess.

Guards. Mages. No one knew.

Too much had happened without anyone seeing it.

…

Then something sparked.

He could not sit here any longer.

Eryndar rose and left at once, heading for the Hall of Prophecy.

The moment he reached the steps, the stone doors began to open.

He stopped.

They had never opened without a request.

Then he stepped inside.

The doors closed behind him with a low, heavy sound.

A dim light spread along the walls, sealing the chamber.

Eryndar bowed his head.

The three Oracles were already there. They had never left.

He had not yet spoken.

“Do you fear the truth, Your Majesty?”

The voice fell from the Oracle at the center.

They had always answered. Never spoken first.

The change alone sent a chill through him.

He hesitated.

“At times, I do.”

No lies could stand in this place.

“And yet you still wish to know the future?”

“I do.”

“What rots at the foundation cannot stand.”

Eryndar took a step back.

The things he had refused to name had now been spoken aloud.

Aethrador’s legacy had never been clean.

Allies waited for the first crack.

The royal bloodline watched itself for weakness.

If he changed course, the court would resist.

If he did not, the alliances would not hold forever.

Sooner or later, everything would break.

He could not even protect his own daughter.

For the first time, the throne felt too large for him.

“How long will my reign last?”

The Oracle to the left answered.

“When the seal upon the throne is broken, order will be remade.”

It could happen before his reign ended.

But what he feared most was something else.

“My daughter. Lyra. What of her?”

The Oracle to the right spoke.

“The ancient prophecy has not changed.”

“Then where is she?”

The three Oracles raised their hands in unison.

Three streams of light flowed from their hands, joining into a radiant mirror before the King.

“Look.”

Light flared.

In the mirror, an image began to take shape.

A white horse. Lyra sat in the saddle, her eyes heavy.

The horse’s pace had slowed. She had been riding for nearly a full day.

Before dawn, she had turned away from the road to Sonareth and ridden northwest instead—a far longer route.

She had crossed a mountain range and an ancient forest.

Beyond the river lay a town.

Dusk was settling. Golden light spilled across rooftops set with glinting stones.

Lyra drew the reins and exhaled slowly.

“Gemariel.”

The light around the mirror dimmed. The image faded, and the mirror vanished.

Eryndar’s face fell.

He had just seen her. Now she was already beyond his reach.

The Oracle at the center spoke.

“You should return, Your Majesty. The princess will become what she must.”

Eryndar stood still.

For years, he had shaped her, guarded her, prepared her to inherit the throne.

Now everything had turned in a way he had not foreseen.

Some roads could not be held, not even by a crown.

Perhaps this was fate.

A sharp ache tightened in his chest. For a moment, he wished he still had time. Time to be with Lyra, not as a King, but as her father.

The Hall of Prophecy seemed to sink into a quiet too heavy to name.

Eryndar had nothing left to say.

He bowed his head, then turned and left in silence.