The king’s private quarters possessed an intimacy the grand library could never claim. Where the library was a monument to knowledge, this room was a testament to the man. It was spacious, yet the deliberate arrangement of its contents created a sense of profound personality. A magnificent, cold fireplace dominated one wall, a silent hearth before which a pair of plush chairs and a small, polished table were drawn close. An open book, its pages slightly curled, lay upon the table, a silent invitation awaiting a reader who would never return. The nearby desk was a chaotic landscape of parchment stacks and scattered quills, a silent testament to a reign interrupted.

Unlike the rest of Aelindoria, which felt like a beautiful, hollow shell, this chamber was saturated with the king’s presence. It was as if time itself had snagged on the corners of the furniture. Motes of dust danced like spectral sprites in the slivers of afternoon light, carrying the scent of old paper, beeswax, and something else… a faint, elusive aroma of dried herbs that I couldn’t quite place.

I drifted towards the fireplace, my eyes scanning the intricately carved mantel and the shadowed alcoves flanking it, but nothing seemed amiss. By the door, Cassius stood as still as a statue carved from grief, a silent sentinel with a face that had become an unreadable mask.

“I’m going to search the desk,” I announced, my voice swallowed by the quiet room. Cassius offered no response, not even a flicker of acknowledgment. My fingers brushed against the stacks of paper, a fine layer of dust coating my fingertips as I sifted through them one by one. They were mundane records of a kingdom frozen in time: decrees awaiting a signature that would never come, reports on harvests that had long since withered.

I glanced up. Cassius, who had been a stoic fixture at the door, took two hesitant, almost painful steps into the room before freezing. A subtle fissure spiderwebbed across his stoic facade, as if the very air of the room was a weight threatening to shatter him.

Forcing my attention back to the desk, I continued my search. The papers yielded nothing, just as I’d suspected. In a shadowed corner, my fingers brushed against a leather-bound volume filled with the elegant, flowing script of the Elven language. I tried the main drawer next, its heavy pull revealing several containers of dried ink and the ornate, weighty royal seal. Pushing it closed with a soft, definitive thud, I muttered, “Nothing.”

My gaze lifted again, and I found Cassius had moved. He was now standing by the enormous, canopied bed, staring blankly out the tall, arched window at the dying light. Beside him, on the nightstand, sat a single object: an intricately carved wooden box. It was positioned with deliberate, almost reverent care in the very center of the polished surface. The sight of it was a magnet, pulling me closer. That movement, that small disturbance in the room’s stasis, seemed to be what finally snapped Cassius from his strange trance.

My fingers grazed the cool, smooth wood before I carefully lifted the lid. The air in the room seemed to hold its breath; even Cassius was just a statue of sorrow in my periphery. Inside, nestled against a bed of faded velvet, lay a single, neatly folded piece of paper. With a deliberate slowness, I picked it up. The parchment was thin, almost fragile between my fingers as I unfolded it. Beautiful, elegant handwriting flowed across the page, the ink faded by the relentless march of time but not yet lost to it.

I held the thin parchment, the words swimming before my eyes.

Dear Cassius,

If this letter finds you, then you are safe, and for that, I am eternally grateful. Our people will not remain in Aelindoria. The encroaching darkness has sown a fear that runs deeper than their roots in this land, and without their true king, that fear has consumed their hope. It is but a flickering ember, Cassius, close to being extinguished.

We are heading east, to a secluded valley between two forgotten towns. It is a place where we can remain hidden from human eyes, at least for now.

I have faith that fate will one day guide you back to us. Until that day, I will await our reunion.

Your friend,

Vorian

My gaze shifted to Cassius. He had turned away from me, facing the corner as if the shadows there held some dark, damning secret. The stoic composure he had so rigidly maintained was finally beginning to fracture, the cracks showing in the telling slump of his broad shoulders.

“Cassius,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

He gave a noncommittal hum, a sound of pure, hollow deflection. I stepped closer until I was right behind him, the warmth of my presence a stark contrast to the cold sorrow radiating from him.

“Cassius.”

He turned his head slowly, reluctantly. His eyes, usually so sharp and piercingly aware, were unfocused, glazed over with a profound and distant sorrow that seemed to span centuries.

“This letter,” I stated gently, the parchment a fragile weight in my hand. “It was for you.”

A long, agonizing moment passed before he finally answered, his voice a low, rough sound, heavy with the unyielding weight of years. “Yes.”

He collapsed onto the edge of the bed, his powerful body seeming to lose all its strength at once. I remained standing before him as he stared at the floor, lost in a silent, brutal war with himself. Finally, he lifted his head, and his gaze, raw and wounded, met mine.

“The truth is,” he began, his voice rough and cracking, “I am the king of Aelindoria. Or… I was.”

The admission sent a shockwave through me, yet it clicked into place with an unnerving, resonant clarity. My mind swirled, replaying every cryptic moment—the flashes of profound sadness, his intimate knowledge of every elf, the way he navigated this castle not as a visitor, but as its master returning to a tomb. I had suspected something, but the stark reality of it was staggering.

My thoughts were shattered by the self-loathing that dripped from his next words. “What kind of king have I been?” He let out a hollow, bitter chuckle that held no humor. “I failed them. Abandoned them. And now, I don’t even know where they are. I am just a fool, cursed and left to rot in a cell for who knows how long.”

“Cassius,” I said, my voice gentle but firm. I sat beside him, the mattress dipping with my weight, and placed a hand on his forearm, hoping to anchor him to the present moment, to me. “This wasn’t your fault. You did what you believed was right. How could you have possibly known you would be cursed?”

His eyes dropped to my hand, then to the angry, orange glow of the twisting marks of the curse that snaked up his arm. The contact seemed to burn away the edges of his despair.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone hardening, the sorrow that had clouded his features evaporating, replaced by the flinty, dangerous glint of an iron-clad resolve. “I need to find them. Now.”

“No,” I said, my own tone unyielding. “They need a king, Cassius, not a martyr. They are waiting for you, holding onto the hope of your return.”

“They need me now, Thalia.” The desperation in his voice was a raw, open wound.

My own features hardened in response. “And what good will you be to them if you’re dead?” I shook my head, my frustration a sharp, rising tide. “You have to face this. The curse is killing you, and you know it.”

His gaze fell to the blighted, glowing marks on his skin. “I know,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “So what would you have me do? Sit here and wait for the end?” His judgment was being consumed by his guilt.

“I would have you fight,” I countered, my voice low and intense. “We go to Coral Bluffs. We find the banished elf.”

“There’s no guarantee she’s there,” he shot back, his voice a low growl, “or that she’s even still alive.”

“It’s a better chance than you have right now,” I pressed, meeting his gaze without flinching. “We take that chance. You get healed. And then you go back to your people as the king they need you to be. Whole.”

The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once. A heavy, suffocating silence filled the space between us as he sank forward, burying his face in his hand with his elbow braced on his knee. The posture was one of utter, soul-crushing defeat. Finally, he straightened up, dragging his hand down his face in a gesture of pure, bone-deep exhaustion before letting out a slow, ragged sigh of surrender.

“Alright.”

A breath I didn’t realize I had been holding escaped me in a rush. “Alright?” I asked softly, needing to be certain. “We go to Coral Bluffs?”

He finally met my gaze, the conflict in his eyes settled into a weary, fragile resolve. “Yes. We go to Coral Bluffs.”