The corridor swallowed the last trace of Thane’s light. Myrren didn’t stop until the heat behind her cooled to stone. The palace smelled of ash and rose oil like  fire pretending to be perfume. Somewhere above, a bell tolled the hour, the sound trembling like breath held too long. She thought she was alone. She wasn’t.

Ori’s whisper cut through the hush.
“Myrren!  saints, you’re shaking.”

Hands caught her shoulders before the world steadied. The torchlight wavered; for a heartbeat she couldn’t tell if it was flame or memory flickering. The spiral token in her pocket gave one slow throb; it’s warm, then cold. Her pulse missed a beat trying to match it.

Ori’s eyes were wide, fever-bright. “You were talking again. In your sleep. I heard you from the servants’ hall.”

“I wasn’t asleep.”

“You said the antidote will fail.” The words came ragged, like torn cloth. “What antidote, Myrren? Who are you trying to save?”

“I don’t know.” The lie tasted like iron. She pressed a palm to her temple. The hallway blurred, then snapped back into focus a fraction later the same sconces, same cracked tile but the air had moved, as if time had taken one breath without her.

Ori saw the flicker. “It happened again, didn’t it?” She clutched Myrren’s wrist, grounding her. “You lose seconds. Like someone’s cutting them out of the air.”

A faint tremor passed through the stone, or perhaps through Myrren herself. She caught a whiff of cypress and steel.  Corven’s scent is impossible here  and her pulse leapt. Shadows shifted at the corridor’s end, resolving into nothing.

“Please,” Ori whispered. “Stop following the spiral. Whatever it is, it’s pulling you under.”

Before Myrren could answer, the token flared against her thigh the heat sharp enough to make her gasp. When she drew it from her pocket, its onyx surface pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. For a blink, she saw a gold light coil within the grooves, and the reflection of eyes that weren’t her own.

Ori stepped back. “Put it away. If anyone sees that.. ”

Boots clicked on stone. A royal page appeared at the corridor’s far end, bowing too low to hide his unease. “Mistress Vale,” he said. “Her Majesty requests your presence. Immediately.”

Ori’s fingers tightened once on her sleeve. “Don’t go alone.”

But the summons was not a request.

Myrren turned toward the cold blaze of the Queen’s wing. The token lay heavy in her pocket again, beating to a rhythm that wasn’t hers.

The Queen’s antechamber smelled of candlewax and winter glass. Every flame burned steady and unnaturally still, a light that gave no warmth.

 Myrren felt it before she saw her: a stillness that swallowed sound.

Queen Aelira stood before a mirrored wall, her reflection multiplied into infinite pale figures. When she turned, her eyes caught the candlelight like ice over a frozen lake that nothing moved beneath, yet depth waited there.

“Step closer,” the Queen said, voice gentle enough to bruise.

Myrren obeyed. The soft rustle of her skirts was too loud in the hush. Behind her, the page vanished, doors closing with a click that sounded like judgment.

“I hear you were seen leaving the council before its end,” Aelira continued. “Prince Thane excused you. He said you were unwell.”

“I was,” Myrren answered carefully. “The air was thick with fumes from the lamps.”

Aelira’s mouth curved. “Poison in the air. You always know before anyone else does.” She drifted closer, skirts whispering. “Tell me, child, when you smell rot in this palace, do you believe it comes from stone or from the hearts that built it?”

Myrren’s throat tightened. “There’s rot in both.”

The Queen’s gaze softened with pity, or curiosity. “Honesty. How rare.” She lifted a hand, stopping just short of contact. Myrren felt the chill of power humming beneath her skin. “And how costly.”

The chamber door opened again, spilling light and footsteps. Thane entered, a gold cloak shadowed with fatigue. Corven followed, silent as breath.

“My Queen,” Thane began, bowing. “You sent for her?”

“I did.” Aelira did not look at him. “The court needs its truth-sayer.”

Thane’s gaze flicked to Myrren with concern, apology and an unspoken promise. “She’s exhausted. You cannot.. ”

“Cannot what?” Aelira’s eyes found him. “Question the girl who names every poison that enters my house?”

Thane straightened, light trembling along his edges. Myrren saw his gift trying to rise with devotion burning through veins and felt its warmth lick the air between them. Beautiful and dangerous.

Corven moved half a step forward, shadows curling at his boots. “Your Majesty,” he said softly, “perhaps light is not what she requires.”

Aelira tilted her head, intrigued. “Ah. The ward of shadows speaks.”

Their magics clashed invisibly: a quiver of candle flames, a hush that deepened into ringing silence. The tether inside Myrren’s chest pulled taut.

“Enough,” she whispered before the strain could split her. Her plea echoed too loudly, as if the room remembered other times she’d said it.

Aelira’s gaze sharpened. “You feel it too.”
Myrren’s breath caught. “Feel what?”

“The repetition,” the Queen murmured. “The echo beneath every vow.”

The token flared through the fabric of Myrren’s dress. Aelira’s eyes followed the pulse. Her smile was slow, certain. “You see, Mistress Vale, even light leaves its chains.”

Thane froze; Corven’s shadow twitched; Myrren’s knees nearly gave out. Somewhere deep in the palace, a bell tolled again, low and unending.

The sound lingered, crawling beneath Myrren’s skin until she couldn’t tell if it came from the tower or her own heart.

Thane stepped forward, protective and desperate. “Your Majesty..  she’s done nothing ”

Aelira raised her hand. The air stopped moving. “Done nothing?” Her gaze cut to him. “I watched the firelight twist between you, Prince. You burn what you claim to love. Be careful it does not consume your crown.”

Thane’s jaw tightened, gold dimming to ember. “You speak as though you’ve seen it before.”

“I have.”

Corven’s eyes flicked upward, wary.

The Queen stepped closer to Myrren. “Every cycle begins with light and ends with ash. You, girl, stand in its middle unbroken, because you have not yet chosen.”

“My choice?” Myrren’s voice barely carried.

“Whose chains you wear.”

The spiral token seared against her palm. She hadn’t realized she’d drawn it out until its glow painted her fingers in onyx fire. The Queen’s reflection fractured across the mirrored wall, one version watching with pity, one with hunger, one with infinite patience.

Thane reached for her wrist. “Drop it.”

Corven’s shadow unfurled. “Don’t.”

Their voices struck together, light and shadow colliding. Flames flared white, then guttered to black smoke. Myrren’s breath caught as the room spun; for a heartbeat she saw two versions of them both, Thane blazing, Corven shrouded  and herself between, reflected twice over, neither image whole.

The Queen did not move. She merely watched. “It remembers you,” she murmured. “Every loop does.”

Myrren staggered. The token pulsed faster, rhythm matching her heartbeat. Whispers pressed against her skull with vows, chains and firelight.

Ori’s voice flickered through memory: If you’re not careful, you’ll be hanged  or worse, bound.

“Make it stop,” Myrren gasped.

“Can you?” the Queen asked. “Or will you choose which flame burns brighter?”

Thane shouted her name as he reached for her, while Corven caught her other arm and shadows climbed her sleeve, and then the onyx spiral burst with light.

Not gold. Not shadow. Something between.

The Queen’s smile was the last thing she saw before the light consumed the room.

“Even light,” Aelira whispered through the blaze, “leaves chains.”

And the world cracked like glass.