2 days earlier in Aetheria

  Elara stood by the tall, narrow window, her fingers gripping the cold stone of the sill. The moon hung high in the sky, a pale crescent amidst a sea of inky black. Midnight.

  Her heart skipped a beat. It was the hour they’d agreed upon.

  She hadn’t doubted Kharis, but still, the quiet of the palace felt too eerie, too still. It was a rare thing to find the halls of the royal palace so empty at this hour, especially when she was supposed to be confined to her chambers. Guards usually patrolled outside her door, as they did in all corners of the palace, their eyes never straying far. But tonight—tonight had been different.

  This had to be Kharis’ doing. She thought.

  Elara allowed herself a quiet breath, glancing over her shoulder toward the door, half-expecting someone to burst through and drag her back to the cage that had become her life. But there was only silence.

  The fact was, she was here—free to move, for the first time in months, with no one to keep an eye on her. She wasn’t a princess, not tonight. She knew after tonight, if all went as planned, she will be branded a fugitive.

  The door creaked open with barely a sound, and Kharis stepped into the shadows of the dimly lit library. His eyes met hers with a quiet urgency.

  “Princess,” Kharis whispered, voice low but urgent. “The boat’s ready. It’s late, but we have a narrow window. I’ve misdirected most of the guards—false word about rioters coming in from the east. They’re guarding the gates, fewer in number. We need to move now!”

  Elara felt the gravity of his words settle around her, but she didn’t answer right away, “I told you this, I’m not leaving without Nara,” Elara’s voice was firm, though a quiet tremor ran through her. “You know I can’t abandon her.”

  “I understand that,” Kharis’ eyes flickered with frustration, but he masked it quickly. “But you have to understand, the longer we delay, the closer we come to being caught. The palace is on high alert. We need to go straight to the council chamber and use the passage. A detour could put us in danger.”

  Elara turned to face him; her chin high. “It was always part of the plan,” she said, her voice quiet but unwavering. “I will not leave her behind. You knew this when we agreed to this. Nara is in there for following my orders. She’s, my friend.”

  Kharis sighed, running a hand through his thin silver hair. His gaze hardened slightly, but there was no denying the flicker of respect in his eyes for Elara’s unwavering determination. He stepped back, eyes scanning the dim halls.

  “As you say, then,” he muttered, frustration lingering in his tone, but he made no further protest. “We go to the dungeons; the next few minutes might be our last. Let’s move.”

  The journey to the dungeons was far from smooth.

  As they moved through the narrow hallways, every creak of the wooden floorboards beneath their feet seemed magnified. The tension between them hung thick, neither speaking, but both knowing the cost of failure.

  Kharis led the way, his pace quick but deliberate, his steps silent and sure. Elara matched his speed, but her heart beat erratically in her chest. Every shadow felt like a guard’s eyes; every flicker of torchlight seemed to highlight her presence in the most dangerous way. She was no longer a princess sneaking away for an adventure.

  At one point, they rounded a corner and nearly collided with two palace servants carrying crates. Elara’s breath caught, but Kharis acted quickly, pulling her behind a stone column.

  "I heard the palace guards are all guarding the gates tonight—rioters threatening to invade," one muttered to the other, who was following with trays in hand.

  “Don’t worry, the palace is heavily guarded. A few men with sticks won’t kill you tonight,” the other responded, his tone dripping with mockery.

  The servants passed by without noticing them, their chatter harmless, oblivious to the desperate escape unfolding right under their noses.

  “Close,” Elara whispered as they resumed their movement.

  Kharis said nothing, his eyes scanning the corridor ahead.

  The scent of damp stone and iron grew stronger, and the walls seemed to close in around them. The low hum of voices could be heard from behind thick wooden doors, distant but unmistakable—guards and servants murmuring just out of sight.

  Kharis turned to Elara, his face set in lines of determination, and gestured for silence. They pressed themselves against the cold stone wall, waiting for the footfalls of approaching guards to pass.

  As the guards’ footsteps grew fainter, Kharis nodded toward a narrow stairwell leading deeper into the bowels of the palace. The dungeons.

  They descended in silence, every step heavier than the last. Elara’s thoughts were a whirlwind. She couldn’t imagine what Nara had gone through during her time in the prison, locked away in those cold stone walls.

  The air grew damp as they reached the bottom of the stairs. They were close now.

  Kharis reached for the iron-bound door leading into the dungeons. It was locked, but he didn’t hesitate. With a swift motion, he produced a heavy set of keys from beneath his cloak—ones that Elara had seen him carry countless times but never paid much attention to before. His fingers found the right one but suddenly they both heard footsteps nearby, the keys slipped from Kharis’ hand. They struck stone loudly. Elara turned but there was nothing. The corridor remained empty.

  He quickly picked the keys without a second thought and quickly inserted the key into the lock and with a quiet click, the lock surrendered.

  Elara stood behind him, her pulse racing, her every sense heightened. This was the moment. The door creaked open as a rush of cold air greeted them.

  They entered.

  As the heavy iron doors closed behind them, muffling the sounds of the palace above. The flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows on the stone walls, stretching out like long fingers reaching for the two figures who now moved cautiously through the silence.

  Kharis halted, his sharp gaze locking onto the two guards sitting lazily at a wooden table in the center of the room. Their swords lay idly on the surface, a stark contrast to the tension simmering around them. Kharis turned to Elara; his voice low but urgent.

  "Move to the left corridor and hide in the shadows as soon as I move in," he whispered.

  Elara nodded, her heart hammering in her chest. She slid into position, watching Kharis as he took a deep breath and strode toward the guards, his footsteps purposeful.

  "Haven't you heard the rioters are threatening to invade the Palace? What the hell are you lot doing here? Resting?" Kharis barked, his voice cutting through the air like a whip.

  The senior guard looked up in surprise, his eyes narrowing as he replied, "No, adviser, we were told by Akeem to stay put."

  The second guard fumbled, clearly nervous. "They didn’t need all the guards out there, he said, Adviser Kharis."

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Kharis didn’t relent. "So, if they break in, I’ll be sure to let the King know which ones were back here slacking off." His words were laced with a biting edge, enough to make the guards falter.

  The two exchanged a brief glance before hastily reaching for their swords, abandoning their post. "We'll head out now, Adviser," the senior guard muttered, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

  Without a second thought, they rushed outside, the clatter of their armor fading as they disappeared from sight. They never saw Elara, who had already moved swiftly into the shadows, just as Kharis had instructed.

  "Come, Princess," Kharis hissed in a loud whisper, urging her forward.

  Elara stepped out of the shadows, her breath steadying as she made her way to Kharis. She found him quickly scanning the keys hanging from the wall near the cells. His fingers brushed over the rusted metal until he found the right one, and with a soft click, he unlocked the cell door.

  Inside, Nara lay curled up on a narrow cot, her breathing shallow but steady. The sound of the door creaking open woke her, and she blinked in confusion, her eyes adjusting to the dim light.

  "Adviser Kharis—?" she started, her voice thick with sleep.

  Before she could finish her question, Elara was inside the cell, wrapping her arms around Nara in a tight, desperate embrace. "Come. We need to leave," Elara whispered urgently, her voice shaking with the gravity of the moment.

  Nara nodded, her face clearing with understanding. She scrambled to her feet, shaking off the remnants of sleep, ready to follow Elara out of the cell.

  As soon as the three stepped outside, they all halted together, as if they saw a ghost. Elara’s breath caught in her chest, and a sudden, almost eerie stillness seemed to hang in the air. She stepped forward, unwilling to let the tension paralyze her. The responsibility of the situation was hers, and she wasn’t about to let it slip away.

  “So it was you out there, following us,” Kharis said out loud.

  Nima just stood there, her eyes downcast, not meeting any of theirs, but the weight of her presence was undeniable.

  "It should have been me. I-I’m sorry… Sister." Nima said, her voice heavy with regret. Tears welled in her eyes, her hands trembling slightly. "I should have been the one to get you out of there."

  Elara’s chest tightened, anger bubbling to the surface. "You think it’s that easy?" she shot back fiercely, her tone sharp. "Like that would have been your redemption... for everything you did?" The words burned as they left her mouth, each syllable cutting into the silence. She saw Nima flinch, and she knew she’d struck a nerve. But this wasn’t the time for sympathy, not for someone who’d betrayed them so thoroughly.

  Nima’s gaze flickered, and her lips parted as though she wanted to say something more, but before she could Nara spoke, “-Do not call me sister!” her voice cut through the silence like a freshly sharpened knife. “You conspired against your princess, you warmed Prince’s bed like a whore. You bring shame to our family.”

  Nara simply whispered, "I’m sorry for everything." Then, the floodgates opened, and Nima began to cry uncontrollably. Her sobs echoed through the space, raw and desperate.

  For a moment, Elara saw not a traitor—but a girl.

  A pawn discarded once she had served her purpose.

  Then she remembered the dead. Still, she couldn’t let it go.

  Suddenly, the heavy sound of iron doors creaking open reached them, followed by the soft shuffle of approaching footsteps. The tension spiked, and Nima, in a swift motion, wiped away her tears, her face suddenly hardening as she gestured toward the shadows.

  "Hide," she ordered in a low, controlled voice. "Quickly."

  As she moved toward the entrance, Elara and Kharis pressed themselves into the darkness, holding their breath. The three guards entered, their armor clinking softly, unaware of the three fugitives in hiding.

  "What are you doing here?" Nima asked, her tone cold and commanding, the authority of Theron’s favor dripping from her words.

  One of the guards, startled, stammered, "Well, it’s our shift here, mi’lady. What are you doing here... at this hour?"

  Nima didn’t miss a beat. "I received word from a guard in the palace. The rioters are overpowering palace guards, they need every hand out towards the gates. Hurry up!"

  The guards exchanged confused looks, but the urgency in Nima’s voice seemed to hit them. “Bu-But we can’t, Captain Akeem ordered us to stay here at all times!” one of them barked back.

  “Well fine then, when the rioters intrude and you’re investigated for not showing up, I will be standing right beside the King to make sure you two are posted in these very cells you guard.” Both looked at one another, knowing Nima’s station, and without another word, they hurried out, their footsteps fading in the distance.

  Nima then picked up a dagger resting on the table nearby and turned to Elara, her face softening for a moment, the tears still glistening in her eyes. "I wish I could offer more. Forgive me, if you can," she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she offered the blade to Elara.

  Elara didn’t respond immediately. She just looked at Nima for a long moment, as if weighing something deep within. But in the end, she said nothing. She turned and nodded at Kharis, signaling it was time.

  Nima stepped aside, silently giving them the way. Her body language spoke volumes, she was giving them the chance to escape, grasping the dagger in her hands tightly, knowing this was their only moment.

  As Elara, Kharis, and Nara moved toward the door, Elara stopped for a brief moment, her back still to Nima.

  "I will return to my home, Nima. Do not be here when I do." Elara said, her voice low but resolute. The words were final, and without turning, Elara hurried after Kharis and Nara.

  “You won’t.” Nima whispered.

  The garden was eerily quiet, the air thick with the tension of what had just happened. The word had spread—the guards had moved out in force, and the entire garden area lay unguarded. Kharis took the lead, his steps measured and purposeful. Elara and Nara followed closely, a shared sense of urgency pulling them forward.

  They reached the garden alcove, where a marble statue stood solemnly. Kharis went behind it, his hands searching for something hidden in the stonework. After a moment, he found it—a lever, cleverly concealed. With a practiced pull, he moved it in a circular motion.

  The sound was deafening in its suddenness—like stone grinding against stone, followed by a low roar. The statue shifted, moving a few steps ahead, revealing a dark, narrow stairway that descended deep into the ground.

  Kharis glanced at Elara, his eyes intense, urging her forward. "You first, Princess," he said, his voice laced with both command and concern.

  Elara didn’t hesitate. She stepped into the stairway, the damp, earthy scent of the tunnel filling her senses. Her breath seemed to steady as she descended, her footsteps echoing softly in the silence.

  Nara followed her immediately, Kharis bringing up the rear. As soon as they were all inside, the oppressive weight of the palace seemed to lift, the air in the tunnel crisp and heavy with the promise of freedom.

  It was a moment of hope. A taste of freedom that had eluded them for months.

  ***

  “I am surrounded by traitors and fools!” Theron yelled, his voice shaking with raw anger and frustration, the words slicing through the stillness of the early morning.

  The first light of dawn crept into the sky, casting a dim, cold glow over the palace grounds, as if the world itself hesitated to wake fully. Theron stood at the garden alcove, his jaw clenched, the fury from his shout still burning in his chest. He stared down into the opening where the statue had once stood—now only an empty space, a silent witness to the deception he was just beginning to understand.

  Akeem stood beside him, ever stoic, his usual calm presence providing no comfort. Even he seemed tense, his gaze flicking between his king and the passageway before them.

  “What the hell is this, Akeem?” Theron’s voice was low, but it trembled with a mix of confusion and seething anger.

  Akeem’s eyes scanned the opening briefly before replying, “Looks like a secret passageway for a king, your majesty. Probably built centuries ago. Similar to the one we stumbled upon in the graveyard, if you remember.”

  “Why does the King not know about this then?” Theron’s eyes narrowed; frustration evident on his face.

  “It seems like,” Akeem hesitated before responding carefully, “The royal adviser decided to instead use that information differently. Helping the princess escape.”

  Theron’s breath caught in his chest, his scowl deepening as the weight of betrayal sank in. “Why… why… why…” he whispered under his breath, barely able to finish the thought.

  Before he could process further, a guard came running toward them, breathless. “Your majesty! A prisoner is also missing from the cell…”

  Without thinking, Akeem waved the guard off dismissively. “I’ll go check it out, my king.”

  Theron’s eyes blazed with a sudden fury. He was still trying to process the chaos, but instinctively, he knew he needed to confirm his fears. “They must have helped that maid escape too,” he muttered under his breath, and without another word, he briskly made his way to the dungeon.

  He arrived moments later and swung the heavy doors open, his gaze immediately falling on the commotion near one of the holding cells. Guards shuffled aside as he entered, and what he saw made his stomach turn.

  There, in the cell where Nara had once been imprisoned, laid Nima, her lifeless body sprawled on the floor. Her wrist was grotesquely slashed, the blood still fresh as it pooled beneath her. The knife, laid beside her cold bloodied hand.

  Theron’s heart slammed in his chest, nausea rising in his throat. His face drained of color, and for a moment, he struggled to find his voice.

  His fingers tangled in his hair— then stilled.

  Slowly, he lowered his hands.

  Then after a few moments his eyes met Akeem’s, and the weight of what had happened hit him like a physical blow.

  “Akeem!” he barked, his voice sharp as broken glass. Akeem stepped forward without hesitation.

  “Send men,” Theron continued, his voice colder now, like steel. “I want checkpoints at every turn, every trade route coming in and going out of Aetheria’s jurisdiction.”

  “Yes, your Majesty.” Akeem responded, his expression unreadable as he bowed.

  “If she reaches the outer provinces, they will rally to her name.”

  His jaw tightened.

  “Find them.” Theron muttered under his breath, his eyes burning with fury, his mind racing with dark thoughts as he took a step back, then stormed out of the dungeon, unable to stop the seething rage that had taken over him.

  ***