"Everything will be alright."
That's what she had said.
Malvoria had whispered it into the curve of Elysia's shoulder two weeks ago, believing—no, needing it to be true.
But now, as another explosion rocked the south wing of the palace, shattering a once-pristine stained-glass window into a thousand shards, those words echoed back to her with bitter irony.
It hadn't been alright.
Not even close.
She stood in the smoking corridor, shadows shifting at her back, ash still floating like snow through the air.
Two guards were on their knees, brushing glass from their armor. A maid was crying silently, her hands trembling as she cradled a small burn on her forearm. The wall behind them bore the jagged scorch marks of purple flame.
Uncontrolled. Wild. Elysia's magic.
Again.
Malvoria exhaled slowly through her nose, trying to keep her expression even. She couldn't afford to look shaken in front of the staff not when they were already terrified.
