The gates of Vireth groaned open with a deep, grinding sound, as if the city itself disliked newcomers. Towering spires of silver and stone reached into the cloud-covered sky, their tips glowing faintly with arcane wards. The streets buzzed with activity—merchants shouting over carts of rare goods, armored knights patrolling in gleaming helms, and nobles adorned in velvet and jewels moving like predators behind painted masks.
Serenya had never seen anything like it.
She clutched the reins of her horse tightly, her every sense on edge. This world was loud, fast, dangerous—every face seemed to watch her with suspicion, or worse, recognition. She felt like a lamb dropped into a den of wolves.
Lord Corvin's voice cut through her haze. "Do not look them in the eye. Not yet. They smell uncertainty like blood in the water."
He guided her through the maze of stone alleys and archways, finally stopping in front of a grand estate built into the hillside, flanked by statues of phoenixes carved in obsidian. The House Solmar Crest—a rising flame over a broken crown—was etched into the iron gates. For a moment, Serenya felt a strange pull in her chest, like the house was calling her home.
"Your family's ancestral home," Corvin said as they passed through. "Abandoned for nearly fifteen years. It still remembers you."
She glanced at him, startled. "How could it? I've never been here."
"The walls of old bloodlines carry memory," he said. "Especially ones bound to magic."
Inside, the estate was a mix of faded glory and eerie stillness. Dust blanketed ornate furniture. Tapestries depicting the Solmar lineage hung in silence, the threadbare eyes of kings and queens watching her from the walls. One portrait stopped her cold—it was of a woman with long dark hair and ember-colored eyes.
"She looks like me," Serenya whispered.
"That was Queen Elyria Solmar," Corvin confirmed. "Your mother."
Serenya felt her knees weaken.
Before she could ask more, a sharp knock echoed through the hall. A tall woman stepped into view, her elegant figure draped in deep violet. Her eyes were as cold as glass, and her voice cut like a blade.
"So, this is the lost Solmar," she said, circling Serenya like a hawk. "She looks soft. Is she soft, Corvin?"
"This is Lady Thariel Veyne," Corvin said, ignoring the insult. "One of the Queen's Advisors."
Thariel smirked. "Was an advisor. Now I serve the regency council. We keep the kingdom from collapsing while we wait for a child to wear a crown."
"I'm not a child," Serenya said before she could stop herself.
Thariel turned slowly. "Oh? You've spent your life feeding chickens and gathering herbs. You know nothing of courts, war, or ruling. You'll be eaten alive."
"Then I'll learn to bite back," Serenya said, forcing herself to meet Thariel's gaze.
A flicker of surprise crossed the advisor's face. "Hmm. Perhaps there's hope yet."
Corvin stepped between them. "She'll begin training tomorrow. With both blade and mind. She'll need it. Enemies move already. Some will try to kill her. Others will try to charm her."
"And some," Thariel added with a smile, "will try to own her."
Serenya's heart pounded. She wanted to run, to escape back to her village, to the sea. But something had shifted inside her. A fire she couldn't extinguish. This was her blood. Her destiny. And she would not let them decide her fate for her.
"Let them try," she said quietly. "I'll learn. I'll fight."
Thariel laughed, not unkindly. "Good. Because the court is not a place for the meek. It's a garden of thorns—and only those who learn to bleed without dying survive."