Chapter 54
valla palace
The hall was hushed as Alissa made her way down its length, her steps measured and soft. Evening light slipped through tall windows, casting amber streaks across the stone floor. She paused at the door to the study, where the low murmur of voices echoed beyond the thick wood.
Gently, she pushed it open.
Inside, Prince Alistair sat behind a carved oaken table, his head bent over a scroll. A member of the council stood beside him, gesturing faintly as he spoke. But Alistair, ever attuned, looked up at once the moment she entered. His eyes softened, and a smile tugged faintly at the corners of his mouth.
Alissa smiled back.
The councilman noticed her then, straightening quickly. "My lady," he greeted with a slight bow.
She returned it with a polite nod and stepped aside, waiting.
Alistair watched her for a heartbeat, then turned back to the man. "We shall continue this later," he said.
The councilman inclined his head, gathered the rest of his notes, and turned to leave, offering another bow to both siblings before vanishing through the doorway.
The door clicked shut behind him. Alissa stepped forward and sat upon the chair across from her brother. Her fingers folded neatly on the polished table, though her knuckles were pale with tension.
Alistair leaned back in his seat, folding his arms. "Out with it," he said, his voice light with amusement. "You've that look again."
Alissa exhaled, her lashes lowering. "I came to speak of something important."
Alistair straightened, noting the tremor in her hands and the faint nervous swallow at her throat. His tone gentled. "Is it serious?"
She nodded. "I… I care for someone. Truly. And he loves me."
She paused, watching her brother's face.
For a brief moment, Alistair was still, unreadable. Then he rose slowly and came to sit at the edge of the table, turning to face her. A slow smile tugged at his lips.
"And who is this fortunate soul?" he asked. "Someone we know?"
Alissa nodded. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her sleeve, a gesture he remembered well from when she was a girl too shy to ask for sweets.
He looked at her with warmth in his eyes. "Is it Adam?"
Her head snapped up, surprise coloring her features. "How do you know?"
Alistair chuckled. "I'm your brother, not a blind fool. I've seen the way he looks at you."
"You're not… angry?"
"Angry?" he echoed, reaching to gently lift her chin. "ñuha prūmia, you are of age to choose with your heart. And truth be told, I cannot think of a man more worthy than Adam. I've known him all his life. He's steady, loyal, and kind. He's the sort of man I would trust to hold your heart."
A cry broke past her lips, and she flung herself at him, arms wrapping around his neck.
"I love you," she whispered fiercely.
Alistair laughed softly, hugging her close. "And I love you more, little star."
They sat like that for a while, wrapped in quiet affection. When at last she pulled away, her eyes still bright, she looked at him with a touch of uncertainty.
"Do you think Father will agree?"
Alistair looked at her, and for a moment he saw not only his sister, but the shadow of their mother—the same eyes, the same stubborn grace. He reached out and smoothed her hair back from her face.
"He will," he said. "He may be king, but first he is your father. He would move the heavens if it meant your joy."
Alissa smiled, eyes shimmering with hope, and leaned in to embrace him once more. He held her gently, his heart full, and for a time, the burdens of crown and court were forgotten in the simple love between a brother and his sister.
---
Few days later
The torches along the castle walls burned low, casting long shadows that danced across the stone. In the highest chamber, where the wind slipped through narrow windows and whispered secrets from the hills, Morgana stood quietly, watching the forest beyond.
Behind her, the door opened with a soft creak.
A young man entered, dressed in a dark cloak, his face half-hidden beneath his hood. He stepped forward without a word, holding out a scroll sealed in red wax. The emblem stamped into it was unmistakable—the royal crest of Aethelgar.
Morgana turned from the window, her long fingers closing around the scroll with care. She studied the seal for a moment, then looked up at the messenger.
The young man gave a single nod. "He asks that you use this well," he said quietly, "and not give him reason to regret it."
Morgana smiled faintly, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. "You may tell him," she replied, "I never step into a game I do not plan to win."
The man gave a slight bow, then turned and left the chamber. Moments later, the sound of hooves echoed from the courtyard as he vanished into the night.
Morgana's gaze followed the path he had taken until darkness swallowed it whole. Then she looked back at the scroll, breaking the seal with a flick of her thumb.
A banquet. Hosted by King Tommen, for his son. A gathering of royals and lords. A place where alliances are tested, masks are worn, and truths are hidden behind smiles.
She turned toward the window once more, the invitation glinting under the moonlight. A slow smile curved her lips—cold, certain, and full of promise.
And in a soft voice, she whispered,
"Incepit ludos."
Let the games begin.