Chapter 5 Morning After

★ALTHEA★

The morning light came through the window, bright and cold.

I blinked against the glare, my hand reaching out to touch the heavy blanket over me. For a second, my heart skipped a beat. The fear came back first, sharp and fast. I thought I was back in Varro’s house, waiting for the door to fly open, for someone to shout at me to get up and work.

Then I looked at the ceiling. The wood was dark and carved with patterns I had never seen before. The room was large and warm, a fire still crackling quietly in the grate.

I was not in Varro’s house. I was in Cinderpeak—the kingdom of dragons.

A soft knock sounded at the door. I sat up quickly, pulling the blanket to my chest.

A young servant girl walked in, carrying a tray. She kept her eyes low as she walked over to the small table near the bed. On the tray sat a plate of hot food, some bread, steaming tea, and a cup of water.

"Good morning, my lady," she said softly, keeping her distance. "I have brought breakfast."

"Good morning," I said. My voice was still raspy from sleep.

"The king has ordered that you stay in your chamber today," she said, adjusting the tray. "You are to remain here until further notice."

I nodded slowly. "I understand."

She gave a small bow and left the room, closing the door behind her without another word.

I looked at the food, but I did not eat right away. I got out of the soft bed, my bare feet touching the cold stone floor. I was still wearing the clean cloth from the night before, but my eyes caught the heavy robe Rhazien had given me. It sat folded neatly on the chair. I picked it up and held it for a moment. It did not have his warmth anymore, but it still smelled of him—like woodsmoke and the mountains.

I remembered the weight of his large hand against the side of my head in the carriage. I remembered how firm his hold had been, yet he had not hurt me. 'Not a word. Sleep,' he had said. His voice had been so deep it felt like a vibration in my own chest. He was a stranger, and he had bought me for gold, but he had not struck me.

I set the robe down and began to walk around the room.

It was a beautiful space. I opened the large wardrobe against the wall. Inside hung gowns made of fine, heavy fabric. They were not old or dusty; they were fresh. The washstand was made of polished dark wood, holding a clean porcelain basin. Even the curtains hanging by the bed were thick and stitched with gold thread. This was not a cell for a prisoner or a slave. It was a room meant for someone important. It was a room for a queen.

I walked over to the wide window and looked out.

The mountains were tall, their sharp peaks cutting into the grey sky. The air looked freezing out there, but inside, the stone walls kept the cold away. I looked down at the windowsill.

There was a small clay vase sitting in the corner. Inside it was a single wild flower. It looked like a common weed from the mountains, with small white petals. It looked dry, its stem leaning to one side as if it were about to die.

I stretched out my hand. My fingers hovered over the small petals for a second. I hesitated, then I touched the edge of the leaf.

A strange feeling rushed through my fingers. It was a small flutter, the exact same feeling I had felt deep in my chest right before I fell asleep the night before. It was warm and tingling.

Before my eyes, the dry stem of the flower grew straight. The small white petals opened wide, turning a bright, pure white, as if they had just grown out of the earth after a fresh rain. The small plant looked alive, full of strength.

I pulled my hand back fast, my heart hammering against my ribs.

I stared at my fingers, then at the flower. It stayed bright and perfect.

'What did I just do?' I thought.

I knew I was a Fae, a hybrid of light and dark. But my magic had always been asleep. Varro had never noticed anything because nothing had ever happened. But now, just touching a dying plant had changed it. The place was doing something to me. Cinderpeak was waking up whatever was hidden inside my blood.

The door clicked open again.

I jumped, spinning around to face the entrance. Greta walked in, carrying a fresh basket of linens. She stopped when she saw my face. I was breathing heavily, standing near the window with my hands pressed against my skirt.

Greta set the basket down on the table. She looked at me, her calm eyes moving from my face to the window, and then down to the flower in the vase.

The flower was still bright white, its leaves green and full.

Greta paused. She walked a few steps closer to the windowsill. She looked at the plant for a long time, then she looked up at me. There was no anger in her face. She did not look suspicious or frightened. Instead, her eyes grew soft, filled with a quiet sympathy.

"You look like you have seen a ghost, child," Greta said, her voice gentle.

"I..." I started, but my throat tightened. I looked at the flower, then back at her. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to ask her if the plants in this kingdom always did that, if there was something in the air that made things grow. I wanted to confess that I was terrified of what was happening inside my own body.

But I stopped myself. I could not trust anyone yet. If they found out I was a Fae, everything would change. They would lock me away.

"I just looked out the window," I lied quietly, looking down at the floor. "The heights... they made me a bit dizzy."

Greta did not argue. She walked over to me, her sandals clicking softly on the stone. She reached out and placed a warm hand on my shoulder, just as she had done the night before.

"The air up here is different," Greta said. Her voice carried a strange weight, as if she knew exactly what I was hiding but chose not to speak it. "The mountains have a way of changing things. They bring things to life. Do not fear it."

She gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Eat your breakfast before it gets cold," she added, pointing to the tray the servant had left. "The king will want to see you soon, and you need your strength."

"Thank you, Greta," I murmured.

She smiled softly, picked up her empty basket, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

I stood alone in the center of the chamber. The silence returned, but it did not feel peaceful anymore. It felt heavy. I looked back at the flower on the windowsill. It felt as though the entire stone keep was alive around me, watching me, sensing that a stranger had entered its walls. My magic was stirring, and I did not know how to stop it.

Suddenly, the quiet was broken.

Heavy, slow footsteps echoed from the corridor outside. They were not the light steps of the servant girl or the steady pace of Greta. These steps were loud, deliberate, and carried a weight that made the stone floor feel small.

They were coming straight toward my door.

My breath hitched in my throat. I stood frozen by the bed, my eyes locked on the wooden handle. The footsteps stopped right outside my door.

Rhazien was here.