Realms in Ruin

The cold marble bit into my knee as I knelt before the throne. The familiar tang of fear coated my tongue, and I swallowed hard. I’d spent enough hours on this floor to know every crack running through the marble, but that still didn’t ease the fear that gripped my heart.

A loose lock of crimson hair escaped my headscarf and brushed against my cheek as I kept my head bowed. The Queen clicked her tongue.

“How unruly.”

I adjusted the scarf blindly and slipped the hair back in place before her eyes had time to linger. She wouldn’t coax me into reacting to her again. The last time remained fresh in the scars on my skin. My eyes stayed lowered until the King spoke.

“You may rise.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” I bowed to him once more before standing.

Our eyes met, and I held back a shudder. Light blue eyes, the color of ice, froze me still. Silver threaded his dark hair, but the authority in his gaze hadn’t lessened with time. Part of me still searched his face for warmth, despite knowing better.

Beside him sat the Queen, each silver-blonde strand of hair perfectly placed beneath her crown. Her face was calm as still water.

The Queen’s gaze slid over me the way one might inspect a crack in fine porcelain. She never said the words aloud, but I had felt them since I was old enough to understand. I was living proof that the King had once loved someone else more than her. My mother—the siren he had kept in the shadows—had been the only one to hold that place.

I was simply the evidence left behind.

Princess Evelyn sat next to her mother, her posture not quite as refined. Golden curls framed her gentle face and softened the weight of the sapphire circlet resting on her brow.

She was the only one on the dais who acknowledged me as a sister, though just barely.

Prince Morvin, sitting to the King’s right, didn’t hesitate to voice his disdain for me. I’d broken his mother’s heart and was forever a blemish on her existence.

Morvin leaned against the King’s throne in embroidered ocean-blue silk, looking entirely too comfortable. His amused smile settled on me long before a word was spoken.

“The Lunai envoy arrives tomorrow,” the King announced.

The news almost took my breath away, but I managed to hide my reaction. Peace had been declared, but distrust still lingered between the realms—and now he was inviting the enemy through our gates.

“Prince Varen himself will lead the envoy,” the King continued.

A murmur rippled through the King’s advisors before dying just as quickly.

“He comes to claim Lunai’s war prize.”

My eyes found Evelyn before I could stop them. She didn’t move, but her fingers tightened against the carved arm of her chair.

“Father,” she choked out, her voice barely a whisper. “There must be another way.”

The King’s gaze did not leave me.

“There is no other way, Evelyn.” He hesitated, the quiet around him punctuated by distant bird calls, before moving on. “Lorelai, you are to extend a warm welcome to the Lunai envoy.”

I knew immediately what he was asking of me.

“Your Majesty… if they sense I am using my powers on them—”

Sirens were a tainted race, despised in every realm. The words tasted dangerously close to pleading.

“Ensure they don’t.”

His answer came without hesitation.

The Queen spoke next, every word clipped. “Every member of this family carries burdens they did not choose.”

Morvin struck another blow.

“Careful not to sing too sweetly, Lorelai. We wouldn’t want our guests getting the wrong idea about what kind of hospitality Rykane offers.”

I bit the inside of my cheek until the sting steadied me.

“Enough,” the King said, silencing Morvin in seconds. “If your sacrifice secures Rykane’s future, then it is a sacrifice worthy of the realm.”

My head dropped as I bowed once more.

“You are dismissed.”

With a turn of my heel, I was out of the throne room within seconds.

The doors closed behind me before I let myself breathe. The King’s words echoed louder in the empty corridor than they had in the throne room.

Servants hurried past me with baskets of linens and trays of polished silver, preparing for tomorrow’s reception. No one glanced twice at me as I walked toward the west wing.

Afternoon light danced across the mosaic floors crafted from pearl, shell, and blue sea glass. The farther I walked west, the fewer voices carried behind me. Silence greeted me before I reached my room.

It overlooked the sea, small by royal standards but large enough to hold everything that mattered. My bed rested by the window, giving me the perfect view of the waves crashing against the shore below. At its foot was my small bookshelf, home to all the treasures I’d found around the realm. Pressed flowers dried between books stacked beside the window, and small clay pots crowded the sill.

The room asked nothing of me except that I be myself.

The pink gown slipped from my shoulders, and the shawl peeled away from my hair with ease. Untying each ribbon felt as if I were shedding a burden, the pressure in my chest easing with every knot I undid.

Compared to the opulent court gowns, the faded linen dress I retrieved from my closet had a comforting, worn softness. I pulled my long hair back into a loose ponytail and swapped my heels for a trusty pair of leather boots.

The woven basket with my gardening tools waited by the door, where I had left it. If anything could clear my mind, it was being outside.

The western gardens weren’t frequented often. They spilled toward the cliffs in terraces of flowers and herbs. Tucked against the outer wall was the only place no one else tended.

It wasn’t the grandest corner of the palace, but it was the only place that felt like mine. I’d spent hours tending the land to make it my own.

The soil was soft beneath my knees, unlike the marble of the throne room. The basket rested at my side, and I donned my weather-worn gloves with practiced ease.

Dead weeds came away with a practiced tug, while I left the healthy flowers untouched. I found my rhythm, working quickly before moving on to the next section of the garden.

Once I had finished weeding the flower beds and swept away the loose debris, I began planting the pearl lilies I had harvested from just outside the palace walls. I’d read in a book that they made a great anti-inflammatory when brewed in tea. They would make a useful addition to my herb garden.

My fingers brushed the few remaining moonlace blossoms I’d tucked into the basket earlier. Their pale petals always shimmered in the sunlight and glowed faintly beneath the moon—the reason Ariv used to drag me out here after dark to gather them.

We’d planted bulbs together last spring, but none had ever bloomed.

Just thinking about him made the garden feel emptier.

His wind-tossed brown hair never stayed where it belonged, no matter how often he tried to smooth it down. He’d always known what I needed, whether that was silence or a listening ear.

Months after his execution, I still caught myself expecting his footsteps.

I wiped a tear away and forced myself upright. The pouch in my basket was nearly empty. If I wanted any chance of sleeping before tomorrow, I needed more moonlace.

The wild patches below the western cliffs were still full of it, though I hadn’t gone there since Ariv.

I slipped my knife into my basket and headed for the cliff path.

The sea breeze greeted me long before I reached the shore. For a little while, the rhythm of the crashing waves drowned out every voice in my head.

The western beach stretched empty beneath the cliffs, where the tide gently brushed against pale sand. Few people bothered coming down this far, which was exactly why I loved it so much. I wandered farther along the shore toward the dunes where the moonlace grew wild.

Moonlace blossoms shimmered beneath the evening light, their pale petals almost translucent. I pinched each stem carefully, making sure to leave enough behind for the next season.

Taking more than I needed had always felt like stealing.

As I harvested the last plant, a sharp cry rose above the crashing waves.

The basket swung onto my elbow as I hurried toward the sound. A silver-winged gull thrashed helplessly against fishing wire tangled around its wings.

“Easy,” I whispered as I lowered myself into the sand beside it. “I’ll set you free.”

Its beak struck wildly at my fingers as I reached for the tangled line. My second attempt ended the same.

“You’re making progress,” a calm voice said behind me. “Though I’m not certain the bird agrees.”

The basket slipped from my arm and tipped into the sand. Moonlace blossoms scattered around my boots.

Several paces away stood a man I had never seen before. He wore dark trousers and a charcoal tunic with the sleeves pushed carelessly to his elbows. The clothing was plain, but the fabric was too fine for a fisherman and cut too well for a servant. Wind moved through the dark hair resting across his forehead, and a pair of ruby-colored eyes studied the struggling gull rather than me.

“You frightened me,” I said.

“My apologies.” His gaze moved to the knife in my hand. “Though I suspect you were prepared to defend yourself.”

I glanced down at the small gardening blade. “Against fishing wire, perhaps.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “A dangerous enemy.”

The gull shrieked and struck at my hand again, ending whatever response I might have made.

“May I help?” he asked.

He remained where he was, waiting.

The question surprised me enough that I simply stared at him. Men in the palace rarely asked permission before deciding what I needed. Even those who meant well assumed the answer belonged to them.

I shifted to make room. “Hold its wings. Gently.”

He lowered himself onto the sand across from me. His movements were unhurried, and the gull quieted beneath his hands almost at once.

“You’ve done this before,” I said.

“No.”

“Animals usually dislike strangers.”

“So do people.”

I looked up. His gaze met mine over the bird’s trembling body.

“Perhaps they simply dislike you,” I said.

A slow smile appeared. “That possibility has been suggested.”

I slipped the blade beneath the tangled wire and sawed carefully through it. His fingers rested only inches from mine, steady despite the gull’s frightened movements. When the final strand snapped, he released the bird.

It stumbled once across the sand before stretching its silver wings. With a sharp cry, it rose into the wind and swept out over the sea.

We watched until it became no more than a pale speck against the darkening horizon.

“It didn’t even look back,” I said.

“Would you?”

The question came so quietly that I almost believed I had imagined it.

I turned toward him. “If someone freed me?”

His expression did not change, but something sharpened behind his eyes. “If you had been trapped.”

I brushed sand from my gloves. “I suppose it would depend on what I was leaving behind.”

“A cage is still a cage, even when there are things inside it you love.”

The words struck closer than they should have.

“You speak as though you’ve escaped one,” I said.

He looked toward the cliffs rising above us, their white stone crowned by the distant palace walls. “No. I’ve merely become skilled at recognizing them.”

For several heartbeats, neither of us spoke.

I wondered who he was. A nobleman escaping a suffocating household, perhaps. A wealthy merchant’s son avoiding some duty he had not chosen. Whoever he was, there was weariness beneath his calm that I recognized too easily.

My eyes fell to the moonlace scattered across the sand. I began gathering the flowers before he could notice how deeply his words had unsettled me.

He reached for one at the same time I did.

Our fingers touched.

The contact was brief, but heat climbed through my hand and settled beneath my skin. He went unnaturally still. His ruby eyes lifted to mine, and for a moment, the air between us felt charged—as though the sea itself had drawn back and was waiting to crash.

I pulled my hand away first.

He turned the flower slowly between his fingers. “These must be important to you.”

“They’re called moonlace.” I placed the rescued blossoms back inside the basket. “Steeped into tea, they calm anxious thoughts.”

“Do they work?”

“Sometimes.”

“And when they don’t?”

I glanced at the palace.

His eyes followed mine.

“I walk,” I said. “I garden. I come somewhere no one expects to find me.”

“Until a stranger ruins the solitude.”

“You helped rescue the gull. I haven’t decided whether that earns your forgiveness.”

“My forgiveness?”

“For interrupting me.”

He laughed then—not loudly, but genuinely. The sound softened something in his face, and I found myself wanting to hear it again.

“I was unaware I had been accused,” he said.

“You appeared without warning and insulted my skill with wounded birds.”

“I offered an observation.”

“You said I was making progress.”

“You were.”

“The bird had bitten me three times.”

“Which was two fewer than it might have.”

I tried to suppress my smile and failed.

His attention lingered on my face, and the amusement in his expression faded into something quieter. More intent.

“What?” I asked.

“You seem different when you smile.”

My pulse stumbled. “Different from what?”

“The woman who looked ready to put a knife through me.”

“I told you. It is a gardening blade.”

“That distinction offers very little comfort.”

I looked away before he could see the warmth rising into my cheeks. “You still haven’t explained why you’re here.”

He lowered his gaze to the moonlace in his hand. “I needed a place where no one knew who I was.”

The honesty of the answer took me by surprise.

“Did you find one?” I asked.

His eyes returned to mine. “For the moment.”

Something about the way he said it made me careful.

“You could have lied.”

“I considered it.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Perhaps I wanted to see whether you would.”

I frowned. “Would what?”

“Tell me the truth in return.”

The sea rolled softly across the shore. Far above us, gulls circled the cliffs.

I should have given him nothing. A sensible woman would have laughed off the question, gathered her flowers, and returned to the palace before someone noticed she was missing.

Instead, I said, “I come here because it is the only place where I can pretend my life belongs to me.”

His face became unreadable.

“Pretend?” he asked.

I regretted the admission immediately. “That was more truth than you earned.”

“Then take one of mine.”

“You already told me you wanted anonymity.”

“That was only half a truth.”

I waited.

He looked out toward the horizon, where the sinking sun had turned the water the color of molten gold.

“I came here because tonight, I must make a decision that cannot be undone.”

The King’s command returned with brutal clarity. A sacrifice worthy of the realm.

My grip tightened around the basket. “And you don’t want to do it.” I said.

“Want has very little to do with duty.”

“That sounds like something a king would say.”

His jaw tightened slightly. “Kings say many things when they are not the ones paying the cost.”

I studied him more carefully. No common man spoke of kings with such quiet contempt. No ordinary traveler wore clothing like his or carried himself as if command had been carved into his bones.

“Then refuse,” I said.

His attention snapped back to me.

I nearly laughed at his expression. “You make it sound so simple.”

“I didn’t say it would be simple.”

“Some choices affect more than the person making them.”

“That does not change what is right. Nor does it change how you feel.”

His eyes narrowed, though not with anger. “You believe duty excuses nothing.”

“I believe people call something duty when they want someone else to suffer for it. In the end, a poor decision is worse than a difficult one.”

The words left me sharper than intended.

He watched me for a long moment. I expected him to dismiss me or remind me that I knew nothing about his life.

Instead, he said, “You’ve been asked to suffer for someone else.”

My breath caught.

I focused on fastening the small leather pouch inside my basket. “You make bold assumptions about women you meet on beaches.”

“And you avoid questions by talking about flowers.”

“Flowers are better company.”

“They don’t ask anything of you.”

“Exactly.”

A faint smile touched his mouth, though sadness remained in his eyes. “Perhaps that is why you care for them.”

I should have resented how easily he saw through me.

Instead, I felt seen in a way that frightened me.

A low horn rolled across the water.

His body tensed.

The sound came from somewhere beyond the cliffs—deep and resonant enough to stir the air around us. He glanced toward the horizon, and the ease in his expression disappeared.

“You recognize it,” I said.

He turned the moonlace bloom between his fingers. “I’ve heard it before.”

“That was another half-truth.”

“You’re becoming suspicious.”

“I was suspicious when you appeared dressed like a nobleman pretending not to be one.”

His gaze moved over me, taking in my faded linen dress, weathered boots, and dirt-stained gloves. “And what are you pretending to be?”

The question struck with uncomfortable precision.

I lifted my chin. “Someone who is allowed to be here.”

He stepped closer.

Only one pace separated us now. Close enough that I could see the darker ring around his irises and the faint shadow of exhaustion beneath his eyes.

“Are you not?” he asked.

The softness of his voice made the question more dangerous than accusation would have.

I reached into my basket and selected the healthiest moonlace bloom. “Here.”

He looked down at the flower resting in my palm. “Is this your way of refusing to answer?”

“It is my way of deciding you need this more than I do.”

He accepted it slowly. His fingertips slid over the center of my palm, sending another pulse of heat through me.

Neither of us moved away.

“Let the water cool before you add the petals,” I said, though my voice had grown quieter. “If it is too hot, the flower loses what makes it useful.”

“What does it taste like?”

“Bitter if boiled. Sweeter the longer you let it steep.”

His gaze held mine. “That sounds familiar.”

I could not tell whether he meant the flower or me.

A second horn sounded, closer than the first.

His hand closed around the bloom.

“I should go.”

Disappointment came far too quickly for a man whose name I did not know. “Will tonight’s terrible duty survive without you for another moment?”

A flash of amusement returned to his eyes. “Probably not.”

“At least tell me your name.”

He hesitated.

The pause was answer enough. Whatever truth had passed between us, he was not willing to give me that one.

“I’m afraid names have consequences,” he said.

“So does appearing mysteriously on secluded beaches.”

“Then perhaps you should avoid strangers.”

“I usually do.”

“And yet you gave me your best flower.”

“You helped me free something.”

His expression changed at that. The humor slipped away, leaving something rawer beneath it.

He bowed his head slightly. “Then I will try not to waste it.”

He turned toward the cliff path.

“You never asked my name,” I called after him.

He stopped but did not look back.

“Again, names have consequences,” he said.

“They do.”

“Keep yours a little longer.” He glanced over his shoulder, his ruby eyes catching the dying light. “I suspect I’ll learn it soon enough.”

Before I could ask what he meant, he climbed the path and disappeared beyond the cliffs.

I remained beside the water, staring at the place where he had vanished. My palm still tingled where his fingers had touched me, and the conversation replayed inside my mind in fragments.

The horn sounded for a third time, now close enough to vibrate through the shore.

From the palace above, bells began ringing in urgent succession.

The Lunai envoy had arrived.