Gone
Alaric
I was still kneeling when the portal collapsed.
One heartbeat it was there—ragged darkness clawing open the air, swallowing Eleanor whole—and the next it was gone, leaving nothing behind but fractured marble and silence so deep it rang in my ears.
Cold seeped through my knees. The marble beneath my hands felt wrong, as if the stone itself recoiled from what had just been done upon it. I stared at the empty space where Eleanor had stood, my mind refusing to accept the absence. The bond between us did not scream. It did not shatter.
It held.
Around me, the great hall remained frozen, dozens of bodies locked in place as though time itself had faltered. No breath. No movement. No sound but the slow, thunderous beat of my own heart.
She is alive.
The certainty came not as hope, but as instinct—deep, ancient, unarguable. As long as my heart continued to beat in my chest, Eleanor’s did too.
“What the hell was that?”
Malcolm’s voice hit the silence like a hammer to ice. He whirled in a tight circle, hands fisted in his hair, eyes wide and wild. “Did anyone else see that coming? Damon?” His laugh cracked, sharp and disbelieving. “Damon?”
The hall erupted.
Voices layered over one another—fear, confusion, disbelief colliding in a rising swell. People turned in frantic circles, grasping for answers that did not exist. Some stared at the shattered marble where the portal had torn through reality, others at me, as if waiting for the world to right itself if only I would command it to.
I rose slowly.
I took my time standing, forcing breath into lungs that wanted to seize, allowing myself those few precious seconds to feel the strength of my body, the relentless rhythm of my heart. Panic would serve no one. Not Eleanor. Not the kingdom.
I lifted my hands.
“My friends.”
It took a moment, but the noise ebbed, the hall settling into uneasy quiet. Dozens of faces turned toward me—faces etched with terror, grief, and desperate expectation.
“What just occurred was not merely an intrusion,” I said evenly. “It was a violation. You are right to feel shaken.”
I let my gaze sweep the room, meeting eyes, grounding them.
“But hear this: you are safe. The castle stands. No one here was harmed.”
Shoulders straightened. Spines aligned. Fear did not vanish—but it steadied.
“We have just witnessed the hand of a great darkness reaching into the very heart of our land,” I continued. “And still, we stand.”
I felt the words before I spoke them next, felt them settle into my bones.
“Eleanor Ahlgren is brave. She is resourceful. She is powerful. And she is bound to me.”
The bond pulsed, warm and unwavering.
“No matter what she faces, she will endure.” My voice did not waver, even as every part of me strained to believe it. “The greatest mistake we could make now is despair. I swear to you—before gods seen and unseen—that I will not falter in my resolve. I will end this Shadow.”
I paused, letting the promise sharpen.
“And I will bring our queen home.”
The hall exhaled.
I turned without waiting for response, striding toward the exit. A flick of my hand was all it took. James, Malcolm, Brannock, and Soren fell into step behind me without question.
Outside the doors, I stopped just long enough to murmur instructions to Bartholomew—lockdowns, watches doubled, no one in or out without my leave—then continued on. I did not slow until we reached my private office beside the council chamber.
Once inside, I closed the door and crossed behind the great oak desk, lowering myself into the chair with deliberate control. I schooled my features into stillness, summoning the man I had once been—the king forged by loss, by necessity, by a heart long thought dead.
“Does anyone here know who Damon is,” I asked flatly, “or where he came from?”
Malcolm shook his head. James did the same. Brannock’s jaw tightened, silent.
Soren did not move.
When I looked at him, pain flickered across his face—brief, but unmistakable.
“I brought him to the castle,” Soren said quietly. “For training. To become a knight.”
“Continue.”
“I met him in the capital four years ago. He was a blacksmith—an extraordinary one. He worked metal like it was alive beneath his hands.” Soren swallowed. “One day, a fight broke out in the square. Damon ended it before blades were even drawn. Calm. Controlled. He spoke like someone accustomed to command.”
I said nothing.
“He told me he was from the far south,” Soren continued. “That he’d come north to apprentice. When I asked if he’d ever considered serving in the guard… he said he hadn’t. But that he liked the idea.”
Malcolm cursed under his breath.
“I brought him in the next day,” Soren finished. “He was exemplary. Disciplined. Respectful. A gifted fighter.”
“Did you verify his origins?” I asked.
Soren’s shoulders slumped. “No. To my dying shame—no.”
“Send for the Advisor of the Far South,” I said. “Have him investigate everything. His village. His history. His name—if it’s even real.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Soren’s jaw set, eyes dark with resolve.
“We leave tomorrow,” I said.
Four sets of shoulders stiffened.
“What?” I asked.
“Forgive me,” Malcolm said carefully, all humor stripped away. “Leaving now—after an attack on the castle—are you certain that’s wise?”
“The answers we seek lie in the library to the northeast,” I replied. “We have seen that the Shadow does not respect borders or walls. Waiting gains us nothing.”
“And leaving leaves the kingdom unprotected,” Malcolm shot back. “No one else has your power—especially now that Eleanor is—”
“Gone,” he finished.
The word stole my breath.
I rose to my feet, fury and grief coiling tight in my chest. “They came for Eleanor. Now they have her. The kingdom is likely safe—for now.” I met each of their gazes in turn. “But I will not gamble her life on likely. This journey must succeed. We leave at dawn.”
No one argued further.
I turned and left before they could.
My chambers were dark when I entered—save for the fire blazing in the hearth.
I stopped short.
Before the gala, I had ordered the rooms prepared. Eleanor’s things had been brought in quietly, lovingly, as though the future we planned were already unfolding. Her violet nightgown lay folded on the bed. Her robe draped across the chair. A tray of her favorite sweets sat untouched on the side table. Flowers filled the air with soft, sweet fragrance.
Her presence was everywhere.
I closed the door behind me and crossed the room on unsteady legs. When I reached the bed, my strength finally gave way. I sank down and seized the pillow she slept on, crushing it to my face.
Her scent filled my lungs.
The sound that tore from my chest was raw and unrestrained. I wept—quietly at first, then without shame. I raged. I curled around that pillow as if I could anchor her back to me through sheer will.
For the first time since my heart had begun to beat again, I wished for the curse.
Because this pain—this hollow, tearing ache—felt unbearable.
She was meant to be here. In my arms. My queen. My wife. My equal. We were meant to face the Shadow together.
Instead, she had been torn from my grasp in a single breath.
And somewhere beyond my reach, the darkness now had her.
But not for long.
As long as my heart continued to beat, I would find her.
No matter the cost.
