A soft knock echoed through the grand chamber—gentle, but insistent enough to stir Elise from the edge of sleep. She groaned and rolled over, her face burrowing deeper into the velvet pillows, trying to hold on to the fading threads of her dream.

  The door creaked open. A quiet rustle of fabric followed as the servant entered, her steps muted by thick, embroidered rugs. With practiced ease, she tugged open the drapes. The pale blue curtains parted, and morning light spilled across the mirrors and carved walls in molten streaks.

  Elise let out a muffled whimper and yanked the silk sheets over her head. “Five more minutes,” she grumbled, her voice low and groggy with sleep.

  Unmoved, the servant approached the bedside. Her voice was soft, but it carried the gentle weight of duty. “Please, Princess Elise. Your father has asked for you. The coronation is today—he wishes you ready and present.”

  Elise sighed. A long, dramatic exhale meant for no one in particular. The weight of the day—of her name, her title, her role—already clung to her like a second skin. She peeked from beneath the sheets, blinking against the brightness, as if the sun itself were mocking her reluctance.

  “Does it have to be so bright?” she muttered, shielding her eyes. Her golden hair tumbled around her shoulders in disheveled waves, catching the sunlight like liquid gold.

  The servant smiled faintly. “It’s a day of celebration. The kingdom rejoices.”

  Elise offered a wry smirk. “I’m thrilled for them.”

  She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stretched, her movements slow and half-hearted. The cold marble floor kissed her bare feet, stealing a shiver from her. Without protest, she allowed the servant to begin readying her for the day—brushing out the tangles in her hair, straightening the delicate folds of her nightgown—while her mind wandered.

  Her father’s coronation. King Enthrall’s formal rise to power. A moment etched in history, the kind of event bards would sing about. And yet, all Elise could feel was a quiet dread curling beneath her ribs.

  “Will my brother be there?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  The servant hesitated, glancing at Elise’s reflection in the tall glass as she set the golden tiara in place. “He is expected, Your Highness,” she said carefully. “As are you.”

  Elise nodded, eyes drifting to the frost-kissed window. The kingdom of Endryal stretched far beyond the glass—white forests, snow-covered villages, jagged mountains bathed in soft morning haze. It was beautiful, yes—but the kind of beauty that felt more like distance than comfort.

  She watched the landscape in silence, her reflection ghosting beside the winter glass.

  A kingdom of ice. And she, a girl made of sunlight, trapped at its center.

  Her mind drifted to the forests beyond the mountains—places spoken of only in hushed tones around the castle hearth. The Endlym Forest. Sacred, ancient, untouched. She imagined snow falling through a canopy of black pines, the hush of wind whispering between branches. Out there, no one called her "princess." No curtsies, no expectations. Just the promise of quiet, of freedom.

  “Princess?” The servant’s voice cut gently through her thoughts.

  “Yes?”

  “The gown is ready. Shall I assist you?”

  Elise sighed and nodded. The servant stepped forward, lifting a gown of sapphire blue from its stand. The fabric shimmered like starlight over water, silver embroidery curling in frostlike patterns along the hem and bodice. The train spilled behind like a slow-moving river.

  As the servant helped her into it, Elise felt as though she were stepping into armor—not the kind forged of steel, but of silk and expectation. Beautiful, delicate, and suffocating.

  “Perfect,” the servant said softly, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

  Elise turned to the mirror. A princess stared back—golden-haired, tiara gleaming, posture flawless. But behind her eyes… something flickered. The reflection felt more like a portrait than a person. Painted. Finished.

  Was this who she was supposed to be?

  She squared her shoulders, the decision settling over her like the cloak of the gown.

  “Let’s get this over with,” she said, her voice steady.

  The servant dipped into a low curtsy. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

  Elise stepped into the hallway, her slippers whispering across the marble. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, casting long, golden bars across the floor. She walked into them like someone entering a spotlight, the weight of the day already pressing down on her slim shoulders—but she didn’t falter.

  The grand hall loomed ahead, its towering double doors standing like a barrier between the girl she was and the role she had to play.

  She picked up her pace.

  The cold marble bit at her feet through the thin soles of her shoes. Her dress swished with every step, its hem brushing frost-lined floors as she held it up to keep from stumbling.

  “Late, late, late!” she whispered in a panic, cheeks flushed, breath quick.

  The torchlight lining the corridor shimmered gold on the icy walls. The hush beyond the doors had weight to it—an expectant silence. She could already hear the low hum of gathered nobles, the rustle of fine fabrics, the murmurs of power gathering like storm clouds.

  Her chest tightened.

  Everyone would be there. The nobles with their jewels and masks of civility. The Endryal knights standing like statues in polished armor. And her father, whose eyes missed nothing.

  She reached the doors and stopped. Her breath fogged in the chilled air. Her hands shook slightly as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

  “You can do this, Elise,” she whispered. “Just walk in. No one will even notice.”

  Summoning all the courage her ten-year-old self could gather, Elise pushed open the heavy doors.

  The hinges groaned, the sound echoing like a warning bell through the vast chamber. She flinched.

  Inside, the grand hall was a spectacle of icy splendor. Vaulted ceilings soared above, adorned with frost-laced chandeliers that shimmered like frozen stars. Rows of nobles lined the polished aisle, draped in fur and jewels, their opulence stark against the hall’s cold elegance.

  Every head turned toward her.

  Elise froze. The towering doors behind her loomed like a gate she had no strength to close. The silence was instant, suffocating. Her sapphire dress felt oversized, her presence too small. Even her heartbeat sounded loud.

  At the far end of the hall, on a raised dais, King Enthrall stood tall. The High Priest held the silver crown aloft, its edges catching the light like the edge of a blade. Her father's gaze met hers—sharp, still, unreadable. But the crease in his brow deepened the chill already threading her spine.

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  Elise’s legs stiffened, but she moved. One step, then another.

  Whispers rippled through the hall like wind over fresh snow.

  “Late for her own father’s coronation?”

  “A child—no sense of decorum.”

  “She’s only ten.”

  “Still—there are expectations.”

  Each comment landed like a pebble against her skin. She bit her lip hard enough to taste blood, willing herself not to cry.

  The aisle stretched endlessly. Her slippers made no sound against the stone, but each step felt heavier than the last. Her eyes stayed on the floor as she reached the dais, where the massive throne loomed over her like a carved sentinel.

  King Enthrall’s gaze pinned her where she stood.

  The High Priest hesitated, crown still suspended in his hands.

  “You’re late,” her father said at last. His voice wasn’t loud—but it cut clean and cold through the stillness.

  “I-I’m sorry, Father,” Elise whispered, her voice thin and trembling as she kept her eyes on the ground.

  Enthrall gestured to the ornate chair beside him, his expression unyielding. “Sit.”

  Elise nodded and climbed into the seat, her legs dangling above the polished floor. She folded her hands tightly in her lap, trying to appear smaller—less noticeable. But the weight of the room’s judgment still clung to her like frost, chilling and impossible to shake.

  The High Priest cleared his throat, his voice rising with solemn authority as the ceremony resumed. He spoke in slow, reverent tones, the sacred rites echoing off the cold stone walls. Elise tried to focus, but the grandeur of the hall and the looming presence of her father beside her made every word blur into noise.

  As the High Priest placed the silver crown upon King Enthrall’s head, a wash of soft light streamed through the stained-glass windows above, casting fractured color across the dais. For a moment, just a moment, her father’s expression seemed to soften.

  Then came the applause—loud and immediate. Nobles rose to their feet in perfect, practiced unison.

  Elise clapped too, her hands coming together with hesitant slaps. She kept her eyes on her lap.

  When the sound faded, her father turned to her, his face once again carved from stone. He leaned in slightly, voice low enough that only she could hear.

  “We’ll discuss this later,” he said, each word clipped and final.

  Elise swallowed hard. “Yes, Father,” she whispered, barely audible.

  The rest of the ceremony drifted past her like fog. Lords and ladies stepped forward to offer tributes, their voices a low hum beneath the weight of expectation. Elise sat still, her hands clenched so tightly they ached, her eyes fixed on the silver veins carved into the throne beside her.

  When it was finally over, and the nobles began to drift away, Elise slipped quietly from her chair. Her soft steps made no sound on the cold marble. She kept her head down, letting her hair fall like a curtain to hide her flushed cheeks.

  As she stepped into the corridor beyond the grand hall, the chill in the air bit at her skin. A single tear escaped, tracing a line down her face before she wiped it away with the back of her hand.

  “I’ll do better next time,” she whispered, her voice trembling but resolute. “I promise.”

  She took a deep breath, straightened her spine, and adjusted her tiara. The doors behind her groaned shut with a heavy, echoing thud—like the end of something unspoken.

  The grand hall of Endryal Castle murmured with quiet anticipation. Frost clung to the vaulted ceilings like lace, chandeliers hung heavy with icicles, and snow-edged banners swayed gently in the draft. The room glistened like a sanctuary carved from winter. Along the polished stone floor, nobles stood in silent rows, their whispers hushed but persistent, waiting their turn to flatter the newly crowned king.

  Elise sat at her father’s right, a splash of sapphire against the austere silver of the throne beside her. At ten years old, she looked more doll than princess—small, still, her gown pooling at her feet like spilled ink. Her legs dangled above the floor, swinging softly in rhythm with her growing restlessness. She twisted a lock of golden hair around one finger, eyes drifting over the endless procession of nobles and gifts.

  The coronation had stretched into monotony. First the rites, now the offerings. Everyone had something to give. Everyone wanted something in return. Elise understood the game—but she hated it.

  King Enthrall remained motionless beside her, carved from stone and iron. The new crown sat heavy on his brow, silver and studded with cold brilliance. He didn’t fidget. He didn’t blink. His presence filled the dais like a storm cloud held just barely in check.

  Elise stole a glance at him. She longed to possess that same impenetrable stillness… and yet, being near it made it harder to breathe.

  “Next,” her father said. The single word cracked through the murmurs like a sword drawn from its sheath.

  The herald stepped forward. “Lord Eryon of Myrthain, bearing tribute to His Majesty.”

  A slender man in flowing robes approached, flanked by two attendants carrying a velvet-lined chest. Lord Eryon bowed deeply, voice smooth with diplomacy. “Your Majesty. On behalf of Myrthain, we offer this gift as a symbol of enduring loyalty.”

  With a practiced flourish, the chest was opened.

  Gasps followed.

  Inside, nestled in dark silk, was a crown of sapphire and ice-metal. The gems gleamed like frozen stars, the filigree curling like frost on glass.

  Enthrall leaned forward slightly, his gaze appraising. “A fine gift,” he said at last, lips barely twitching. “Myrthain’s loyalty is noted.”

  Lord Eryon bowed once more and stepped aside. Elise stifled a sigh. Another crown. Another polished bribe.

  Then the doors opened again.

  Elise blinked as a new noble entered, his steps slow and theatrical. But it was the figure that followed him—escorted between two guards—that stilled the air.

  The girl wore chains.

  She moved with fragile hesitation, her ankles catching on the delicate silver links that bound her. Her skin glowed faintly, as if lit from within, and her long silver hair fell in loose waves down her back. Even without looking up, she commanded the room’s silence.

  Elise sat forward. Her boredom vanished.

  The girl couldn’t have been older than her. Maybe younger. But there was something ethereal about her. Something distant. Untouchable.

  All around them, the whispering resumed—sharper now, edged with fascination.

  “She’s Sylvalis…” “A shadow-touched one... here?” “Gods, how rare.”

  The noble bowed low, his voice rising over the hush like a bell through fog. “Your Majesty, I bring a treasure of the rarest kind. A gift worthy of your rule.”

  He swept his hand toward the girl.

  “She is Sylvalis—pure, untouched, and trained for obedience. Intelligent, loyal. A perfect addition to your household.”

  Enthrall's interest sharpened, his earlier indifference melting into something colder—more focused. Rising from his throne, he descended the dais with slow, deliberate steps, each strike of his boots against the polished stone ringing with quiet authority. The room, already hushed, fell into a deeper silence.

  He stopped before the girl. Her silver chains gleamed like ice in the firelight. With a single finger, he tilted her chin upward.

  Violet eyes met his.

  She didn’t flinch.

  There was no resistance in her body, but her gaze held a flicker of something defiant—dignity perhaps, buried but unbroken. He studied her like one might study a weapon forged from unfamiliar ore.

  “A Sylvalis,” Enthrall murmured, almost reverent. “How rare. How... perfect.”

  He stepped back, his eyes roaming over her as though appraising a piece of ancient magic, not a child. “What is your name?”

  The girl hesitated, then spoke—quiet but unwavering. “Isabel.”

  Enthrall turned to the presenting noble. “You’ve brought me a treasure,” he said, his voice layered with approval. “A clever offering. You’ll be remembered.”

  The noble bowed deeply, pride gleaming behind his smile. “It is an honor, Your Majesty.”

  Elise’s gaze never left Isabel. There was something magnetic in the girl's stillness, something fragile yet unshaken. She wasn’t like the other noble children—those trained in etiquette and empty praise. She was real. Alone.

  Without thinking, Elise leaned forward, her voice breaking the silence like a dropped feather. “Father?”

  Enthrall turned, one brow arched. “Yes, Elise?”

  She stood on tiptoe beside her chair, fingers tightening around the folds of her gown. “May I… spend time with her?” Her glance flicked to Isabel. “She looks lonely.”

  A ripple of polite laughter stirred the hall. Amused murmurs. Raised brows. But Elise didn’t shrink.

  Enthrall's smirk was subtle, his gaze returning to the girl. Isabel remained motionless, eyes downcast now, but something in her still pulsed with quiet strength.

  “Lonely,” he mused aloud, as if the word were an alien concept.

  Elise’s cheeks flushed, but she pressed on. “She doesn’t have anyone. Neither do I. She might like… a friend.”

  That word—friend—hung awkwardly in the icy air.

  Another pause. Then a quiet chuckle from the king. “Very well,” he said, gesturing idly. “She is yours to amuse yourself with—for now.”

  Elise didn’t wait. She slipped down from her chair and hurried to Isabel’s side. She reached out, her small fingers gently brushing the girl’s hand.

  Isabel flinched slightly. Her hand was cold, her fingers stiff, but she didn’t pull away.

  Elise smiled—soft, earnest, without performance. “Hi,” she said. “I’m Elise. Do you want to sit with me?”

  Isabel hesitated, her violet eyes searching Elise’s face for cruelty, for a trap, for anything rehearsed.

  She found nothing.

  Slowly, she nodded.

  Elise guided Isabel to the chair beside hers, the folds of her gown whispering across the floor. Her pulse quickened—not from nerves this time, but something lighter. Warmer. As they sat, Elise glanced toward the dais.

  Her father still watched. The smirk remained on his lips, but it didn’t feel cruel. Not exactly. His gaze, however, was sharp—too sharp for a moment meant to be gentle. Elise couldn’t tell what he saw. Or what he wanted her to see.

  But she turned away from it.

  Isabel sat quietly beside her, their sleeves barely brushing. She said nothing, but she didn’t pull away either.

  And that was enough.

  For the first time in ages, something warm stirred in the halls of frost and iron.

  Hope.

  Maybe—just maybe—she wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.