Chapter 2 AWAKENING's ECHO

A soft golden glow flickered around Celestine's wrists as she woke from a restless sleep. The enchanted chains felt cool against her skin, humming faintly, like they were murmuring secrets too ancient for her to catch. She couldn't piece together how she'd ended up back in her room last night-just blurry flashes of the banquet, Lucien's heavy stare, and that old book that had sent a shiver racing through her. She sat up slow, letting the thick silk sheets slip off her shoulders. The big bedroom was bathed in the faint light of dawn creeping through tall, arched windows.

Beyond the glass, the palace grounds rolled out toward the horizon, the sky shifting from pale purple to a warm gold. The air smelled faintly of nightshade and wet dirt, leftovers from a rain she must've slept through. Her fingers brushed the golden links on her wrists. They were pretty in a twisted way-delicate, like something a craftsman poured his heart into-but she wasn't fooled. These weren't just jewelry. They marked her as a prisoner, proof of the curse tying her to this place, to Lucien, to something way older than either of them. A knock came at the door, timid but stubborn. She took a deep breath and called out, "Come in." The door groaned open, and a young maid stepped inside, dressed in the drab gray of palace servants. Her wide brown eyes flicked to Celestine's wrists, then dropped quick to the floor. "Morning, my lady," she mumbled, staring at the shiny marble like it might swallow her up. Celestine eyed her close. Something was off-the girl stood stiff, like she was hiding something under that meek act. "You're new," Celestine said. The girl paused, then nodded. "Yes, my lady. They put me with you this morning." Celestine slid her legs off the bed, watching as the maid set a silver tray down by the window-fresh fruit, pastries dripping with honey, and tea that smelled like flowers. "What's your name?" "Alina, my lady." Plain name. Nothing special. But the girl's hands shook a little as she poured the tea, and Celestine could spot fear a mile off. "You're scared of me," she said, keeping her tone light. Alina flinched like she'd been slapped. The teacup clinked loud against its saucer as she set the pot down fast, gripping it tight. "No, my lady," she blurted, too quick. "It's just-" She cut herself off, swallowing hard. Celestine stood, her thin nightgown brushing her skin like a breeze as she walked to the table. She picked up the teacup, breathing in the sweet scent before taking a sip. She let the quiet drag on, watching Alina squirm. "I don't bite, you know." Alina's mouth opened a little, her eyes darting up, surprised. For a second, something else peeked through the fear-maybe curiosity. Celestine smiled, setting the cup down slow and careful. "But I think you already figured that." The girl went rigid, and now Celestine caught it-a spark of something more than just nerves. Like Alina knew something she shouldn't. "Tell me," Celestine said, softer now, almost gentle. "Why'd they put you with me?" Alina's throat bobbed as she swallowed again. She glanced at the door, then back. "I-I don't know, my lady. They don't tell us much." Liar. Celestine stepped closer. "But you've got a guess." The girl balled her hands into fists, her shoulders hitching with quick breaths. "I-" she started, then, like she couldn't stop herself, whispered, "They say you're not like the others." Celestine froze. Others. She didn't need to ask who. She knew. The women who'd been here before her. The ones who'd walked these halls, chained like she was. Some disappeared without a whisper. Others faded slow, broken by this place long before their bodies gave out. But Celestine was still standing. "Who says that?" she asked, her voice barely there. Alina's eyes shot to the door again. "I should go, my lady." Celestine didn't stop her. She just watched as the girl scurried out, the heavy door shutting with a soft thud behind her. For a long minute, she stood there, fingers grazing the chains at her wrists. Not like the others. The words hung around her, like an echo from somewhere she couldn't place. She turned to the window, staring out at the sprawling grounds-the gardens, the thick woods wrapped in mist. Something twisted in her chest, old and antsy. The air felt different. The chains still held her tight, but something was off-like a hairline crack in a mirror. And cracks, even tiny ones, had a way of growing.