Chapter 5 Chains of Silk

The palace loomed like a gilded cage.

Liora had imagined it once back when she was just a child spinning fairy tales in the dusty corners of Duskmere. Marble halls. Velvet tapestries. Music that never stopped. But no story had prepared her for the way it smelled like polished stone and roses grown for show, not scent. Nor for the quiet weight of it all. A place designed to humble.

She was led through corridors lit by crystal chandeliers, their glow soft and deceptive. Guards flanked her on both sides, their gazes forward, their silence louder than any accusation.

Finally, the doors to the Queen's solar opened, revealing a room soaked in golden light and frost-bitten judgment.

Queen Isolde stood by the window, her back to the door, hands folded behind her immaculate gown of silver-threaded silk. She didn't turn as Liora was brought in.

"You may leave us," she said.

The guards obeyed without hesitation. The doors clicked shut.

Liora swallowed. "Your Majesty."

A pause. Then, the Queen spoke. "Do you know how many women have tried to seduce a crown prince?"

Liora stiffened. "I didn't seduce anyone."

Isolde turned slowly, eyes cold and unreadable. "You are not the first peasant girl to mistake kindness for affection. But I assure you, this game whatever you believe it to be ends now."

"I didn't start a game," Liora said, voice steady despite the trembling in her knees. "I never asked for him to find me. I never asked for his heart."

The Queen stepped closer, each movement precise and elegant. "But you took it all the same."

"I love him," Liora whispered.

For the first time, the Queen's lips curved though it was not a smile. "Love," she repeated. "How quaint. Let me show you what love looks like in my world."

She motioned to a table where parchment lay unfurled. Marriage contracts. Lineage charts. A letter from the House of Velmora nobles from the southern reaches. Alliances brokered with wine, land, and blood.

"You see, my dear, love does not win wars. It does not feed kingdoms. It does not protect thrones. Bloodlines do. And yours is mud."

The words struck like a slap. But Liora lifted her chin.

"Then I won't marry him. I'll disappear."

Isolde's eyes narrowed. "You think this is about marriage?"

Liora faltered.

"No, girl. This is about infection. Once you're in his blood, he'll never stop wanting what he cannot have. And that will ruin him."

"Maybe he's tired of being ruled," Liora said. "Maybe he wants to choose for once."

The Queen's voice dropped like a dagger. "He will not choose you."

Silence stretched between them, brittle as glass.

Then, with a wave of her hand, the Queen turned again to the window.

"You will remain in the palace under careful watch. You will be given rooms, clothing, and food. To the outside world, it will appear as if you've been taken in for charity."

"Why?" Liora asked warily.

"Because," Isolde said, "it's easier to smother a fire when you keep it close. Should you try to flee or contact him again, your brother will pay the price."

Liora gasped.

"Oh yes," the Queen said calmly. "We know about Bram. One word from me, and he starves in a cell. Or worse."

Liora's body shook as she clenched her fists.

"Good. Let the weight of your silence settle in," the Queen murmured.

That night, Liora sat in her new chambers luxurious, yes, but colder than the forest ever had been. She touched the edge of the silken bedding and thought of Bram's thin blankets. She traced the embroidery on her new gown and remembered her tattered skirts.

Chains made of silk still bound like iron.

Meanwhile, Alaric stormed into the Queen's throne room, his voice echoing through marble and fury. "Where is she?"

Isolde remained seated, composed.

"She is safe," she said. "And silent. You should thank me."

"You threatened her," he seethed. "You think I wouldn't hear? You think I wouldn't know the lengths you go to control me?"

"I do not control you," she said coolly. "The crown does. The people do. Your father's legacy does."

"Then maybe I don't want the crown anymore."

That stung. She rose slowly. "You will not throw away your future for a girl who cannot walk the halls of power without trembling."

"She walks them braver than anyone I've ever known," he snapped.

But she was already done. "Enough. One more act of rebellion, and she suffers. Test me again, and so will you."

Alaric turned, fists clenched. But he knew when the war could not yet be won.

He left the palace by nightfall, riding hard toward the forest, back to the grove that had once been their sanctuary. But she wasn't there.

Only the trees knew the truth that two hearts burned still, even when kept apart.

And Liora, in her high tower of soft linens and cruel luxury, curled against the window and whispered his name like a prayer.

Alaric.

Somewhere, he whispered hers in return.