With a deep, resonant groan that echoed through the vaulted chamber like the breath of a slumbering giant, the twin doors of the sacred hall creaked open. The sound rolled across the marble floor and up the ancient pillars, stirring the air like a whisper from the past.
Alexander stepped inside with measured grace, flanked by two other fairies—his kin in blood and banner—while behind them strode Omar and ten of the Scarlett Knights, their armored steps beating a steady rhythm into the silence like the drum of fate approaching.
Yet as Alexander’s boots met the polished stone, his world tilted.
There, upon the elevated dais, seated like a figure from legend, was a woman who shattered all memory of beauty he had ever known. His breath caught.
She was divine.
Her hair spilled over her shoulders like liquid obsidian, cascading in slow, silken waves that framed a face both soft and unyielding—like carved porcelain kissed by moonlight. Her violet eyes shimmered, twin galaxies locked in regal stillness. The faintest trace of a smirk touched her lips, confident and serene, as her long legs crossed effortlessly upon the stone throne.
She didn’t sit like a guest.
She ruled.
With poise.
With presence.
Like a Dame born of myth.
Alexander’s pupils quivered.
He had walked through gardens of silver blossoms and courted the daughters of archdukes. He had dined beside enchantresses and danced with the most alluring.Yet none—none—had ever disarmed him so completely. Without lifting a single finger, this woman had crowned herself above them all.
“Alexandria…” he breathed, taking a reverent step toward the throne. “It’s been so—”
“It would do you well to address the mother of this dukedom with courtesy,” came a voice sharp and unwavering.
Mia.
Her words struck like a bell through the chamber, reverberating with righteous pride. “A slight bow should suffice.”
Alexander blinked, caught mid-sentence. Then he straightened, the corners of his lips curling with amused submission. With a sweep of his cloak and a low bow, he replied, “Then I offer my greetings… to the future queen of Cyrenia.”
The words fell like a stone in still water.
Omar tensed. Mia’s brows lifted in alarm. Even Aquila, so composed, glanced sideways in disbelief.
But it was Sapphira who stirred most of all.
One elegant brow arched above those violet eyes. “I do not understand,” she said slowly, voice like velvet over steel. “What do you mean?”
Alexander rose from his bow and met her gaze without falter. “You are the first daughter of Emperor Geriant of Cyrenia. Rightful heir to the sapphire throne. A crown flows in your blood, stolen before it could ever grace your brow.”
He stepped forward again, reverence and fire in his voice. “As a babe, you were torn from your mother’s arms—ripped from royal sanctity and abandoned in this wilderness, cast into obscurity by traitors and cowards. Humans. They feared what you would become.”
Mia’s expression darkened into a stormcloud.
Sapphira, however, remained still. Thoughtful. Only her fingers shifted, curling slowly around the armrest of her throne.
“If my father is so powerful…” she asked, voice calm as a still lake, “then why haven’t you found me before now? All these years? Why now?”
Alexander’s face softened, the defiant edge to his voice replaced by sorrow. “We believed you dead. Every sign, every trail… vanished. The mourning nearly broke the Empress. But then, not long ago, a ripple tore through the ether. A surge of power—your Zenith talent awakened.”
He lowered his head slightly.
“It called to us. To her.”
Sapphira’s breath hitched at the mention.
“Your mother is gravely ill,” Alexander continued. “She holds on, not for the empire… but for you.”
The first thing you do upon setting foot in our land,” Mia said, her voice like frost creeping across glass, “is accuse us of abducting your future queen. You look down on our people—as if your blood were gold and ours mud.”
Alexander’s expression barely twitched, but a sly smile crept onto his lips. “The wings you wear so proudly… they were not meant for you. A gift, yes—but gifts can be taken back.” His gaze flicked to her deliberately. “Don’t get too comfortable in the sky, dragonfly.”
The words struck like venom.
Mia’s eyes widened, if only for a heartbeat. The predator dragonfly essence in her bloodstream—extracted, refined, and bonded—was the only reason she still lived, let alone soared. To remove it… was to remove life itself.
And there was no other way.
A chill settled over the hall.
Then, from her throne, Sapphira stirred. Her violet eyes—once filled with longing, now gleamed with steel. Her lips curled into a faint smile, cold and elegant. “All my life,” she said slowly, “I dreamed of meeting others like me. Of finding my kin, my people, my origin.” Her gaze met Alexander’s directly. “Now that I have… I am disappointed.”
The words struck harder than any blade.
Alexander took a step forward, pain flashing across his face. “But… Princess… the empire has mourned your absence for over a century! You expect us to see them in a good light? When they raised you in the shadows of obscurity?”
Sapphira’s reply was swift, her voice echoing through the sacred hall like a chime of judgment. “I expect you to show respect. And not gaze upon them as though they are beasts in a cage. These people have stood by me, bled for me, wept with me. Be careful, Alexander… if my husband were present, you might have lost your head already.”
Silence.
Dead, resounding silence.
“H-Husband?” Alexander stammered, his composure shattering like fragile glass. His noble air crumbled instantly beneath the weight of the word.
A flicker of pity—just a flicker—passed through Sapphira’s gaze, but it did not linger. She had no patience left for men who worshipped her blood but not her being.
Alexander tried to recover. “Though it pains me… I cannot say I’m surprised. You were taken before you could understand what you are—what you were meant to be. To settle for a human lord is… beneath you. But on behalf of Emperor Geriant, I bring an offer.”
He inhaled, his voice regaining some of its edge. “Ten thousand units of moonglass. Ten flying ships. One thousand master dwarven craftsmen. All to be gifted to the lord of this city… in exchange for the freedom of Princess Alexandria.”
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A/N: Did not plan to write this but I’ve been down these couple of days. Still haven’t recovered completely but at least my eyes doesn’t hurt much now.