“I only wish that whoever dared to ambush us… be punished. That we are given strength. Strength to crush them, burn them, and leave nothing of their cowardice behind.”

What I didn’t say rang even louder in my mind. I want back the moment you stole from me. The kiss I waited so desperately for.

Gasps fluttered among the ladies breaking the stillness. I caught the flicker of alarm on Renna’s face as she looked up at me. The priest froze, his hands suspended mid-blessing as though my words had turned him to stone. Queen’s voice cut through the hush, but gentle:

“Elinessa,” she warned, “we do not speak of enemies during prayer.”

Her gown whispered against the marble as she stepped closer, her eyes serious now, held mine until I felt the heat rise to my cheeks.

“It’s said…” she continued, voice dropping just enough that the other ladies had to lean in to hear, “  that whomever you name during prayer, you tether your fate to theirs. There is power in prayers, and greater still in names spoken beneath sacred breath. Power to bless. Power to destroy. And power to drag you into the ruin you wish for another. "

Her hand brushed my sleeve enough to make me still.

“You must be more careful,” she said, “with both your prayers… and the names you breathe into them.”

A hush fell over the sacred hall. My jaw tightened until it ached. I could feel my nails digging into my palms.

“Then let the gods hear it anyway,” I said, my voice low but unshaking. “Because this is the only thing I truly wish for.”

Also, in the back of my mind, my voice growled.

I swear, the moment I get out of this mess, I’m leaving the company a three-page review. Then I’m personally hunting down whatever bug-ridden excuse of a program handler let this glitch slip through. Side character, my ass.

The queen’s voice cut through my simmering thoughts, her gaze sharp as flint.

“Your spirit is not wrong,” she said evenly. “Your anger is justified.”

She paused, then added with stern clarity, “But your timing was ill-placed.” 

The Queen’s exhale was deliberate, a slow release that tempered the sharpness in her tone. Turning to Talia and the other assembled ladies, she straightened her posture, reclaiming the full authority of her presence.

"Ladies,” she said, addressing the gathered nobles with poise, “return to the festival grounds. The remaining rituals will proceed there."

And with that, the visit was over. Golden sandals shuffled across stone. Layers of silk and brocade swayed and sighed, their rustle carrying the scent of rare perfumes like mist as the royal ladies began to depart. I fell in step with them, my own skirts brushing faintly against the hem of my sandles. I kept silent at first, eyes lowered. We were halfway back to the waiting carriage when I leaned closer to my maid.

“Talia…” I whispered, my voice barely louder than the whisper of silk as we descended the steps. “Did I… say something wrong?”

Talia, ever composed, gave me a side glance, unsure whether to answer as a maid or as a worried friend. In the end, she gave me nothing but a soft, unreadable look. Her silence was kind, the sort that wraps around you like a shawl. But I didn’t need the words. After spending so much time here with her, I’d learned to read Talia’s face as easily as a book. She didn’t have to say yes. I already knew.

Okay. So… maybe I did. Still… that was kind of impressive. I mean, I glanced back toward the temple, if this is NPC behavior, the programming’s getting scarily good. That priest looked ready to file a divine restraining order.

I pull my cloak tighter around my sore, bruised arms as we step back into the light breeze. The air smells faintly of incense from the temple, but it’s quickly overpowered by the roasted sweets and spiced drinks from the stalls across the square.

I hope the glitch fixes itself soon. Because if this is the new standard for “immersive prayer sessions,” then I am absolutely not emotionally equipped for whatever else this story plans on throwing at me.

 

                                                              ************************************

Location: Outer encampment near Ilvaran. 

The air shook as one of the newly captured Ilvaran war elephants let out a low, trumpeting groan. Chains rattled like distant thunder as the massive creature shifted, stamping a plate-sized foot into the churned sand. The creatures towering, ash-gray, scarred from battle were lined and bound in a massive paddock of reinforced stakes. Even in captivity, their eyes carried the glint of a soldier.

Commander Thoren stood with arms behind his back, his armor unfastened at the collar.  His gaze followed the slow swing of one elephant’s tusks.

“Thirty in total,” Thoren observed, his voice measured as he studied the paddock. “They’ll take time to break… but once trained, we could crush city walls with a single order.”

Beside him, Darcye remained still as carved obsidian. The dark-gray travel cloak draped over his shoulders was faintly stained at the hem with the dust of the march. His black hair, were tied neatly back, left his features sharp and unreadable.

“Ilvaran thought them invincible,” he murmured, his gaze locked on the massive beasts. His eyes narrowed slightly. “And yet, here they kneel.”

As if on cue, behind them, light footsteps approached over the sand. A servant appeared, head bowed.

“Your Grace… Lady Seraphyne has arrived. She waits in the violet tent,” the man reported.

For a heartbeat, Darcye’s expression did not change. His eyes remained on the war elephants, as though he was weighing which was the more pressing matter. The creatures bound before him, or the woman awaiting his presence. Thoren cast him a sidelong glance, clearly curious.

“I’ll go.” Darcye said at last.