In the hushed corridors of the royal palace, where whispers died against thick stone walls and secrets thrived like ivy in the shadows, Prince Lucius leaned over his writing desk, the candlelight painting his face in sharp, angular planes. The room smelled faintly of old paper and the lingering musk of smoldering wax. His pen scratched softly across a thick, cream-colored sheet as he composed a letter.
> Lord Ryven,
> It has been far too long since we last shared wine by your hearth, recounting tales of old battles and newer intrigues. My duties here in the capital bind me tighter than ever, yet the news you send carries a welcome diversion. This adventurer you speak of—Ellie Liddell—has stirred up quite the chatter, even within our hallowed halls. Monsters slain, assassinations thwarted, miracles by accident, you say. It almost reads like the fevered verses of a street bard... or perhaps, the beginnings of something more intriguing?
He paused, the quill hovering above the page. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Ryven's last missive had been full of breathless accounts of Ellie's rise in Greymire—a newcomer who seemed to stumble upon heroism with the ease of a drunk finding his way to the tavern door. Ryven, ever the keen observer of human folly, had hinted at a mystery: power, perhaps, hidden beneath a veil of uncertainties.
> I cannot deny that I am curious. Is it true, Ryven, that she defies death by sheer fortune, that she blunders through the teeth of danger and emerges unscathed? One wonders if the gods themselves lean down to steer her clumsy hands. But I find myself a skeptic, as you know. For every tale of miraculous victory, there is often a simple truth hiding beneath.
Lucius set down his pen, reading over the neat lines. His fingers tapped the edge of the desk, a habit he couldn’t quite break—an idle rhythm that mirrored the endless thoughts turning over in his mind. He folded the letter carefully, sealing it with his signet ring.
As he rose from the desk, he crossed the room to the balcony, pushing open the heavy wooden doors. The night air rolled in, crisp and cool, carrying with it the distant hum of the city below—a city still half-awake after the day's revelries, where the echoes of celebration lingered like ghosts.
A thin smile spread across his lips as he gazed out at the flickering lights of the capital. He knew how stories twisted as they traveled from village to town, how small deeds became legends in the mouths of eager storytellers. But this time, he wondered if there might be a kernel of truth buried within the rumors.
The prince’s thoughts shifted to his latest orders—spies dispatched to track Ellie’s movements from the moment she arrived in the capital. He had expected their reports to be banal, filled with the tedious details of a common adventurer—a woman more skilled at boasting than at brandishing a blade. But even they seemed to struggle with how to explain her.
They had described a figure who was out of place amidst the pomp of the capital, whose reactions seemed genuine, even uncomfortable, beneath the weight of sudden fame. Yet there were moments—fleeting, but enough to pique Lucius's curiosity—when she appeared to brush against something inexplicable, like an ordinary blade cutting a clean line through magic.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
A soft knock at the door broke through his musings. He turned, seeing his steward bow low before entering.
"Your Highness, the last report from your watchers." The steward handed over a slim roll of parchment. "They’ve detailed the events of the dragon-slaying—if you care to read it tonight."
Lucius took the roll, dismissing the steward with a nod, and returned to his desk. He unrolled the parchment, reading in the dim candlelight:
> Subject: Ellie Liddell.
> Status: Dragon engagement.
> Outcome: Successful, though highly unconventional.
He snorted. "Highly unconventional." A diplomatic phrase for utter chaos, no doubt. The account went on to describe how Ellie had faced the beast—a confrontation that should have been her last. But she had survived, even when the situation should have been well beyond her control. The witnesses claimed that a fortunate strike felled the dragon. Others whispered of magic, subtle and untrained, that flared just when it was most needed. Luck or power? The report offered no conclusions, only more questions.
What the report didn’t mention—what none of his spies knew—was that Lucius had been there himself, hidden among the rough crowd of mercenaries and adventurers, his royal features disguised beneath a hood and travel-worn leathers.
The prince closed his eyes, recalling the scene. The dragon, great and terrible, flames licking the night sky. And then, the girl, darting about with what seemed more panic than purpose, yet managing to deliver a killing blow at the very moment the beast used its best defense–its offense.
He had watched, transfixed, as she collapsed afterward—limp as a broken reed, surrounded by cheering villagers. A hero, they all believed, in the making.
‘Yet no one is that lucky,’ he thought, turning the empty wine glass between his hands. ‘And no power is ever as unintentional as it appears.’
Lucius let his mind wander over the fragments he had gathered. If Ellie truly possessed a latent magic, it could be an asset—or a threat, depending on who claimed her. In either case, the court’s attention would shift to her soon enough.
Nobles were drawn to mysterious strangers like moths to flame, and Ellie’s unwitting fame had made her a flickering light in their eyes. Best that he understand her before the vultures circled too closely.
He made a mental note to extend an invitation for a more formal meeting. Perhaps she would offer more clarity in person—whether through a slip of the tongue, or an unintended display of that rumored power.
But for now, his thoughts turned to the meal he had enjoyed that evening. Dragon meat, prepared by the palace chef. He remembered the way the tender cut had nearly melted on his tongue, a rare delicacy even among royalty. He allowed himself a moment of indulgence, thinking of the flavors, the rich undertones of spice and smoke.
"I should remember to thank the chef," he murmured to himself, a wry smile on his lips as he leaned back in his chair. "Perhaps he’ll share his recipe, though I doubt we’ll have another dragon on the menu anytime soon."
As the candle burned lower, casting shadows that danced across the marble floor, Lucius considered the road ahead. He knew that whatever Ellie was, her arrival in the capital would be more than just a passing curiosity.
With a final glance at the night beyond, he extinguished the candle, leaving the room to its secrets once more.