Alden stood in the vast emptiness of the throne room, the air around him thick with quiet anticipation. The air was cool, almost chilling, as though the immense space carried a life of its own. Towering crystalline columns pulsed softly with golden light, their energy coursing upward into the vaulted ceiling, which shimmered like a living sky. Stars glimmered and shifted above, casting their glow onto the obsidian floor below. The faint scent of polished stone and aged incense lingered, mingling with the metallic tang of energy from the crystalline columns.

The vastness of the space seemed to press down on him, but Alden refused to shrink beneath its weight. The determined fire that had carried him through the public audience still burned within him, yet here, alone with Empress Serkai, its warmth flickered and wavered.

“You have my attention, Alden,” Serkai said, her voice calm and steady. Her sharp blue eyes fixed on him, their intensity unwavering. “Now tell me—what is it you wish to say?”

Her words echoed in the chamber, breaking the heavy silence. Alden took a breath, his shoulders squared as he tried to summon the confidence he’d displayed before the court. The steel in her gaze was softened just enough by a flicker of familiarity, a faint shadow of the woman he dimly remembered from his childhood—a warm presence seated beside his mother, laughing as he and Elkianara tumbled through the gardens.

But that warmth felt distant now, and the weight of her gaze brought back the realization that he stood before an Empress, not a surrogate aunt.

“Your Majesty,” he began, his voice steady despite the lump forming in his throat, “I requested this audience because…” He faltered, his carefully rehearsed words unraveling. The fire that had propelled him forward now flickered under the burden of his emotions.

He closed his eyes for a moment, grounding himself. Vaelus’s voice whispered in his mind, a memory rather than a presence: “Purpose is a shield against fear. Hold to it, and no blow will strike too deep.”

Alden straightened, his green eyes meeting hers again. “I requested the public audience to demonstrate my understanding of my position. To show the court—and you—that I am not a grieving boy seeking pity, but Duke Alden Fairwood, prepared to carry the responsibilities of my title.” His voice held a practiced steadiness, but his trembling hands betrayed him. “And by that right, I requested to speak to you alone.”

Serkai’s expression remained impassive, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity. “You have exercised your right well,” she said, her tone neutral yet probing. “What is it you need to say, Alden?”

Alden’s throat tightened. The words he had rehearsed so many times felt distant and inadequate. He had thought himself ready, but now, standing here under her scrutiny, the weight of his grief pressed against him. Memories surged unbidden—the shattering glass, the blinding light, his mother’s scream.

He swallowed hard, his composure cracking. “I…” His voice quivered, his breath hitching as he fought to continue. “I need to tell you what happened that night at the manor.”

The air in the throne room seemed to grow heavier, the faint hum of energy from the columns a distant thrum in his ears. Serkai remained silent, her gaze steady, offering no interruption but no reprieve.

“I wanted to tell you—” His voice broke, the tremor of a sob escaping before he could suppress it. He bowed his head, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

Serkai’s carefully composed mask faltered for the briefest moment. She took a step forward, her crimson coat trailing behind her like a living flame. She hesitated, her hand hovering as if she might reach out to him, but then she stopped, her posture resuming its regal form.

Alden’s shoulders heaved with the weight of his grief, but he forced himself to look up, his green eyes now blazing with anger and pain. “It wasn’t an accident,” he said, his voice trembling but growing firmer with each word. “My parents were murdered,” he said, the words instinctive but incomplete. A part of him balked, an old habit kicking in, burying the details that made no sense even to him. "I... I don't know everything, but it wasn’t random. Someone wanted them dead."

The words hung in the air, stark and unforgiving.

“Go on,” she said softly, leaning forward slightly.

“I was in the main hall,” he said, his voice trembling. “After dinner. I’d fallen asleep by the fire. Everything was quiet, normal. Then... everything stopped. The wards—my father’s wards—fell. All at once.”

Serkai’s eyes narrowed slightly. She remained silent, letting him speak.

“The power died. The glass shattered inward—every window, all at once. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t some accident.” Alden’s voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath. “They stormed in, like an army. They... they killed everyone. Father’s butler, Selwyn, who helped teach me. Mother’s maid, Meryn, who teased me for sneaking sweets. My parents.” Alden took a hitching breath.

“I heard my mother scream.”

His voice broke on the last word.

Throughout his recounting, Serkai listened intently, her features softening with empathy and shared grief. The Empress became simply a woman mourning with a heartbroken boy. As Alden’s words stuttered to a halt, his shoulders slumped as if his very bones had turned to lead. Silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of his revelation and all it implied.

Alden didn’t notice. He pressed on, his words spilling out unevenly, rough and hurried. “I hid... I hid under the bed when they came for her,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “I didn’t know what to do… I just stayed there, shaking. I couldn’t move. I just… I froze. Everything happened so fast, and then… the light. It’s hard to explain… but I… I don’t know.” His voice faltered, as if the details caught on the edges of his mind, too sharp to grasp or too risky to share. "I could hear everything—the crashes, the screams, the splintering wood, the glass breaking… It was so loud. It felt like it was all right there, crushing me. And then there was this… this light. It was everywhere. I don’t know… I just…” His hands shook, his knuckles white as his fists clenched tightly. It wasn’t a lie—not really. It was just... easier to leave out the parts that would lead to more questions. The parts no one could possibly believe, not even him. “I hid,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “I just stayed there. I was so scared… I couldn’t move. I didn’t help. I didn’t… I couldn’t do anything.”

For a long moment, Serkai hesitated. She had spent years cultivating restraint, always aware of the weight of her position. Her sharp gaze flicked over him, lingering as though she could see the spaces in his story, the voids left unspoken. But in this moment, the boy before her wasn’t just another subject or political figure. He was the son of her closest friends, a child thrust into unimaginable pain.

She knelt beside him, breaking through the invisible wall of formality that had kept her distant. Resting a steady hand on his shoulder, she said softly, “Alden, you won’t face this alone.”

Alden shook his head, his jaw clenching as he struggled to rein in his emotions. “I have to find them,” he said, his voice raw. “Whoever did this—whoever destroyed my family—I have to find them.”

Serkai’s expression hardened slightly, the Empress reasserting herself. “Alden,” she said firmly, “your grief is justified. Your anger is justified. But this is not a path you can walk alone.”

“I don’t need to be protected!” Alden snapped, his green eyes flashing. “I need to act. I need to do something.”

“And you will,” Serkai said, her voice calm but unyielding. “But not like this. Not while you are vulnerable and untrained. The investigation will continue, and your voice will give it weight. But for now, you must trust me.”

“Aren’t you going to send me away? To Starlight?” Alden looked up, his green eyes red-rimmed and wet with tears. “I don’t want to leave,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I can’t. If I go to Starlight, I’ll never find out who did this. I have to stay. I have to—”

Serkai’s heart ached at the desperation in his voice, but she kept her tone steady and her hands tightened gently on his shoulders. “Alden,” her voice, though gentle, carried an unyielding firmness, “listen to me. If what you say is true, if this was an attack, then you are in greater danger than you realize. Starlight isn’t exile; it’s protection. Staying here, among the court, with so many eyes watching your every move—it would put you at risk. Starlight would be a shield, a place where you can grow stronger, prepare for what lies ahead.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“But—” Alden looked up, his eyes filled with desperation. “I can’t leave. Not yet.”

“You can,” Serkai said firmly. “And you must. The negotiations with the Galactic Council are growing more complicated by the day. Having you here, adjusting to your title, would only give the court a distraction they cannot afford. And more than that—if there are those who wish to harm you, it is my duty to keep you safe.”

Alden shook his head, his breathing uneven. “But I can’t just leave. I can’t abandon everything.”

Serkai’s gaze softened, though her grip on his shoulders remained firm. “You’re not abandoning anything, Alden,” she said quietly. “I know it feels that way. But going to Starlight isn’t running—it’s preparing. It’s giving yourself the tools you’ll need to fight this battle, to uncover the truth, and to claim justice for your family.”

Alden’s lips pressed into a thin line, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “But it feels like giving up. Like I’m running away while their killers get to—” His voice cracked, and he looked away, unable to finish the thought.

“You’re not running,” Serkai said, her voice firm, the polished tone of an Empress in command. She crouched lower so that her eyes were level with his. She gestured subtly, and Alden’s gaze shifted, and he noticed something he hadn’t before. The crystalline columns that lined the throne room emitted a faint, rhythmic hum, their pulsing light synchronized to the cadence of the room. Realization struck. Everything here—every word, every gesture—was being recorded.

Serkai tracked his gaze and read the shift in his expression. She had grown used to subtle cues, having raised Elkianara under the ever-watchful eyes of courtiers and diplomats. So often, their words had been monitored, their actions scrutinized. Over time, Serkai and her daughter had developed an almost telepathic understanding of each other’s thoughts, learning to communicate in unspoken gestures and shifts in tone.

Now, Serkai trusted Alden would understand the message she was about to convey.

“This room is designed to preserve accountability. Every official proceeding, every decision made here—it is recorded. The recordings are both a safeguard and a burden, a constant reminder that every word, every choice, is etched into the archives of history. It made trust a fragile thing within these walls, every gesture weighed, every silence charged with meaning. The archives hold those records, sealed but accessible should the need arise. A measure I enacted to ensure that all questions of propriety or corruption could be answered with proof.”

Alden nodded, his thoughts racing. The knowledge only added to the weight of the room, the stakes pressing heavier on his shoulders. Every word spoken here carried consequences.

Serkai reached up and brushed one of the buttons on her blouse that was worked seamlessly into the intricate embroidery, glimmering faintly under her touch. She would have a few brief moments while the official recordings were paused. She pressed it, and the ambient hum of the columns dulled, the light within them dimming slightly. Alden’s posture and grief would be enough to explain the lapse in recording, as a courtesy to allow the young Duke to regain his composure.

Alden blinked, his head tilting slightly as the change registered. The hum, constant and almost imperceptible until now, was gone. His eyes flicked to the dimmed columns, their rhythmic light stilled. Vaelus’s knowledge whispered at the edges of his mind, unraveling the significance of the moment—the recordings had been paused. He drew in a sharp breath, realizing what it meant. Then, from the subtleties in Serkai’s posture—the way her hand hovered briefly after activating the mechanism, the measured set of her shoulders—Lysandra’s instincts lit a warning in him: this pause was temporary, a deliberate risk. She had something to say, and it was his role now to let her speak without interruption.

Alden swallowed hard, forcing his expression to remain calm, though his thoughts raced. He said nothing, keeping himself still, knowing this silence was as much for her as it was for him. Serkai’s gaze met his, a faint glimmer of approval crossing her sharp eyes before she spoke.

Her next words came swiftly, her voice low and intense, but still measured. “You’re not abandoning anything,” she said briskly, her tone sharp, like the edge of a blade. “You’re preparing yourself. I have no way of knowing who did this or why, but it is not a coincidence that it comes while the delegation from the Galactic Council is here." Alden’s breath hitched as her words sank in. He had suspected there was more to his family’s deaths, but this confirmation felt like a door opening to a dark corridor he wasn’t sure he wanted to enter. The weight of his title pressed heavier now, a reminder that his role was more than ceremonial—it was a shield, and perhaps even a weapon, in a game he was only beginning to understand. Her words quickened, each one deliberate and piercing. “Ambassador Thorne pushed me to call for Lucian. The messenger who carried that summons is missing. These are not accidents, Alden. These are moves on a board I can see only in part.”

Alden’s eyes widened as he absorbed her words, the weight of Vaelus’s inherited knowledge sifting and sorting through her tone and intent. This wasn’t a revelation she should be sharing—not with him, not here, not now. The fact that she was, in this fleeting, stolen moment, was a calculated risk.

Serkai’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. “This is why you must go to Starlight,” she continued, her tone urgent. “There, you can learn, grow, and stay safe. And there you will find the tools to protect yourself—and perhaps uncover truths I cannot pursue from here.”

Alden’s lips parted as if to speak, but Serkai raised a single finger, silencing him. Her words were measured but fast, still low. “Do not argue. Trust me.”

Before he could respond, Serkai shifted her posture and clicked the mechanism again. The hum of the columns returned, the lights brightening as if nothing had happened. Her voice returned to its formal cadence, ringing out with the authority of her station.

“Princess Elkianara is there. She’s written to me, worried sick about you. The two of you were such close playmates when you were young. She’s waiting for you to arrive. It would ease my mind too, for her to have a friendly face from home near, as she both broadens her education and represents Umbralumara.” Serkai dropped her hands from his shoulders, her crimson coat catching the light. “As Duke of Fairwood, you have already begun to earn the court’s respect through your words today. But respect is fleeting without action. By attending Starlight as an official representative of Umbralumara, you will reinforce that respect. Your presence will serve as a beacon of stability, a signal to our allies—and our enemies—that we remain unbowed.”

At the mention of Elkianara, Alden’s anger faltered. He dropped his gaze, staring at his hands. Serkai rose to her feet and extended a hand to him. “You will leave for Starlight,” she said, her tone firm but carrying a note of warmth. “And when the time comes, you will return.”

Alden hesitated, then took her hand. Together, they stood, the light of the columns casting long shadows across the throne room. For a moment, the vastness of the chamber felt smaller, subdued by the weight of their shared understanding. Serkai continued, her voice softer now. “Your parents would want you to live, Alden. To grow. To become the man they always knew you could be. And I believe in you, too.”

Alden’s breathing slowed, the storm in his chest settling into something quieter. He nodded faintly, though his eyes still glistened with unshed tears.

“Good,” Serkai said, after studying Alden’s face and watching the determination set in. She turned slightly, raising a hand in a small, deliberate gesture. The doors of the throne room groaned as they began to part, the light of the outer hall spilling into the chamber. The sound of boots echoed sharply against the polished obsidian floor as Marcus, the captain of the royal guard, stepped through first.

Marcus’s presence was a reassurance to Serkai, though it spoke volumes that he had made time in his demanding schedule to personally oversee Serkai’s safety since the attack on Fairwood. His duties often kept him managing training schedules, overseeing guard rotations, and addressing security protocols, but the current circumstances had heightened his vigilance. Satisfied the room was in order, he gave a sharp nod to Serkai.

“Your Majesty,” Marcus said, his tone formal yet laced with quiet respect. “The court awaits your direction.”

Serkai inclined her head, her expression returning to the steely composure expected of her. Behind Marcus, ministers and nobles began to file in, their murmured conversations quieting as they caught sight of Alden standing beside the Empress. Their glances were furtive, a mix of curiosity and approval, though no dissenting voices rose. The weight of Serkai’s authority and Alden’s earlier display seemed to hold the room in check.

Serkai turned back to Alden, her voice shifting into an official cadence that carried across the chamber. “Duke Alden Fairwood,” she began, each word deliberate and clear, “you will leave for Starlight Academy. There, you will serve as an official representative of Umbralumara, demonstrating our strength and commitment to the Galactic Council. Your presence will signify that this Empire stands unshaken, prepared to forge a future among the stars.”

The room was silent, save for the faint hum of the crystalline columns. Alden straightened his shoulders instinctively, the weight of the moment settling over him. He understood now that these words were not just for him, but for the court and the records that would preserve this decree. He responded with a sharp bow.

“Marcus, escort Duke Fairwood, and see that his attendant…” she made a gesture, indicating she was looking for the name.

One of the ministers nearby stepped forward, clearing his throat softly. “Your Majesty, the assignment of Marla Kevrin to Duke Fairwood’s service was initiated by Princess Elkianara.” He pulled up the record on his Echo and read off the official entry. "''Isolde Thalindor, acting for Princess Elkianara, places transfer and assignment of attended Marla Kevrin from service of House Valorian to House Fairwood.'"

Serkai gave a small, approving nod. “Elkianara was right to do so.” She turned her attention back to Marcus and Alden. “Marcus, escort Duke Fairwood, and see that his attendant, Marla, is informed she is to prepare for his immanent departure off planet to attend Starlight Academy for the next few years, and to represent Umbralumara to the greater galactic community as we seek to integrate with the Galactic Council. The Duke’s departure must proceed without delay. Time is of the essence.”

Marcus bowed deeply. “At once, Your Majesty.”

He turned to Alden, his posture straight and commanding. “If you would follow me, Sir,” he said, his tone respectful but firm.

Alden glanced briefly at Serkai, who offered him a final, steady look. Though her expression was composed, there was a faint glimmer of something softer in her eyes—encouragement, perhaps, or a quiet reassurance.

As Marcus led him out of the throne room, Alden felt the eyes of the court on him, their weight like the press of the false sky above. He kept his head high, his steps steady, the echoes of Serkai’s decree and the quiet hum of the columns following him.