Page 21 of Embers to Flames

We pass through a market where traders haggle over moonfruit and starfire crystals, their voices echoing against the marble facades. The fountains dance with liquid moonbeams, and the wind chimes sing melodies from distant realms. And there, at the heart of it all, stands the Palace. Its opal walls shimmer, and its magnificent arches frame a view of the astral sea beyond.

King Varitan stands upon a balcony above its entrance, surveying his domain with eyes that hold both wisdom and longing. Tall and regal, the Elven King possesses an otherworldly beauty. His golden hair cascading like a solar waterfall, spilling over his broad and heavy shoulders. He is dressed in robes spun from the finest fabrics, moving with a grace that defies mere Human understanding. Our carriage comes to a halt, and I step out, mouth agape as I take in my surroundings. I am in utter awe of its magical beauty.

Theo steps up and stands next to me at the entrance. “Have you heard the legends about the King and his lost love?” he asks.

“Lost love?” I look at him, puzzled.

“You’ve never come across this tale in your beloved books?” He quips. “Well guess what? His lost love—was a Human.”

“A Human? The king loved a Human?” I ask, staring up at him in disbelief. I had read countless stories of the Elven King’s valor in battle and his wisdom in ruling Eirina. But never once had I come across a tale revealing his heart.

“Yes,” Theo says, his voice barely above a whisper. “There are many versions to the legend. Some say she was betrothed to someone else and left the King. Others believe she was taken away by force. But all the legends agree on one thing—King Varitan never loved anyone after that.”

“What about the Queen?” I ask.

Theo looks down at me, a sad smile tugging the corners of his mouth. “Queen Lirea was a political alliance, nothing more,” he said. “Their marriage was arranged when they were both young. Yes, they learned to respect each other, even care for each other in their own way. But love,” he pauses, casting his eyes back towards the King who stood tall and distant as an enchanted obelisk, “love was something only the Human woman had managed to evoke from him.”

For a moment, Theo fell silent, his gaze becoming distant as if he was seeing something far beyond our immediatesurroundings. Then he drew in a deep breath and continued. “Shortly after giving birth to Prince Ruvyn,” he said softly, “Queen Lirea’s strength which had carried her through years of loneliness and unrequited love finally gave out. She passed away under the silver light of a crescent moon, leaving both her son and her husband behind.”

“The tragedy of such a tale,” I say slowly, “is a lesson for us all.” I glance at Theo, his silhouette framed against the falling night. His usually expressive face is oddly somber under the moon’s pale light.

“I suppose there is wisdom in taking heed,” he concedes, rolling his shoulders back and giving me a lingering look that sets my heart aflutter. “Which brings us back to the point at hand—our clandestine friendship.”

I laugh then, unable to resist the bait he’d so casually thrown my way. “Well, if we’re taking pointers from legends, it seems we should indeed avoid each other like a plague.”

He smiles then, a beautiful, heartbreaking thing that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Perhaps you’re right. But I’ll ask you this—do you really want to?”

I open my mouth, ready to retort—and falter. “Theo…” His name is a sigh on my lips. The truth is, I don’t know what I want, what we could be or should be in this world. All I know is the pull—an undeniable, inexorable draw that yanks me towards him like a moth to flame.

“I thought not.” Theo’s voice is soft, almost tender as he takes a step closer. “And neither do I.”

In the heart of the royal palace, the throne room stands as a testament to the kingdom’s grandeur. Elevated on a dais, the King’s throne commands attention. The ornate craftsmanship shimmering under the soft glow of the chandeliers. The high ceilings are adorned with intricate frescoes that tell tales of heroism, while the vast windows bathe the chamber in a natural light. Velvet drapes and marble columns add to the solemn majesty, and the air is heavy with the scent of incense. Symbols of power, like the royal scepter and crown, are displayed with reverence, and the seating for the court is arranged to honor the throne’s central sanctity.

As we step closer towards the dais, King Varitan awaits—a figure of grace and sophistication. We all move towards the throne and lower ourselves in a respectful bow before the King. He acknowledges us with a nod and suddenly the weight of a thousand centuries settles upon my shoulders. The room seems to hold its breath as his voice reverberates off the marble floors beneath us.

“Lord Erhorn Santrell of Kaladis, tell me old friend, how was your journey?” But the King’s gaze doesn’t linger on Erhorn. It doesn’t even stray to Theo, whose gigantic wings make him hard to miss. No, King Varitan’s eyes are fixed—on me. Eyes that are ancient and piercing and filled with loneliness. It’s as if he seeks something within my very soul—amemory, a connection, something long lost in the records of existence.

Erhorn hesitates, clearly aware of the King’s examination of me. His response comes, measured and respectful, “Oh, it was fine, Your Grace. A little flooding delayed us about half a day, but otherwise, quite uneventful.”

I side-eye Theo, trying to stifle a snicker at the mention of our ‘uneventful’ travels.

Uneventful indeed…

“And who is this that you have accompanying you?” The King’s gaze remains locked onto me.

Erhorn responds, addressing the King as if his question pertained to everyone present. “Your Grace, these are my servant girls. They have come to assist with any work that might need to be done in preparation for the Fire Rites. This is Lenna Chastain, and her sister, Ava Chastain.” The girls each take a step forward and bow once more.

“And you?” The King points at me. “What is your name, young lady?”

I take a side glance at Erhorn, who is standing at my right. My voice cracks as I start to speak, prompting me to clear my throat before continuing.

“My name is Rosanhi Hepburn—Your Grace.”

The King pauses for a moment, contemplating. “Well, I have to say, Miss Rosanhi Hepburn, your name is a perfect fit for you.” He smiles, and my cheeks flush as his compliment lingers between us. I glance at Erhorn, who stands stoicallyby my side. His eyes convey a mixture of pride and caution. I wonder what secrets he keeps hidden beneath that composed veneer.

The King leans back in his ornate chair, fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest. “Rosanhi Hepburn,” he repeats, savoring the syllables. “A name that dances like a flame would to a rose.”

I swallow, my throat still dry. “Thank you, Your Grace,” I manage, my voice steadier this time. “I am honored to be here.”

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