Chapter 4: The Mirror and the Mask
Aurenya's POV
Evening bled through the high windows in hues of deep gold and bruised lavender, painting my chamber in the solemn colors of transition. A gentle knock echoed from the door.
"My lady," Elara called softly from outside. "The bath is drawn. We must begin."
I rose without a word. My steps were slow, heavy, as if they remembered where this night led even when I tried to forget. Elara was already at the vanity, setting down a hairbrush, pins, and a vial of rose oil. The scent curled through the air like a distant memory.
She glanced at me. Her brows furrowed slightly. "You've been quiet."
"Just tired," I murmured.
She didn't press. Instead, she guided me to the chair and began to gently untangle my hair. Her fingers were practiced and careful, like always. And though I tried to hold my breath, the silence between us became suffocating.
"You look beautiful, my lady, " she said softly, securing the final pin.
I met her gaze in the mirror, searching for reassurance. "Elara, do you think... could you come with me tonight? "
She hesitated, her hands pausing mid-motion. "I'm afraid that's not my decision to make. "
"But if you asked Aunt Liora, perhaps she would allow it. "
Elara sighed, her eyes filled with concern. "You know how she is. But it wouldn't hurt to try. "
Determined, I rose from my seat and made my way to Aunt Liora's chambers. The corridors were quiet, the only sound the soft rustle of my gown against the floor.
I knocked gently, and after a moment, her voice called out, "Enter."
She stood by the window, her silhouette framed by the fading light. Turning to face me, her expression was one of mild surprise. "You should be preparing. "
"I am, Aunt, but I have a request. "
She raised an eyebrow, waiting.
"I want Elara to come with me."
She blinked. Then set her quill down.
"No."
My fingers curled into fists. "Please. Just this once."
She stood slowly, each movement deliberate, like a predator preparing to strike. "You will go alone, as tradition demands. This is your first presentation before the King in private chambers—not a debutante's stroll."
"I know what it is. But Elara—"
"Is a maid."
"She's more than that."
She exhaled sharply and stood, " You will arrive at the palace as a future queen—not a child dragging her wet nurse."
"She is not my nurse," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "She is the only person I trust."
"Then you'll learn to trust others," she snapped. "You think the King's court will welcome your sentimentality? Do you believe they'll applaud your dependence on a servant? They will eat you alive, girl."
I swallowed hard. "Please. Just for tonight. I need her."
Liora advanced on me, eyes sharp as glass. "You think I don't remember what happened last time a queen showed weakness? Do you think I haven't seen the vultures circle, waiting for one misstep? You will walk into that palace composed, obedient, and alone."
I said nothing.
But then, softly: "I've lived this before."
Liora froze.
"I mean, I've dreamed of it. All of it," I added quickly. "And every time I go without her, something awful happens."
For a moment, silence stretched so long it throbbed.
Then she scoffed. "Dreams? You would let nightmares dictate your actions on a night like this?"
"No. But instinct? Yes."
I met her eyes. Let her see the steel hidden beneath my fear.
"You sent me into a life you never asked if I wanted, Aunt. Let me have this one small thing. Please."
We stared at each other, the distance between us filled with more than air—history, resentment, and something deeper. Something I no longer feared.
Her gaze faltered first.
She turned away. "Fine. She may accompany you to the outer hall. No farther."
My breath caught. I hadn't expected to win.
"Thank you, Aunt."
"Do not thank me. Thank your stubborn tongue. Now go. The King is waiting, and you look as if you've been fighting ghosts."
I smiled bitterly. "I have."
Back in my room, Elara had been waiting.
"She agreed," I said breathlessly.
Elara let out a sigh of relief. "Thank the gods. I'll fetch the carriage preparations."
She helped me fasten the final ornaments into my braid. My fingers trembled slightly as I adjusted my gloves. Tonight, I would face him again—Zevran. The Lycan King.
Elara saw my hesitation and gently rested a hand on my shoulder. "You're brave, my lady. Braver than you know."
No, I wanted to say. Just... older. And tired of breaking in the same places.
---
As the carriage made its way to the King's palace, I stared out the window, memories of my previous life flooding my mind. The same path, the same anticipation, the same dread. But this time, I was different. This time, I was prepared.
Upon arrival, the grand hall was filled with courtiers and nobles, their conversations a low hum beneath the ornate chandeliers. The King stood at the far end, his gaze sweeping the room. Our eyes met briefly, but he quickly looked away, engaging in conversation with a nearby duke.
I approached, offering a polite curtsy. "Your Majesty. "
He nodded, his expression unreadable. "Lady. "
The evening progressed, with introductions and pleasantries exchanged. Yet, throughout, the King remained distant, his attention elsewhere. I felt a familiar ache in my chest, a phantom pain that mirrored the poison of my past. But I stood tall, refusing to let it consume me.
As the night wore on, I found myself alone on the balcony, the cool air a welcome relief. Elara joined me, her presence a comfort.
"You handled yourself well tonight, " she said.
"Thank you. "
We stood in silence, the stars above a reminder of the vastness of the world and the journey ahead. I knew challenges awaited, but I was no longer the naive girl of my past. This time, I would forge my own destiny.
But just as I let out a breath, letting the chill soothe my skin, it happened.
The world shifted.
The lights from the grand hall flickered like candle flames caught in a gust, and the sounds of the gathering dulled to a distant murmur. The night around me thickened, a heaviness pressing into my chest. My hand gripped the marble railing instinctively.
"Are you alright, my lady?" Elara asked, stepping closer.
But I couldn't answer. My vision blurred, not from tears—but from something far deeper. An unraveling.
Suddenly, I wasn't on the balcony anymore.
The scent of smoke and blood filled my nose. The sky was crimson, like it bled with the earth. I stood at the edge of a battlefield—or a throne room?—the details shimmered, shifting with every heartbeat. And there, in the center of it all, lay him.
Zevran.
The King.
Crumbled on the stone floor, blood pooling beneath him. His crown had fallen, discarded like a trinket. His chest heaved in short, shallow gasps, and his hand reached—toward something, someone.
Toward me.
"Help… me…"
The whisper wasn't audible, but I felt it inside my bones. His eyes met mine—desperate, scared. Vulnerable.
Then they dulled.
And just like that, he was gone.
A sharp cry tore from my throat as I staggered back into the present. The balcony, the stars, the palace—it all snapped back into focus.
"My lady!" Elara's hands were on my arms now, steadying me. "You're pale—what happened?"
I blinked, breath trembling. "I—I don't know."
Because I truly didn't. Was it a vision of the future? A warning? A cruel echo from the past?
Or had it already begun?
Was fate already unraveling?
My pulse roared in my ears. I could still feel the phantom heat of his blood on my skin, could still see the lifeless eyes of the man who had once broken me—and would again, if I let him.
Should I stop it?
Should I save him?
Or let him die, as he once let me?
I clutched the balcony railing, my knuckles white.
"Elara," I said quietly. "Promise me something."
She looked alarmed but nodded. "Anything."
"If it comes to it—if I lose myself—don't let me forget who I am now. Not who I was."
Elara searched my face, concern dark in her eyes. "You're scaring me."
I turned back to the sky.
"I'm scared too," I whispered. "But this time… I won't be the one who dies."
And far inside me, something—perhaps fate, perhaps vengeance—began to stir.
This wasn't over.
It was only the beginning.