Inside the palace, the sound of distant fireworks from the Ascension ceremony from the temple was barely audible, their colorful light shows only faintly visible through the thick, ornate drapes of Queen Thenna’s chamber. The room was dim, the only light coming from a few candles flickering on the bedside table, casting long shadows across the walls. The air was heavy with the lingering fragrance of medicinal herbs. Theron sat slumped at the foot of his mother’s bed, his head buried in his hands, his body trembling with silent sobs.

  Queen Thenna lay unconscious, her once vibrant form now pale and fragile against the crisp white sheets. Two additional healers had been brought in at Theron’s insistence, but they were of no help as predicted by Grand Overseer. His mother’s condition remained unchanged, and with every passing day, hope seemed to slip further from his grasp.

  He felt helpless, powerless, failing his mother on every front. His father’s public rebuke in front of the Keriosi king still stung, a fresh wound that bled into his thoughts. And the Temple Grand Overseer’s denial to his request had only added salt to that wound, compounding his sense of inadequacy.

  Tears streamed down his face, hot and unchecked, dripping onto his hands as he gripped his hair. He thought he was alone, his pain a private torment shared only with the silent walls of the chamber and the unresponsive form of his mother.

  But just as he began to choke on his sorrow, a soft rustling from the doorway caught his attention. He quickly turned his head, hastily wiping his tears with his sleeve, trying to compose himself.

  “I told the medics and healers to stay outside,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion and a hint of anger. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, vulnerable, weak.

  “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Nima’s voice came softly, almost like a caress. She stepped into the room, her movements graceful and deliberate, as if she were trying not to disturb the queen’s restless sleep. “It’s time for her medicines,” she explained, her tone calm and measured.

  Theron felt his irritation flare, but he swallowed it down. He began to rise, to leave the room, but Nima reached out gently, her hand brushing against his arm.

  “Please, stay,” she urged, her eyes earnest. “Your presence helps her, even if it’s only subconsciously. She needs you here.”

  He hesitated but then nodded, sinking back down into his chair. His gaze followed Nima as she moved to the bedside, her steps light and careful. She opened a small vial and let a few drops of medicine fall into the queen’s mouth, then gently dabbed at the corners of her lips with a soft cloth.

  Theron watched her every movement, noting the care she took, the way her hands moved with a delicate precision. For a moment, he found himself wondering if she cared for his mother as deeply as he did.

  She glanced over at him, offering a small, sympathetic smile. “She will be fine,” she whispered as she set the vial aside. “I’m making sure the medics and healers are doing everything perfectly.”

  As she spoke, she moved closer, almost too close. Theron felt her hand on his, a light touch that sent a shiver down his spine. She began to rub his hand gently, her fingers tracing small circles over his skin. Her voice lowered even further, becoming a soft murmur just inches from his ear.

  “You’re doing everything you can, Your Highness,” she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. “You’re a good son.”

  Theron’s breath hitched. For a moment, he felt a strange mix of emotions, comfort, warmth, a flicker of something deeper. Nima’s presence was soothing, her words like balm to his wounded pride. He felt a connection, an unexpected closeness to her. She seemed to understand his pain, to share in it. It was as if, in this dark room, he wasn’t quite so alone.

  “I’ll make sure she gets better,” he murmured, his voice firmer now, as if saying the words aloud could somehow make them true.

  Nima nodded, her eyes never leaving his. “I believe you, Your Highness,” she said softly, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “I always have.”

  It was such a simple statement, but it struck Theron deeply. To hear those words, words of faith, of belief, spoken to him felt like a lifeline thrown into his sea of doubt. Noone had never spoken to him like that since his mother fell ill. He felt a spark of confidence, a tiny ember of hope reigniting in his chest.

  Just then, a soft knock came at the door. Nima’s hand slipped from his as she turned quickly to answer it. She opened the door to reveal royal adviser Kharis. He gave a curt nod to Nima before his eyes shifted to Theron.

  “Prince Theron,” he said, his tone formal and precise. “Your father has asked for you to be in his chambers at once.”

  Theron’s heart sank, but he nodded, wiping his face one last time to ensure no trace of his earlier tears remained. As Theron walked down the corridor, leaving his mother’s chamber behind. The weight in his chest lingered, but he forced himself to move, step by step. The moment he saw the distant outline of the throne room doors, he exhaled sharply.

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  Not here. Not now.

  His fingers twitched before he balled them into fists as he straightened his posture. The grief was still there, clawing at the edges of his mind, but he shoved it down, burying it beneath cold resolve.

  You are the Crown Prince. Act like it, Theron reminded himself.

  By the time he reached the doors, his face was an unreadable mask. But the fire behind his eyes had not dimmed.

  He could almost feel the weight of the shadows pressing in on him as he neared the massive double doors of his father’s hall, each step echoing in the stillness of the palace. Vizier Kharis pushed the heavy door open and stepped back as Theron entered the king’s hall.

  The room was bathed in a soft, amber glow from the green sand orbs lining the walls, casting long, wavering shadows that danced across the polished marble floor. King Eldrion sat on his imposing golden throne, a letter clutched tightly in his hand. Theron immediately recognized the Temple Overseer’s seal on the parchment.

  Eldrion’s face was set in a stern frown, his brows furrowed deeply, eyes dark with disappointment and rising anger. The king was speaking in low, urgent tones to one of his advisers, but as soon as he noticed Theron approaching, he stopped mid-sentence and fixed his gaze squarely on his son.

  “Leave us,” Eldrion commanded his advisers. His voice was sharp, carrying authority that left no room for argument.

  The advisers exchanged uneasy glances before bowing and filing out. The heavy door shut behind them with a resounding thud, leaving father and son alone in the vast, echoing hall.

  Eldrion remained seated upon his throne, his face dark with fury as he held up the crumpled letter for Theron to see, “You humiliate me before the King of Kerios, and now you dare demand the temple move the Aether into the palace?”

  Theron stood rigid, his expression carefully blank, though inside his emotions churned. His father’s words struck like blows, each one feeding the old fire of inadequacy he had carried for years.

  “I only made a proposition to the Grand Overseer,” Theron said evenly. “It has never been done, true — but why should the crown prince not speak of possibilities with the temple, to strengthen the Aether’s flow?”

  “The Aether’s flow to the Custodians depends on its placement,” Eldrion spat. “Move it to the palace, and the rest of the city suffers.” His voice rose, each word burning hotter than the last.

  “And on what authority did you decide it suited a prince to make such demands?” Eldrion thundered, his voice booming through the hall. “Without the king’s consent? No ruler has ever dared such a thing — out of respect for the divine blessing of God on Aetheria. The balance between the palace and the temple is delicate, built on mutual respect, an understanding that neither overrides the other’s authority.”

  “Divine blessing?” Theron’s lips curled into a mocking smile. A dry laugh escaped him, hollow and sharp, the sound of contempt long held in silence. He threw his head back and laughed again, louder this time, his voice echoing in the emptiness of the hall.

  Eldrion’s face darkened, his eyes narrowing in a mixture of confusion and rising fury. “Have you lost your senses, boy?” His voice was taut, struggling to hold back a breaking tide of anger.

  Theron let out another humorless laugh, brief and cutting. But the moment passed like a dying ember, his expression hardening into something colder. He lifted his gaze, sharp and unyielding. “No, Father. I see more clearly now than I ever have… You’re a weak king.”

  The words landed like a slap. Eldrion’s eyes flashed with shock and anger. “What?” he spat, his voice rising in incredulity.

  “Fawning over Kerios, blindly following the Temple, bending backward for their rules,” Theron continued, his voice dropping into something lower, deadlier, each word edged with venom. “And worst of all… you couldn’t even refuse another marriage to that sand whore?” He stepped forward.

  The silence after Theron’s accusation was short-lived. Eldrion’s roar shattered it. “What did you just say?” His voice cracked with fury as he surged to his feet, his face a storm of disbelief.

  Before Theron could respond, Eldrion’s hand lashed out, the sharp slap ringing through the hall like a whip crack. The force of it snapped Theron’s head to the side, but he didn’t stumble, didn’t waver. Slowly, he turned back, his cheek stinging, a faint redness blooming across his skin.

  And then he smiled. Not a smile of mirth, but of something twisted, something that fed off the pain. A mocking chuckle left his lips, quiet at first, then sharper.

  “Ah, there he is — the king of the Capital.” His voice dripped with derision, cutting through the air like a knife. “Tell me, Father…” He took a slow step forward. “Was it easier to go along with it? To pretend like you never had a wife and son?”

  Eldrion’s eyes widened, the hurt and confusion evident as he struggled to find words. Theron’s gaze was icy and unyielding, his next words a harsh indictment.

  “My mother loved you,” Theron continued, the words laced with bitterness that made Eldrion flinch. “Loves, I should say,” he corrected swiftly, “since she’s not dead… yet.”

  Eldrion’s silence was a heavy weight, his shoulders sagging under the burden of his son’s words. Theron’s voice grew more accusatory, the tension crackling in the air. “Have you even visited her once since she fell ill?” he demanded.

  The king’s silence was answer enough. “I can see it in your eyes, you wish she was dead already, don’t you?” Theron pressed, his voice rising. “She was just a vessel to provide an heir. Once I came along, she was useless to you.”

  “That’s not true!” Eldrion protested, his voice strained. “I tried to love her, but that woman was always filled with venom and bitterness.”

  He paused, gathering his words. “I married Mara out of necessity, out of duty to my kingdom. To end the war with Kerios, once and for all. But your mother never understood.”

  “Venom and bitterness,” Theron shot back, his eyes flashing. “What else did you deserve for cutting us out of your life?” His voice cracked as his eyes welled. “Your prayers have been answered; you would be rid of her soon enough.”

  Eldrion’s face was pale, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he tried to respond. “You’re blaming me for her illness,” he said, his voice faltering.

  “Yes,” Theron replied quickly, his tone cold and unwavering. “She’s dying because of you, your rejection, your indifference.” His eyes glistened again, but his voice was steady, each word a deliberate cut. “You were always a poor husband and an even worse father. But it seems I’m only now realizing you are just as lacking as a king.”

  Eldrion’s knees buckled. He sank onto his throne, his authority crumbling. Theron’s words cut deep, exposing the failures he had tried to ignore. His gaze fell, pride and strength shattered.

  Theron turned to leave. The chamber doors swung open with a thud, and he stormed out, anger driving him down the hall.

  ***

  Thirteen years ago, the Lich Queen was merely Kai’s quiet and awkward classmate at Lokora’s Magic Academy.

  In hindsight, Kai should have probably defended her from her bullies.

  Luna’s lich transformation killed thirteen. The academy burned to disbandment, and Kai lost his dreams in a coma, waking up with an odd power: the ability to witness traumatic events through the eyes of the victim. In the years since, Luna had become the Lich Queen—the most feared black magic practitioner alive.

  When Luna returns to Lokora for unfinished business thirteen years later, Kai’s power offers an unexpected opportunity. To return to the past, into the classroom where Lich Queen Luna is still a fourteen-year-old despised prodigy of magic, who sits alone at lunch, called cursed by the students around her.

  This time, Kai sets out to stop Luna from causing the transformation, until he learns that bullying alone may not have been what pushed her to darkness…