The kingdom did not take well to being whispered to by a god.
By midday, the palace was shaking—not from magic this time, but from noise.
Shouts from the city below.
People praying.
People screaming.
People demanding to know why the moon had started talking in their heads.
From my window, I could see crowds gathering in the lower square—tiny moving shapes from here, but loud enough that their fear reached us anyway.
"Riots," Kael muttered beside me. "Perfect."
He hadn't left my side since the ruins.
Not to change his blood-stained shirt.
Not to sleep.
Not even to check on Father.
If I moved, he moved.
If I stopped, he stopped.
A living shadow made of stubbornness and guilt.
"You don't have to hover," I said, attempting a weak smile. "I won't shatter if you walk ten steps away."
"Oh?" he said. "You nearly exploded the palace. Forgive me if I'm not reassured."
I sighed. "I'm serious, Kael."
"So am I." His jaw tightened. "That… voice went through every person in the city. They're afraid. The council is already panicking. You think I'm going to leave you alone with them?"
…Fair point.
Behind us, leaning against the wall like he'd grown out of it, Lysander watched the city thoughtfully. His wound was bound in strips of shadow—where the bandages touched his skin, they smoked faintly.
"You should be resting," I told him.
He glanced at me. "I don't rest."
"You're bleeding shadow."
"Yes. And?"
"And," I snapped, "that usually means a person is hurt."
He gave me a look.
"I am not a person."
"You are now."
Something flickered in his eyes at that.
Before he could answer, the door burst open.
Darin, Father's attendant, bowed quickly—but his face was pale.
"Lady Aura," he said, "His Majesty requests your presence in the council chamber. Immediately. The prince as well."
Kael's hand flexed on the window ledge.
"And him?" I asked, tipping my head toward Lysander.
Darin hesitated.
"His Majesty said, and I quote… 'That shadow-thing stays away from my council unless Aura insists otherwise.'"
Lysander's lips curved.
"Your father learns quickly."
I glanced at him.
"You'll come."
It wasn't a question.
Darin swallowed. "My lady, the council—"
"I don't care what they want," I said. "If I walk into that room, he walks behind me. Or I don't come at all."
Darin shut his mouth.
Kael watched me with a faint, grim smile.
"You're starting to sound like a queen."
"Don't curse me," I muttered.
The council chamber felt like a nest of snakes someone had just kicked.
Voices overlapped.
Hands slammed the table.
Words like "blasphemy" and "omen" and "witchcraft" flew across the polished wood like thrown daggers.
The moment we stepped in—
me, Kael, Lysander—
the noise cut off.
Lord Ren looked like he'd been waiting specifically to be offended.
"We said without the shadow-creature," he snapped.
I walked to an empty chair near my father and sat down without asking permission.
"Well," I said mildly, "I said with him. And I'm the one with the god trying to use her body, so I think my vote counts."
Halven made a strangled sound. "Your Majesty—!"
Father looked… older. The lines around his eyes were deeper, his posture more slumped. But his voice, when he finally spoke, still carried weight.
"Sit down, Halven," he said. "The shadow… man stays."
Lysander bowed his head slightly to Father, then took his place behind my chair like a very well-dressed nightmare.
Kael stood behind Father's.
Lady Mirela rubbed her temples. "Your Majesty, we must address the panic in the city before anything else. The people heard a voice that claimed to be a god. They're demanding answers."
"They'll blame Aura," Ren said immediately. "They'll say she brought this on us. Already the rumors talk of moonfire at the ruins, of the king's daughter walking with a demon—"
"A demon who saved your life," I said. "That guard's blade was meant for you."
He glared at me. "You cannot prove that."
"Yes, I can," Lysander replied lazily. "But I doubt your pride wants to read the proof written into your pillow."
Ren paled.
Father rapped his knuckles against the table. "Enough. We are not here to trade insults. We are here because something spoke to my people, and I will not let their fear tear the kingdom apart."
"Then confine the source," Halven said. He looked straight at me.
"Until we know how this god is connected to her, she must be contained. For her own safety—and everyone else's."
Kael pushed off the wall.
"Absolutely not."
"It is not a request, Prince Kael," Mirela said tiredly. "Your father's throne is trembling. The people need to see that we are taking control."
"By locking up the king's daughter like she's a criminal?"
"She is a beacon," Halven snapped. "Where her magic goes, the darkness follows. The creatures sought her. The ruins called her. The god whispers at her. You would let her wander freely?"
"Yes," Kael said. "Actually."
Ren sneered. "Of course you would. You're bewitched by her."
Kael stepped forward so fast his chair scraped the floor.
"And I suppose you're not bewitched by the idea of a throne that isn't yours?"
Father raised a hand. "Enough."
His gaze shifted to me.
"Aura," he said quietly, "tell me truthfully—do you feel this god can reach you anywhere in the palace?"
Lysander's shoulders tensed.
"Yes," I said.
Kael looked at me sharply.
"Then how," Father continued, "do we keep you safe?"
Safe.
There was that word again.
I laughed softly.
It sounded… wrong.
"You can't," I said. "Because this isn't about walls or doors. This is about me. I'm the crack it's pulling at. Lock me in a tower, throw me in a dungeon, gild a cage and call it a sanctuary—it doesn't matter. It will still whisper in my bones."
Murmurs.
Fear.
Fury.
"So you admit," Ren said, eyes glittering, "that you are a danger."
"I admit," I said calmly, "that something dangerous wants me."
"And we're supposed to accept that?" Halven said. "That we are trapped between a mad god and a cursed girl?"
"Say 'cursed' one more time," Lysander said pleasantly, "and I'll show you what a real curse looks like."
The air around him darkened.
Mirela rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Your Majesty, perhaps… confining the princess to the inner wing, under watch, would be wise. She would not be a prisoner—"
"She would," I interrupted. "You're just wrapping it in softer words."
Father looked at me with pain in his eyes.
"Aura," he said, "I would never cage you."
"Then don't start now."
Kael put a hand on Father's chair.
"Father," he said carefully, "if you lock her up… the people will still whisper. But now they'll whisper that you fear your own daughter."
Father closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, he looked tired enough to crumble.
"I will not imprison her," he said at last.
My shoulders loosened.
"However…" he continued, and my stomach sank,
"…for your safety, Aura, and for the kingdom's peace, you will not leave the palace grounds without escort. And you will not go near the western forest again."
"That's…" Kael exhaled slowly. "Acceptable. For now."
Lysander muttered, "It's pointless."
But he didn't argue.
Because before he could, the doors opened again.
Darin stepped in, bowing low.
"Your Majesty," he said, "the High Priest has arrived."
Father frowned. "Which one?"
"From the Lunar Sanctum," Darin replied. "Archon Maeron."
The temperature in the room dropped.
The council straightened, some with dread, some with relief.
Kael muttered under his breath, "Of course."
I glanced at Lysander.
His expression had gone perfectly, unnaturally blank.
"Problem?" I whispered.
"Yes," he said.
The man who entered was robed in pale silver, embroidered with constellations. His hair was long and white-blonde, his eyes a cool, almost colorless gray.
He looked like a marble statue smoothed by prayer and ambition.
"Your Majesty," he said, bowing low. "I came as soon as the omens reached us."
Father managed a tight smile. "Archon Maeron. Your timing is… notable."
Maeron's gaze swept the room—lingering on me, on Kael, and finally on Lysander.
There.
For a heartbeat.
The faintest flicker of recognition.
"Princess Aura," he said. "We meet at last."
My skin crawled. "You speak like you've been waiting."
"Oh," he said softly. "We all have."
Lysander's shadows curled tighter around him like hackles raising.
Maeron noticed.
"And this," he said, "must be the… entity rumor has named your companion."
"Named Lysander," I replied. "He saved my life."
"A fascinating choice of savior," Maeron murmured. "But then, the moon often favors the strange."
Something in his voice made my stomach twist.
He turned to Father. "If I may speak plainly, Your Majesty?"
"You always do," Father said dryly. "Go on."
Maeron folded his hands.
"We stand on the edge of an age we have dreaded for centuries. The Moon-Born has awakened fully." His eyes flickered to my chest, where the faint mark still glowed beneath my gown.
"The Primordial has begun to speak. The people are afraid. You are… in need of guidance."
"Guidance," Lysander repeated. "Is that what we're calling it?"
Maeron ignored him.
"The Sanctum was founded," he continued, "to prepare for this moment. The old texts spoke of a girl touched by moonlight and death. A key. A curse." His lips curved faintly.
"A choice."
My hand curled into a fist.
"The princess," he said, "must be protected."
"That is what I've been saying," Halven muttered.
Maeron smiled without warmth.
"Protected," he repeated. "And… studied. Contained. Trained."
He looked at me again.
"In the Sanctum, under our care."
There it was.
The cage, wrapped in silk.
Kael's jaw clenched. "You want to take her away."
Maeron's tone was patient. "We want to keep her from bringing ruin down on us all."
Lysander laughed quietly.
"Ah," he murmured. "Here comes the new enemy."
Maeron's eyes flicked to him, cold.
"Some shadows," the High Priest said, "should have been left in the dark."
Lysander's smile sharpened.
"Some priests," he replied, "should have choked on their first prayer."
The tension snapped like a drawn bow.
Father looked between us—between the priest, the shadow, the son, the daughter marked by a god—
and I saw the realization in his eyes:
There was no safe choice anymore.
"Aura," Maeron said softly. "Will you not come willingly? For your own good?"
I met his pale, patient gaze.
"No," I said.
The answer was simple.
The war, I realized, would not begin with monsters at the gate.
It would begin here.
In rooms like this.
With men like Maeron.
And with me.