In the throne room…
As Elaine was dragged through the gilded halls of the Fae Court, her wrists bound and pride burning,
The royal court is a breathtaking sight: an enormous palace woven from living trees, its walls shimmering with cascading waterfalls and its floors glowing with veins of luminous crystal.
As the gates open, Elara is led At the center of the grand throne room, the throne carved from the Heartwood Tree itself, its roots and branches twisting around him as if alive.
And the King
He wears a crown of golden leaves, and his gaze is both sharp and weary. surrounded by his High Council.
But as Elara looks up at him, her breath catches. He is no stranger to her.
But this time, she wasn't only met with his cold gaze…
Standing just a step below his throne was a woman.
Tall. Regal. Her fae beauty was sharp, elegant, and effortless—eyes like moonstone, hair braided with starlight. She wore a crown of silver thorns and a knowing, unreadable smile.
Elaine's heart dropped.
The woman's hand rested lightly on the king's forearm. Possessive. Familiar.
"My King," she said gently, not looking at Elaine, "do you wish me to remain for this… interrogation?"
"No," he said evenly. "Return to the Solar Wing. I'll join you soon."
She bowed with grace. "As you command."
The king locked eyes with Elaine.
"You've brought a mortal into my court?"
"She insisted on an audience, Your Majesty." Said the captain.
The council murmurs among themselves.
Lady Sylwen: ""A mortal dares walk into our court and demand aid? Have we fallen so low?"
Lord Tharion: "Perhaps she is a spy,
General Vaelis: "Perhaps she is desperate. Or foolish. Mortals are prone to both."
Mistress Liora, however, remains silent, her gaze fixed on Elara as if searching for something deeper.
raises a hand, silencing them. His gaze remains fixed on Elara.
Kaelion: "Speak, Princess. Why have you come?"
His tone is formal, but the flicker of recognition in his eyes does not go unnoticed by Elara. She steels herself, refusing to let old wounds cloud her purpose.
Now, standing before him as king, Elara feels a storm of emotions—anger, confusion, and an ache she had buried long ago.
" Your Majesty. I come seeking aid, not pleasantries."
She always imagined a flinjch at her formal tone, but didn't back down.
Elara: " ..The land of mortals is dying— The life is draining from the earth,. Ive seen ti myself."
" Do you realize the risk you've taken? Coming here,
"I had no choice. "
"And you thought the fae would simply hand over their aid? You know nothing of what you're asking."
"Then explain it to me! Here you sit with your wine and grapes ,while everything beyond it suffers.the forest,the animals the people.I came here for s solution ,i'm leaving with a solution"
His hands clench at his sides, a storm brewing in his gaze.
"I cannot afford to care,. Not for your realm, and certainly not for you."
Her breath catches, but she refuses to let his words wound her.
"Then I'll find another way. and if that means taking your heart, so be it." She said coldly.
Her words send a ripple of shock through the court. The fae council reacts immediately:
The court erupts into chaos at her declaration.
But Kaelion raises his hand again, his expression unreadable.
"You speak boldly, Elaine. Perhaps too boldly. Do you truly believe you can take my heart and survive the attempt?"
General Vaelis: "She dares threaten the king in his own court? This is an act of war!"
Lady Sylwen: ""Mortals. Always taking. Always destroying."
But Kaelion raises his hand again, his expression unreadable. He steps down from his throne, his presence commanding yet strangely calm.
Ronan's eyes narrow, the air between them charged with magic and unspoken emotion. He approached Elaine with measured steps.
"So, you've come to kill me?
She meets his gaze, her voice steady. "If I must."
There is a flicker of something in his eyes— something softens his expression.
Memories of their past meetings flash in his mind—the mortal girl who once stood so fiercely against his expectations, who challenged him with her wit and fire.admiration, perhaps, or intrigue.
He turns back to his council.
"The Wastelands' magic has already begun to seep into our borders. Ignoring this would be folly. Retun to your tribes, spread the news, morgonna has return"
The tension in the room thickens as Ronan steps closer to her.
His voice drops, meant only for her ears.
"If you want the truth, you must earn it. The land itself will judge you."
Elaine had expected riddles and illusions. What she found was far more treacherous.
Fin flew faster than he ever had in his life.
Wings burned. His lungs ached. Magic bled from him like a leaking star.
But as he soared across the skies, something changed. A fog—like dreamstuff—wrapped around his mind. His memories—of where, of when, of who—blurred like ink in rain.
By the time he reached the palace, his thoughts were in fragments.
He burst into the throne room, frantic and exhausted, falling onto a silk-draped table as Gilgamesh, Arturia, and the council turned.
Gilgamesh stood instantly. "Where is she?"
Fin blinked, disoriented. "She… Alive—I know she is—but…"
"But what?" Rhysand asked, her voice sharp with dread.
"I… I don't know where," Fin whispered, trembling. "They—they took it from me.show a They wiped the memory of the place. I saw it vanish like it was never real."
The room fell to silence.
The Fae.
Gilgamesh's heart sank.
If Elaine had crossed into their domain, the risks were far greater than he'd imagined.
His crimson eyes narrowed—rage, fear, and something else behind them.
"I waited long enough," he said coldly, though his voice trembled just slightly.
"Gil," Arturia said gently, but he didn't hear her.
"Half of our children are missing ! Arturia!"
His hand clenched around the edge of the war table, knuckles white.
"Your Majesty—" one of the councilors began.
"Summon the generals. Now."
He leaned over a weathered map, his eyes scanning the scribbled notes from his scouts.
"She was here," one of his knights reported, placing a familiar cloak on the table. The intricate design was unmistakable—it had belonged to Elaine.
Gilgamesh's breath caught. "Where did you find this?"
The knight hesitated, unsure whether to speak.
"Your Grace," he said finally, "It came from a woman. She angered the guards. She wouldn't leave the city gate."
The king's eyes flicked to the side.
"Arthur."
The first prince who had been leaning in the archway behind him, straightened at once.
He didn't need to hear it twice.
In the lower city.
The woman sat in the heart of the city square, as if it belonged to her, as if it always had.
Her hair was wiry silver, wild like roots left too long in the sun.
She was draped in layers of faded shawls, her fingers bare, and eyes sharp beneath her sagging lids.
The guards had surrounded her, steel drawn—but Arthur stepped between them with quiet command.
"No."
She turned to him, as if she already knew.
"Gil?"
Arthur froze.
No one called his father that. No one except his mother.
"No," he said slowly. "My name is Arthur Pendragon. My father would like a word with you."
She smiled, and it was eerie how soft it was. Not mocking—just knowing.
"Well, that's strange. What would the great king want with an old hag like me, hmm?"
Arthur swallowed his unease. "You found a cloak, yes? It belonged to my sister. She vanished. We believe she went into the Deep Woods… and we think you might be able to help us find her."
She leaned forward slightly, studying him with those eyes that saw far more than they should.
"Of course, my prince."
Her voice dipped into something ancient, something older than even the roots of their kingdom.
Then, softly, as she reached out and took his hands with her withered ones:
"And I must say… you really do get your looks from your daddy."
Arthur blinked, stunned.
But she was already rising, slowly, with regal grace. He offered her his arm, and without a word more, she accepted it.
Together, they walked to the carriage.
The guards stared after them in silence.
Something about the way the wind shifted—how the sun dimmed behind a passing cloud—told them this was no ordinary woman.