Whispers Beneath the Throne
The throne room slept, but the palace never truly did.
Long after the torches dimmed and the corridors emptied, Lumi followed the pull beneath her ribs—the subtle ache that meant truth was being buried nearby. She moved quietly, bare feet silent against cold stone, shadows parting as if unsure whether to bar her way.
At twenty-two, Lumi trusted that feeling more than rest.
The pull led her downward.
Past the ceremonial halls. Past the armory sealed with blood-sigils. Down into passages older than the crown itself, where the stone walls were etched with prayers that had never been answered.
Here, the truth tasted old.
Regret. Fear. Calculation.
Voices drifted through the dark ahead.
"The prince is compromised," an elder murmured.
Lumi slowed, pressing herself into the shadows.
"He will not move against her," another replied. "That makes him predictable."
A third voice—calm, satisfied. "Then we move around him."
Pain flared sharply.
They are planning her removal.
Lumi clenched her jaw, breathing carefully as blood welled at the back of her throat. She leaned closer, every instinct screaming danger.
"The Truth Bearer cannot be killed openly," the calm voice continued. "Martyrdom would shatter what remains of order."
"So we provoke the realm," said the first elder. "Force the curse to reassert itself."
The truth struck brutally.
They mean to break her.
Lumi's vision blurred.
"Distance," the calm voice said. "Separation will destabilize her power. The night will remember what she is meant to be."
A pause.
"And if the prince interferes?"
The calm voice smiled into the silence. "Then we remind him who truly holds Noctyrrh together."
Lumi staggered back, chest tight. The truth roared now, furious and unforgiving.
She turned—
—and collided with Blake.
He caught her instantly, one arm bracing her as the other drew her closer to the wall. His eyes met hers, sharp and searching.
"You shouldn't be here," he whispered.
"I know," she whispered back. "But they're planning to separate us."
His grip tightened imperceptibly.
"I already know," he said.
The truth went still.
"You've known," Lumi breathed. "And you didn't tell me."
Blake's jaw clenched. "I was buying time."
"For whom?"
"For you," he said quietly. "And for the realm."
Pain flared—not from the truth, but from something far more human.
"You're planning something," Lumi said. "Something you think I won't agree to."
Blake did not deny it.
"They believe distance will weaken you," he said. "If that's true—"
"Then you intend to use it," she finished, voice shaking. "As proof. As bait."
Silence pressed down between them, heavy with unsaid things.
"Yes," Blake said at last.
The admission hurt worse than any lie.
"You would let them hurt me," Lumi said softly.
"No," Blake said fiercely. "I would stand between you and the worst of it. But I would let them try."
The truth inside her burned—but did not call it false.
Lumi stepped back from him.
"You don't get to decide what I endure," she said, each word steady despite the ache tearing through her chest.
"I get to decide what saves this realm," Blake replied, just as quietly.
They stood there, the space between them suddenly vast.
Above them, the throne loomed—built on silence, fear, and the quiet suffering of those never meant to survive it.
And beneath it all, the whispers continued—promising a fracture neither love nor power could prevent.