It felt awkward to stand here, under the scrutinizing gaze of His Majesty and the courtiers. One of the castle’s beating hearts—his study—was a marvel with its countless shelves brimming with books that Havren longed to touch. She dared not lift her eyes until the king gave permission, fearful of breaching even the smallest rule of etiquette as she remained frozen in a curtsy.
They were not welcome here. She could sense the disdain from the nearby courtiers, their faces cold and unwelcoming the moment she appeared. Now, she found herself studying the intricate patterns of the marble floor, wondering about the craftsmen who had laid the stone with such precision.
Havren had never felt so nervous, not even during her knowledge assessments or when she operated on her first patient—her hands hadn’t trembled then. She remembered herself as composed and brave, after all, she had dedicated herself to the healing arts.
— I am pleased to welcome the representatives of the der Narat lineage, — His Majesty waved a hand, granting the guests permission to rise, — those who remain among the living.
She stole a glance at her uncle, who seemed more composed than ever, then shifted her gaze to the ruler of Lanveria. He was a formidable man with hair as black as pitch, his stern, suspicious eyes seeming to pierce through everyone, as if expecting a dagger to be plunged into his back at any moment. He leaned back in his chair, ignoring the favored lady standing nearby—a beautiful woman dressed in a pale gown. Havren felt a shiver run down her spine under the weight of his dark, night-like gaze. His smile—if one could call it that—was hardly genuine, for everyone knew His Majesty’s habit of concealing his true emotions. He was renowned as a grim, strict, and just ruler, sometimes ascetic, who kept his subjects in check by enforcing rigid amendments to court etiquette. And now, here she was, face to face with the man she had only ever seen in paintings or on coins. She was still alive. For now.
— Thank you, Your Majesty! — Aldren bowed, and she mirrored him, feeling like a puppet in her uncle’s hands.
The family had been on edge ever since the messenger delivered the letters.
“Dark horses always bear dark tidings,” she thought, straightening up.
Her father had often said that, and he had been displeased when he learned of the invitation. Once, the der Narat dynasty had been powerful, but everything had changed. Even when Havren’s mother was still alive, the royal disfavor had begun, leading to their exile from court. They were fortunate to retain their titles as counts and their ancestral estate. The reason for their fall remained a mystery to her. Aldren stayed silent on the matter, brushing it off by saying it was a decision made by Nikolas, the father of the current king, Rival.
Her own father, named Kaur, wished for everyone to believe he had long since passed. Perhaps Havren feared that with his piercing gaze, His Majesty might uncover her family’s secrets, her true origins, and then… execute her or lock her away in one of the castle’s towering spires. Or maybe she worried someone knew about the magic. Yes, without a doubt, her father was a powerful mage who hid his talents, and she… She wore a healer’s brooch, a symbol of her distinguished graduation from the Alirev Academy, while a mage apprentice’s ring adorned her finger.
Havren’s gift was still weak—or so she wanted everyone to believe. She restrained her powers, only occasionally channeling them to heal the gravely ill. At first, it felt exhilarating to know she had saved a few lives, but then came the harsh reprimand from her father after she spent three weeks bedridden, recovering from the strain. Sometimes her powers refused to obey; other times, when she merely reached for them, she’d be met with a nosebleed or a fainting spell. Officially, after being deemed a mage whose powers had burned out, she was merely an apprentice, clinging to the hope that one day everything would fall into place. That’s what outsiders were allowed to think, but those close to her knew the truth: in the evenings, she trained with Kaur, slipping into another realm of the world where her energies stabilized.
Within her coexisted two forces that rarely aligned: a burning desire to save lives and an unusual, unstable magic deemed forbidden by the Council of Archmages.
The sun was setting, its last rays filtering through the colorful stained glass of the study, cutting through the library’s gloom that seemed to linger in the air, refusing to leave. His Majesty finally noticed the displeased expression on his favored lady’s face but offered no reaction.
Havren anticipated the challenges of interacting with the aristocracy and let out a heavy mental sigh. She longed to return to her work: to roam freely, settle in one of the kingdom’s towns, open a small shop for herbs and remedies, and slowly pen scientific papers while experimenting in a laboratory to achieve the highest ranks in healing. She was at the fifth level, with ten being the pinnacle. Perhaps her stay at the castle wouldn’t be so dreadful. Aren’s gaze, at least, betrayed a hint of satisfaction. The son of a general, he was following in his father’s footsteps after graduating from the military academy. Four years her senior, he often visited her at home and wrote letters when she was holed up in Alirev.
Aren was tall and imposing, a skilled warrior with platinum hair and warm brown eyes. He was likely the only one here who genuinely welcomed her presence at the royal castle. He flashed her a subtle smile before lowering his gaze.
— I’ve read your works, — His Majesty addressed her, his eyes fixed on the young woman, — I’d like you to elaborate on your experiments. The scientific manuscripts the academy sends to the court often contain remarkable insights.
Havren bowed her head in agreement, resolving to remain silent for now. Rival clapped his hands, snapping the entourage to attention, then reached for a small bell.
Its melodic chime filled the spacious study, echoing toward the doors. She realized it was the work of a mage-craftsman. A servant entered and bowed.
— Tanet, — His Majesty rose from behind his desk, — see to it that refreshments are brought. The Countess must be weary from her journey. Escort her to her chambers, — he turned to the courtiers, — everyone except the general and his son is dismissed!
Havren glanced at her uncle, who nodded with a reassuring air of “everything is fine” and gestured toward the door where a servant already awaited. The last thing she noticed before gathering her skirts and exiting was the king inviting Aldren to a table in the other half of the study.
Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, her breath constricted by the corset, and she longed to loosen the laces as quickly as possible.