Chapter 3 - The King’s Gift
The Sun Tower was a heavily guarded sanctuary perched high above the palace courtyard. Outside Mara’s door, heavy footfalls of Captain Vance’s loyal guards echoed rhythmically. Inside, however, Mara felt like a bird trapped in a golden cage.
King Alistair spent the entire following morning with her. He brought wooden chests filled with baby clothes, velvet ribbons, and small silver rattles—relics he had preserved in a locked vault for seventeen years.
“Your mother wore this ring,” Alistair said softly, placing a delicate ruby band into Mara’s palm. “She passed away shortly after you were born. When the fire took you, I lost the last piece of her. I allowed Malakor to govern because my heart was dead. But now... now I feel alive again.”
Mara looked at the fragile old man, feeling a deep warmth bloom in her chest. For years, she had believed she was an unwanted orphan left on the palace doorstep by cruel parents. Knowing she was loved—that someone had mourned her every single day—filled her eyes with tears.
“Father,” Mara whispered, testing the word on her lips.
Alistair smiled brightly, wiping a tear from his cheek. “I will make up for every lost year, Aurelia. I promise you.”
Late that night, after the King had retired to rest, the quiet of the Sun Tower was shattered by a soft scrape outside Mara’s balcony doors.
Mara instantly sat up in bed, her pulse spiking. She slipped out of the covers and grabbed a brass candleholder from the nightstand.
The balcony glass shattered inward. A masked figure clad in dark leather leaped into the room, a venom-coated dagger gleaming in his hand.
Mara screamed, throwing the heavy brass candleholder with all her strength. It struck the assassin’s shoulder, throwing off his balance, but he recovered instantly and lunged at her with terrifying speed.
Just as the cold blade slashed toward her throat, the wooden bedroom door was kicked off its hinges. Captain Vance burst into the room, his longsword already unsheathed.
Metal violently clashed against metal in the dim moonlight. Vance blocked the assassin's strike with master precision, stepping between Mara and the intruder. With a swift, powerful kick, Vance sent the assassin crashing against the stone wall. The attacker scrambled up, leaped over the balcony railing, and vanished into the foggy night below.
Vance didn't chase him. He rushed to Mara’s side, gripping her shoulders. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m... I’m fine,” Mara gasped, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Vance looked at the black liquid dripping from the assassin’s dropped blade. “Nightshade venom,” he growled, his jaw clenching. “A single scratch would have killed you in seconds.”
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He looked down at Mara, his eyes filled with fierce determination. “They know the Blood Ritual will prove your true identity. Malakor is getting desperate. From this moment on, I will not leave your side.”
Mara looked out at the dark courtyard below. She knew Vance was right. The battle for the crown had begun, and her life was the prize.
