They say Caeloreth floats because the gods kissed its soil and deemed it unfit to touch the earth.
If only they'd spared a kiss for me.
I stood at the edge of the skybridge, the chill wind clawing through my cloak like ghostly fingers. Below me, clouds boiled like ocean foam. Above, the twin moons of Rell and Ithor hung heavy, their light silvering the jagged spires of the floating empire I once called home—and now, prison.
Six years. Six years since I'd left this throne, these skies, these chains of polished gold they called my inheritance.
And now, summoned back with a single seal burned into a parchment. The imperial decree that changed everything.
"Your brother is gone. The crown awaits you, Princess Lazaria Velmira Noctis."
Gone. As if he'd simply vanished like dew beneath morning fire.
I clenched the rail, knuckles white. My breath fogged in the thin, frozen air. The palace loomed in the distance, its crystalline towers glowing faintly with rune-light. A place of mirrors and lies.
I didn't come back for a crown. I came back to survive it.
Footsteps approached—precise, measured, heavy.
I turned.
He stood like a carved shadow—dark tunic, gloved hands, silver insignia of the Imperial Guard gleaming against his chest. Eyes sharp. Posture iron. Face unreadable.
"Princess," he said, his voice low and calm, but not cold. Not yet.
"Who are you?" I asked, eyes narrowing.
"Rael Evander Kaelith," he replied, bowing his head slightly. "Your new First Guard."
Of course. They didn't trust me without a leash. Even one dressed in obsidian and steel.
"I didn't request a guard," I said.
"The crown did."
"And my opinion means?"
"Little. Until it means everything."
He held my gaze like a blade held against a throat—not to wound, but to warn. Not a man bred for charm. No. Rael Kaelith was forged for war.
And yet... beneath the stillness of his form, I sensed something coiled. Something dangerous. Beautifully dangerous.
He stepped forward and extended a gloved hand.
"Your Highness," he said, "Shall we return to your kingdom?"
I didn't take his hand. Not yet. Not because I feared him, but because I feared myself.
Instead, I nodded once and walked past him, cloak fluttering behind like broken wings.
I was no longer the girl who left Caeloreth.
But perhaps, I was something worse.
Something the empire wasn't ready for.
The gates of Caeloreth opened not with welcome, but with ceremony—cold, calculated, and hollow.
Hundreds bowed. None smiled.
Their robes shimmered like starlight, their faces painted in royal hues of loyalty. But loyalty in this court was a costume, easily removed when the lights dimmed.
My boots clicked against the glass-marble floor of the Grand Hall, every step echoing like judgment. I could feel the weight of eyes on my back, but one gaze burned hotter than the rest.
Rael Evander Kaelith trailed behind me like a second shadow, close enough to guard me, far enough to respect the invisible walls I kept up like armor. He said nothing. He didn't need to. His silence spoke volumes.
"Your Highness," the Chancellor began as we reached the dais. His voice oozed reverence, but his eyes were already calculating how to exploit my return.
"The throne mourns your brother. The empire mourns. And yet—" his thin lips twisted into a well-practiced smile, "we are... honored by your return."
Honored. What a pretty word for cornered.
I lifted my chin and stared into the crowd of councilors, nobles, whispering aides, and gloved schemers. Somewhere in that sea of silks and secrets, my brother had once stood. He had once believed he could change this empire from within.
He was wrong.
I offered the Chancellor a tilt of my head, sharp as a blade. "Spare your condolences. Save them for someone who believes them."
A flicker of tension passed through the room. Delightful.
Rael didn't flinch, didn't shift. But I sensed his gaze tighten on the crowd.
A good soldier. Or maybe a man who recognized poison when it dripped from smiling mouths.
The ceremony dragged on. Declarations. Oaths. Velvet lies stitched together with gold. I stood beneath the Imperial Crest with a numbness creeping into my bones, colder than the mountain air outside.
When the final bell tolled, I turned to leave. But before I reached the archway, a voice called out.
"Your Majesty," it said—mockingly regal.
I paused. Slowly, I turned.
Lady Oravia. Daughter of Duke Neren. Cloaked in sapphire and suspicion.
"It must be difficult," she continued, a hand fluttering to her chest in faux sympathy. "Returning to the empire after so long. Alone."
The word sliced deeper than I expected.
Alone.
Always alone.
Rael stepped forward—not enough to draw attention, but enough for me to feel the air shift. A quiet warning. A silent promise.
I didn't need his defense.
"Lady Oravia," I said sweetly. "I'm touched by your concern. But worry not. I've learned the art of survival quite well—especially when surrounded by vultures."
A few gasps. One muffled laugh. Oravia's smile cracked, but she bowed anyway. Respectful on the outside. Furious beneath.
I walked away, Rael close behind, and only when the doors sealed behind us did I exhale.
"You held your own," Rael said, quietly.
I shot him a look. "Were you expecting me to cry?"
"No." He met my gaze with unsettling calm. "But grief makes most women brittle. You are not most women."
I should've been flattered. Instead, I felt... seen. Too much, too soon.
We walked in silence down the candlelit corridor toward my quarters. My heels clicked with every step, but his were silent. I hated how he could vanish into the stillness like that—like a ghost that never really left.
When we reached my chamber doors, I turned to him.
"You're not here to be my friend," I said.
"No," he agreed.
"You're not here to trust me either."
"No."
"Then why are you here?"
His eyes lingered on mine. Something flickered. Something dark. And quiet. And dangerous.
"To keep you alive."
He turned and walked away, leaving me at the threshold of a kingdom that wasn't mine anymore.
The throne remembered me.
But I wasn't sure I remembered how to sit on it without bleeding.
My chambers smelled the same. Lavender and dust. Memory and neglect.
The carved windows, draped in velvet the color of twilight, offered a cruel view of the empire. Towers stabbed the clouds like polished blades. Floating ships drifted beneath the city like moths orbiting a flame. Everything looked the same. And yet, I felt like a ghost trespassing in a life that no longer belonged to me.
I walked toward the grand mirror in the corner.
The girl staring back was a stranger. My face, but sharpened. Eyes darker. Lips set in a line that remembered too many goodbyes. I touched the side of my neck—where once, a silver locket had rested.
Gone. Like so many things.
There was a knock. Sharp. Single.
"Enter," I called.
The door opened just enough to let in a sliver of shadow—and him.
Rael.
He stepped in, the door clicking softly shut behind him. A man like him should've looked out of place in a room lined with velvet and light. But somehow, he fit. Like a warning etched into silk.
"I didn't summon you," I said.
"You didn't," he agreed. "But I come with information."
I arched an eyebrow. "Have we descended to riddles already?"
He stepped forward, pulling a sealed document from within his cloak and placing it on the table between us. His fingers brushed the surface like he feared leaving a mark.
"The Chancellor is planning to move the coronation forward," he said. "Three days."
"What?" My voice sliced through the still air.
He didn't flinch. "A faster crowning means a faster shift in power. Control. Legitimacy."
"Or manipulation."
"Exactly."
I stared at the document, pulse tightening in my throat.
"Why warn me?" I asked quietly.
His gaze didn't waver. "Because dead queens make poor rulers."
A silence stretched between us, thick as stormclouds. Outside, lightning cracked somewhere beyond the horizon, and the windowpanes shivered with distant thunder.
He turned to leave, but before he reached the door, I said, "Rael."
He paused.
"I'm not fragile."
"I know," he said without turning around. "That's what makes you dangerous."
And then he was gone again—like a shadow vanishing beneath candlelight.
I stared at the sealed document, heart racing.
This empire wanted a queen.
But it wasn't ready for me.
Let them move the coronation.
Let them sharpen their knives.
I'd wear the crown with blood on my hands if I had to.
And I wouldn't flinch.
The court smelled of wine, power, and expensive fear.
I stood beneath the arched ceilings of the Hall of Ascension, where generations of Noctis blood had bled beneath crowns. The chamber glittered with opulence—jewel-toned lanterns suspended midair, golden walls etched with the story of our rise from dust to sky. Every detail was meant to impress. Or intimidate.
And still, it felt more like a cage.
Nobles fluttered around me like peacocks on parade—bowing, whispering, smiling with teeth too white and too sharp. They spoke in elegant riddles, congratulated me for a future I hadn't accepted, and toasted to a legacy they secretly planned to control.
I could smell the rot beneath the roses.
"Princess, what a vision you are," drawled Lord Theon Veyr, his voice thick with honeyed venom. "Your brother's absence is tragic, of course, but I must say… the crown looks far more radiant on you."
I gave him a thin smile. "How comforting to know your loyalty is so flexible."
He blinked once. The smile slipped, then returned. False. Fragile.
Rael stood behind me, silent as a statue. His presence was the only thing anchoring me in a room full of liars.
I moved through the crowd like a blade wrapped in silk, offering curt nods and vague pleasantries. But beneath my skin, fire simmered. These people didn't want a ruler. They wanted a puppet. And I was already starting to feel the strings.
"Your Highness," said another voice—softer, feminine, but no less sharp.
Lady Serelith Morra. One of the court's favorite knives.
She stepped closer, her gown rippling like liquid shadow. "The coronation's been moved. Three days. You must be thrilled. Imagine—your rule beginning sooner than expected."
I met her gaze. "Isn't it strange, how tragedy always clears the way for power? Like a storm politely stepping aside."
Her smile faltered for just a breath. "Some would say fate favors you."
"Others would say fate fears me."
Rael didn't speak. But I could feel his eyes on me. Watching. Measuring.
Later, when the room began to thin and the candles burned lower, I stepped onto the balcony for air. Cold wind swept across my skin like a whispered warning.
And then, his voice—low and unreadable.
"They want to see if you'll bend before they try to break you."
I didn't turn to look at Rael. Just stared out over the city, its floating platforms and towers glowing like fallen stars.
"I've bent before," I whispered. "I learned how to hide the bruises. How to smile while bleeding."
"Then don't bend this time," he said, a rare edge to his voice. "Let them see your teeth."
For a moment, silence stretched between us. Not uncomfortable. Not empty.
I turned, finally meeting his eyes. "You speak like someone who's watched empires fall."
He didn't blink. "I have."
I took a step closer. Not enough to touch. Just enough to feel his gravity.
"And did you serve them, too?" I asked. "The ones that fell?"
"Yes."
"What happened to them?"
His voice was quieter now. "They didn't listen."
The wind howled through the towers. I stood there, watching this man carved from discipline and shadow, and I realized something dangerous:
He wasn't just a guard.
He was a survivor.
And I… I was starting to trust him.
The palace walls whispered at night.
I heard them—behind the stone, beneath the silk. The echoes of past rulers, of broken vows, of blood spilled between laughter. This place was alive, but not with breath. With memory.
And memory had teeth.
Sleep never came easily here. Too many shadows. Too much silence. I sat at the edge of my old canopy bed, staring at the velvet drapes like they might turn into vines and strangle me.
I missed the outer realms. I missed wind in my hair and streets that didn't know my name. I missed being no one.
But I had chosen to return. And now the empire would remember who I was.
A knock.
Again, always that single, precise knock.
I didn't bother saying come in. I already knew who it was.
Rael stepped in, darker than the hallway behind him, as if he carried the night with him wherever he went.
"You're still awake," he observed.
"I don't sleep well when I'm being watched," I replied without looking at him.
"Good instinct," he said.
That almost made me smile.
He walked to the window without asking. Looked out. He didn't speak, didn't fill the silence with questions or rehearsed concern. That's what made his presence tolerable. No pretending.
"You don't trust them," I said.
"I trust no one who smiles too quickly."
"And me?"
His head turned slightly. Just enough that I saw the side of his face in the moonlight. "I don't need to trust you. I need to keep you alive."
A pause.
Then I stood.
And I walked toward him, slowly, until there was only a breath of space between us.
"I didn't ask for this crown," I said.
"You didn't have to," he replied. "It was always meant for you."
"That doesn't mean I want it."
He looked at me then. Really looked. Not as a body to protect, not as a ruler to serve. Just… me.
"That," he said softly, "is what makes you dangerous."
I wanted to ask what made him dangerous. But the question sat on my tongue like forbidden fruit. I knew the answer was somewhere deep, tangled in his past. And I wasn't sure I was ready to peel back that darkness yet.
Instead, I asked, "Do you know why my brother left?"
Silence.
"I was told he was tired. Burdened. That the crown was too heavy."
Rael didn't answer.
I stepped away. Walked back toward the table, where the coronation robes had been laid out for fitting. Gold thread. Crimson velvet. So heavy already, and they hadn't even draped them on my shoulders yet.
"Everyone here has a role," I said bitterly. "Mine just happens to be gilded."
Rael moved behind me—close, but never touching. His voice came low, near my ear.
"Then wear it like armor."
I looked at my reflection again.
Princess. Pawn. Weapon.
Or perhaps… something else.
"I'm not my brother," I whispered.
"No," he said. "You're not."
He left then.
And for the first time in days, I let the quiet settle around me. No dreams. No tears.
Just steel hardening beneath skin.