Chapter 8

Threads of Power

The dawn light spilled gently over the Golden City, painting the palace in shades of gold and blush. Yet inside the servants' quarters, the glow of morning brought no warmth to Elowen's weary spirit. She scrubbed the cold stone floor on her knees, her raw hands trembling slightly as droplets of water fell from the worn brush in her grip.

It had been two days since Morris had left her in the Dream Garden, his words echoing in her mind: "Make your choice—be my queen willingly, or be my queen forcibly." Despite the ache in her body and her exhaustion, the memory of his golden eyes, the weight of his presence, lingered like a shadow over her heart.

And then, there was the mark.

It burned faintly against her skin, hidden beneath the collar of her dress. She had grown painfully aware of its presence—its warmth flaring whenever she thought of him, or when she found herself alone in the quiet hours of the night. Sometimes, she swore she could hear his voice, faint and teasing, brushing against the edges of her consciousness.

As the day stretched on, Elowen's tasks became harder to focus on. It wasn't just the physical exhaustion—it was the whispers.

She stood in the kitchen, chopping vegetables with mechanical precision, when the faintest hum of laughter curled in her ears. Her hand stilled, the knife hovering above the cutting board as her breath caught.

"Still trying to play the obedient little lamb?"

Her head snapped up, her eyes scanning the empty kitchen. "Morris?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

There was no answer, but the mark on her neck flared, the heat sharp and startling. Elowen pressed a hand to it, her pulse quickening as panic began to creep into her chest.

"Stop it," she hissed under her breath. "Leave me alone."

But the laughter came again, low and rich, though this time it was only in her mind. It faded as quickly as it had come, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable.

Selene's sharp voice snapped her back to reality. "Elowen!"

Elowen jumped, turning to see the princess standing in the doorway. Selene's blue eyes were narrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line of annoyance. "If you have time to stand there gawking like a fool, you have time to finish my laundry. Now."

"Yes, Your Highness," Elowen murmured, bowing her head.

Selene watched her for a moment, her gaze lingering on Elowen's neck as if trying to catch a glimpse of what lay hidden beneath her collar. "And do something about your appearance," she added sharply. "You look like you've been dragged through the mud."

Later that evening, Prince Derek sat in his study, the golden light of the setting sun streaming through the high windows. Books and scrolls lay scattered across his desk, their pages filled with illustrations and descriptions of magical phenomena. His mind was preoccupied, the image of the red mark on Elowen's neck refusing to leave him.

He had consulted the court scholars earlier that day and what his brother told him wasn't convincing enough, though their knowledge on binding marks had been frustratingly limited. The thought of what the mark might signify gnawed at him, a puzzle he couldn't ignore.

The memory of Elowen's trembling figure in the training grounds played in his mind. She had seemed so fragile, yet there was something about her that drew his attention—a quiet strength beneath her fear, an unspoken mystery that tugged at his curiosity.

"Binding marks," he murmured to himself, his fingers tracing the edge of an open scroll. He had read of them before, in passing—symbols of possession, rare and powerful.

"What are you hiding?" he wondered aloud, his gaze drifting to the darkened sky outside.

In the servants' quarters, Elowen sat alone on her cot, her hands trembling as she rubbed at the mark on her neck. The burning sensation had been growing all day, and now it felt almost unbearable.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing it to stop. But then, something strange happened. The heat spread, flowing from her neck through her veins like liquid fire. Her heart raced, her breathing shallow as a faint glow began to emanate from the mark.

"Elowen."

The voice was sharp, yet calm. Her eyes flew open, and she saw Sadie standing in the doorway, her expression one of wide-eyed fear. "What's wrong?" Sadie asked, stepping closer. "You… you're glowing."

Elowen's hands flew to her neck, panic tightening her chest. "I don't know what's happening," she whispered, her voice trembling.

The light faded as quickly as it had come, leaving her cold and shaken. Sadie stared at her, her mouth opening and closing as if searching for words.

Before either of them could speak, a sharp knock sounded at the door. Jeria appeared, her face pinched with urgency. "Selene wants you in the main hall, now," she said sharply.

The main hall was filled with an assembly of princesses, their laughter and chatter echoing through the grand space. Elowen entered hesitantly, her head bowed as she carried a silver tray laden with drinks.

Selene stood near the center of the room, surrounded by a cluster of nobles. She caught sight of Elowen and smiled—though it was a smile that held no warmth.

"Ah, there she is," Selene said, her voice loud enough to draw the attention of the room. "Our dear servant girl."

Elowen felt every pair of eyes turn to her, their gazes heavy with curiosity and disdain. Her hands tightened around the tray as her steps faltered.

"Come now, Elowen," Selene continued, her tone dripping with false sweetness. "Serve the guests. Don't keep them waiting."

Elowen moved stiffly, her cheeks burning as she passed through the crowd, offering drinks to the assembled nobles. Their whispers followed her like a cloud.

"Isn't she the one Selene took in?"

"Look at her—she doesn't even belong here."

"Pathetic."

Elowen's grip on the tray tightened, her knuckles white. The mark on her neck began to burn again, and this time, she couldn't suppress the small gasp of pain that escaped her lips.

Selene's voice cut through the noise. "Clumsy as always, aren't you?"

Laughter rippled through the crowd, and Elowen felt her vision blur with unshed tears. But before she could crumble, a faint, familiar voice echoed in her mind.

"Stand tall, little lamb. Show them your spine."

The warmth of the mark spread again, this time bringing with it a strange sense of calm. Elowen straightened her shoulders, her green eyes flashing as she met Selene's gaze head-on.

Selene's smile faltered for a brief moment, but she quickly recovered, her expression hardening. "Don't just stand there," she snapped. "You're embarrassing yourself."

As Elowen left the hall, her heart pounding in her chest, she felt a sudden chill in the air. The hallway was empty, the flickering lanterns casting long shadows across the walls.

And then, from the darkness, a low, familiar voice whispered, "You did well, little lamb."

She froze, her breath catching as the shadows seemed to shift and move around her. "Morris?" she whispered.

But there was no reply—only the faint echo of his laughter, trailing through the empty corridor.

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