New Light

"A vow often carries magical or supernatural weight, going beyond the ordinary scope of promises. It may encompass not only spoken commitments but also mystical ceremonies, age-old traditions, or compelling enchantments. Such vows can tether a character to a particular fate, bestow upon them remarkable abilities, or oblige them to embark on dangerous adventures. There are four types of these: Magical Oaths," he begins, gradually retracting his gaze on me to look at Bluebell who vigorously shakes her head in agreement to what he said, he proceeds while jotting down on his paper, "Heroic Pledges, Covenants with Supernatural Entities, Sacred Pacts." he concludes.

"That one," Bluebell says, and suddenly her face contorts into a grimace of sheer agony. The pain is visible in every taut muscle and clenched jaw. With a choked gasp, she grasps and napkin and turns to spits out a splatter of crimson, the blood staining her lips and dribbling down her chin. The sight is harrowing, a stark reminder of the torment she is enduring. Her eyes, wide with a mixture of pain and defiance, bear witness to the intensity of her suffering as she fights to stay conscious. My eyes widened in horror as I watched the blood drain from her lips, the crimson splatter a stark and brutal contrast against her pale skin. My breath caught in my throat as she staggered backward, seemingly trying to distance herself from the grisly sight. My heart raced, pounding in my chest, while my mind struggled to comprehend the gravity of the situation. I attempted to rise, but she raised her hand to stop me.

With a voice that echoed authority and serenity, the king addressed the gathering, his resonant baritone slicing through the tension. "She will be fine," he stated with certainty, his words imbued with a conviction that appeared to calm the room. His gaze was firm and comforting, as though his mere presence could steer the outcome. Even amidst the seriousness of the moment, the profound, comforting tone of his voice provided a measure of solace and optimism. 

"But she's in pain, suffering... Why are her eyes and ears turning green?" I begin to ramble when he silences me with a finger on my lips.

"Shush, she will be alright, I promise I won't let anything happen to her," he assures, then gazes back at Bluebell. "Do you want us to stop and proceed another day? You look pale," he asks, but Bluebell dismisses his concern while continuing to clean the floor.

"No, my king, I had anticipated something of this nature; I once attempted it and a similar event occurred, though previously my ears did not itch as they do now," she complained while scratching her eyes and ears, returning to her seat before us. "I am quite alright, my lady; it's merely blood and causes no pain," she reassured with a tone both calm and steady. Her eyes conveyed a gentle warmth, exuding a quiet confidence that seemed to alleviate the tension surrounding them. With a comforting smile, she appeared to bestow her own strength and certainty upon us. The serene conviction in her words acted as a salve, gradually erasing the fear and uncertainty that had taken hold in the king's eyes. "We may proceed, Your Highness," she declared, and with that, the king nodded avoiding in telling her about her eyes and ears conditions.

"You will be more comfortable, and you could work more efficiently if you put me down," I whispered, my voice barely audible, quivering with a blend of shyness and fear. Each word was heavy, burdened with the anxiety that he might become angry. My heart pounded in my chest, the weight of his possible reaction bearing down on me. My gaze remained fixed on the black ink on his neck, unable to meet his eyes, wondering what the ink is about as I anxiously awaited his response, hoping my words would not incite the anger I feared so much.

"Is the person behind the oath well acquainted with you and Saltanat?" he asked, sidestepping my request. I knew it must be difficult for him to prevent me from falling and at the same time listening to bluebell. He posed the question with chilling calmness, his voice edged with icy resolve. There was no warmth in his tone, only a steely determination that sliced through the air like a blade. Bluebell hesitated, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the paper before her. I could feel his cold, determined gaze bearing down on her, demanding an answer. The rustle of the paper filled the silence as she avoided his eyes, but the weight of his question lingered heavily in the air, sending a chill down my spine as she struggled to respond.

"I see," he said writing down on his own paper, his voice slow and deliberate, each word stretched as if piecing together their meaning. A hint of realization tinged his tone, as though something had just clicked into place. His gaze lingered on her, assessing, peeling back layers to uncover what lay beneath. The drawn-out syllables carried a weight of implied understanding. Both Bluebell and I slowly raised our heads, our eyes meeting the king's, filled with shared confusion. We exchanged a quick, uncertain glance before focusing back on him, trying to decipher the meaning behind his words. Our expressions mirrored each other—wide-eyed and unsure—as we struggled to grasp what was happening. The king's presence loomed over us, but understanding eluded us, leaving a heavy silence hanging in the air.

I raised my eyes to the king, curiosity overcoming my restraint. "What do you mean by that?" I inquired, my tone firm yet tinged with a trace of doubt, fear and shyness. I sought to grasp his perspective, to decipher the significance of his words. His face was inscrutable, yet I found myself scanning his gaze for any sign, yearning for a glimpse into his genuine thoughts.

"I mean to say," he began, "she took an oath, or was she forced to do so by your family, Saltanat? And with what I see now, I have one last question." His eyes locked onto hers with piercing intensity. The words began to flow from his lips, each one carefully chosen as he maintained his unyielding gaze. The stare seemed to imbue his words with additional weight, as if his eyes were both delivering the message and gauging her reaction. The combination of his focused look and deliberate speech created an atmosphere charged with anticipation and scrutiny. "But you must do what I tell you after answering the question," he stated, and she nodded. But I can't just stay silent; he knows that what he is about to do will hurt her.

"No!" I yelled, the sound erupting from me with a force that surprised even myself. The intensity of my voice sliced through the air, and I was astonished by the sudden surge of strength that seemed to fuel my outburst. My emotions, previously simmering just beneath the surface, had burst forth uncontrollably. The sheer volume and power of my yell felt almost alien, as if some hidden reservoir of strength had been tapped into amidst my turmoil. Not giving them time to persuade me, I continued, "You know this will hurt her, so why do you keep forcing her?" I struggled to break free from his grip, my efforts frantic as I tried to pull away. But just as I thought I might escape, his hold tightened, his fingers digging in with firm resolve. The pressure was unyielding, a stark contrast to my desperate attempts to wriggle free. Each movement only seemed to deepen his grasp, making it clear that he wasn't about to let go, no matter how hard I fought against him.

She paused before speaking, her voice hesitant as she mustered the courage to express herself. "My lady," she began, but I interrupted her, raising my hand quickly yet gently. Her voice broke off, and the remainder of her words hung unspoken, suspended in the space between us. Her eyes showed a blend of confusion and uncertainty, torn between the urge to speak and the fear of crossing a line. The ensuing silence was almost palpable, heavy with the significance of her unvoiced thoughts and the suddenness of my interruption.

"Do not 'my lady' me. You are aware of the pain you cause, so why persist? I've told you I do not need..." Before I could complete my thought, an unusual sensation overtook me, unexpected and arresting. The air grew dense around me, and I halted, my words fading as a thick, sinuous wisp of smoke began to ascend. Initially, it rose gently, a fragile thread of vapor twining around my ankles. Then, it intensified, becoming more forceful, climbing my legs, coiling around my waist, and ultimately, looping around my neck. It was oddly warm and soothing, yet it bore a heaviness that rendered each breath laborious, each effort to speak more hopeless than the last.

The smoke's embrace grew tighter, and my thoughts became clouded, escaping like grains of sand slipping through fingers. I struggled to resist, to compel my body to react, but the smoke was unyielding, its dense tendrils wrapping closer until the boundary between it and myself began to fade. My sight began to dim, the room's periphery darkening as the smoke invaded my lungs, weighing on me like a gentle yet smothering blanket.

My knees gave way slightly, and my body swayed as though it didn't belong to me. My arms became heavy, hanging limply at my sides, and I fought to keep my eyes open, blinking furiously against the advancing darkness. Yet it was futile—the smoke had ensnared me, pulling me further into its clutches. Despite my attempts, my eyelids sagged, and the world around me diminished to a faint, reverberating murmur. I attempted to recall my previous words, to cling to the last vestige of awareness, but it eluded me, giving way to a soft, soothing numbness.

At last, I gave in to the sensation, my eyelids closing gently as the smoke surrounded me entirely. My mind wandered, thoughts dispersing like ash carried by the breeze, and I sensed myself being drawn softly into the void. The final thing I was aware of was the tender, velvety blackness, enfolding me as if in a cocoon, as I succumbed to slumber, the world fading into a far-off, forgotten dream.

...

Awakening felt like emerging from an eternity of darkness. My body was a leaden weight, each limb resistant as consciousness slowly returned. My eyes blinked open, straining against the dimness that enveloped me. Initially, the world appeared as a hazy tapestry of soft colors and vague forms. The details of my surroundings eluded me—a strange room veiled in shadows, its dampness clinging coldly to my skin.

Gradually, as my sight sharpened, I discerned that I lay upon an unforgiving, icy surface, its chill penetrating my attire and chilling my marrow. The atmosphere was heavy with the remnants of smoke, its sharp, pungent odor provoking a raw ache in my throat with every inhalation. With quivering arms, I propped myself up, feeling my muscles protest, stiff and uncooperative as though they had unlearned movement during my prolonged rest.

I awoke on a vast, ornate bed, the plush, sumptuous linens contrasting sharply with the cold, rigid surface I had envisioned in my disoriented state. The chamber was majestic, undeniably royal, with lofty, weighty drapes adorning the windows and an opulent chandelier suspended from the ceiling, its crystals glinting in the nascent morning light. It was the king's chamber—this I discerned at once, yet this knowledge only deepened my bewilderment.

Rising swiftly, my thoughts whirled. The last memory I held was of choking smoke, dragging me into oblivion. Yet now, here I was, within the sovereign's quarters. My pulse thundered as I surveyed the surroundings, seeking any clue to the events that had transpired.

Suddenly, it dawned on me—Bluebell. Where could she be? A wave of panic washed over me as I cast aside the covers and leapt from the bed. My feet touched down on the plush carpet, yet its softness went unnoticed. My sole focus was to find her.

I made a beeline for the door, almost stumbling over the long nightgown I hadn't realized adorned me. Trembling, I grappled with the door handle and, after a struggle, yanked it open. The hallway was dim, the torches sputtering feebly, mirroring my distress.

"Bluebell!" My shout reverberated down the vacant halls. I dashed through the corridor, my pace swift but faltering. The king's chamber lay deep within the castle's heart, and though I was familiar with the complex network of passageways, my agitated state made each corner seem strange, the shadows casting illusions in my mind. Suddenly, a thick, ominous black smoke materialized out of nowhere before me. As it surged forward, its tendrils clawing through the air with terrifying intensity, I instinctively stepped back, my heart seized by fear. But just as the darkness seemed poised to engulf me, something unexpected occurred.

The swirling mass of smoke started to transform, its violent thrashing slowing as it condensed, drawing inward with a force that made the surrounding air shudder. In stunned silence, I observed the smoke take form, solidifying into a tall, imposing figure right before my eyes.

From the depths of darkness, the king made his entrance.

He moved forward, as though the smoke was never a barrier but simply a mantle he had discarded. The dark tendrils that had previously lashed out threateningly now receded, coiling around him like a shadowy aura. His eyes, sharp and piercing, shone with a brilliance that sent a chill through me. His presence held a peculiar force, almost ethereal, as though he had sprung from the very darkness that had tried to engulf me. I watched him, breathless and with eyes wide, attempting to reconcile the king I recognized with the figure now before me. He appeared the same, yet there was an altered aspect, something that caused the air to vibrate with energy around him.

"Your Majesty," I murmured, my voice drowned out by the thundering of my heart. My gaze was fixed on him, a tumult of reverence and trepidation churning within me.

"I understand 'ileus' may be difficult for you, so feel free to call me Heinrich, Saltanat. Or would you prefer I address you as 'queen' consistently?" he asked, his voice eerily calm yet tinged with concern. However, now is not the time to insist on using his birth name. All I want to know for now is if...

"She is alright; she's currently resting in her chamber," he says. In a swift moment, we were in another room, and I saw Bluebell lying on her bed, asleep. Before responding to him, I ran to her bed to ensure she was still breathing. As I approached her, I realized her ears, which were green earlier, had returned to normal, and she was indeed breathing.

"She's just asleep and will be up by sunrise. We will be leaving in two days. I've asked the maids to pack some of your things so you can stay with her a little longer," he informs me. All I could think about was leaving. Are we leaving? Why? What happened after I passed out, and why isn't she waking up? Lost in my thoughts, I heard the door open and close, followed by distant footsteps. He left. Why is he acting like he cares now? I told them I didn't need whatever it was that he left for me. He came back drugged after lying to my face about having a mission—a beautiful mission, indeed. 

I reached out, pressing my hand gently against her forehead. Her delicate form was curled up beneath a soft blanket, her chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm. She was deep in slumber, her face a picture of peace, untouched by the chaos that had just unfolded.

A wave of relief washed over me as I knelt beside her, my hands shaking slightly. I reached out to touch her shoulder gently. "Bluebell," I whispered, my voice no more than a breath. She remained undisturbed, enveloped in the depths of sleep, oblivious to the recent events.

For a moment, I watched her, my gaze following the familiar contours of her face, her pale skin glowing in the soft light that seeped through the curtains. She appeared so tranquil, so vulnerable, and the sight stirred my heart.

Whatever had transpired, she had been spared, and for that, I was profoundly thankful.

Yet, I sought clarity. I needed to ascertain whether she had perceived or sensed anything prior to her slumber, if she understood why I found myself in the king's chambers, engulfed by that foreboding smoke. I nudged her shoulder gently, with a bit more insistence this time. "Bluebell, wake up," I implored, my voice laden with worry.

Gradually, she came to life, her eyelids quivering as she moved under the blanket. I observed with bated breath as she at last opened her eyes, gazing up at me with drowsy blinks. A brief spell of confusion washed over her as she attempted to reconcile her location and companion.

"Bluebell, are you alright?" I inquired gently; my voice threaded with concern. She regarded me, her eyes still clouded by slumber, and for an instant, her look was one of sheer bewilderment. Then, as recollections began to emerge, I discerned a spark of recognition in her eyes, a subtle trace of apprehension that suggested she might hold some answers.

Bluebell blinked repeatedly, her eyes slowly coming into focus on me. The confusion in her gaze gradually cleared into recognition, and then, as though a fog had been lifted from her mind, a hint of fear crept across her features. She shifted upright a little, drawing the blanket tighter around her shoulders as she attempted to collect her thoughts.

I gently grasped her hand, offering reassurance as much to her as to myself. "It's okay," I murmured, even as my voice trembled slightly. Bluebell shivered faintly, her hold on my hand growing firmer. I hesitated, knowing she might not agree, but I had to share my decision. "Something isn't right here, Bluebell. These people are strange and dangerous," I said. She looked at me, trying to decipher my words. "We have to leave," I insisted.

"Yes, my lady, we will be leaving in two days with the king. Do not—"

"No, not with the king. We are leaving the palace tonight, just you and me," I interrupted firmly.