They didn't touch her. Not once.
Even as the guards escorted Elara through the towering arches and whispering halls of the palace, they kept their distance. It wasn't kindness it was reverence, fear, confusion.
Elara didn't speak. She didn't need to.
The glow of the sacred stone lingered behind her eyes like a secret heartbeat. Every step echoed across marble floors and stretched into a future she hadn't asked for.
In one breath, she had gone from washing linens to walking beside palace guards. The memory of the bustling marketplace the scent of baked roots and earth felt distant, like a half-remembered dream.
But inside, Elara remained still. Not panicked. Not proud. Just still.
She was brought to the Empress's receiving hall where moonlight spilled through stained-glass windows, and the air tasted of lavender and dust. At the center stood the woman whose face graced every coin in the realm taller than stories, draped in starlight robes, her crown subtle yet impossible to miss.
"Elara of Bramblecourt," the Empress said, her voice calm but laced with curiosity.
No ceremonies. No grand welcome. Just a quiet question hanging between them.
The Empress's sharp eyes searched Elara's face as if trying to read a language written in silence.
Elara met her gaze without flinching.
The court held its breath.
The Empress finally nodded once, barely noticeable but heavy with meaning.
"You've changed the course of the Empire today," she said softly.
Elara wanted to ask what came next.
But no words came. Instead, she felt a weight settle in her chest the weight of countless expectations and the unspoken truth that her life would never be hers again.
She wasn't the servant's daughter anymore.
She was the Chosen.
And the palace whispered of secrets, shadows, and power she had yet to understand.