Elowen did not attend the morning council. That alone unsettled the palace more than any shouted decree ever had. She sent word instead—brief, irritated, dismissive—blaming a headache born of restless sleep and strange dreams. The council accepted the excuse because it always had. Illness was easier to forgive than absence of will. But by midday, servants began to whisper. The princess had asked for water. Not wine. Not tea. Water. She drank it too quickly, as if afraid it might be taken away. When the goblet was empty, she stared into it, unsettled by how long the surface continued to ripple after she had set it down. Her hands trembled. Not with weakness. With restraint. By afternoon, the palace fountains reacted to her presence. The water rose higher than it should have, bowing toward her as if recognizing something it had forgotten. Attendants pretended not to notice. They always pretended. Elowen noticed. She walked faster. Her footsteps echoed strangely in the corridors, her breath shallow, the stone itself seeming to listen. Every polished surface betrayed her—mirrors, windows, basins—each reflection lagging, each movement returning to her slightly wrong. Her skin felt tight. Not painful. Changing. She pressed her fingers to her throat and swallowed, startled by the faint roughness beneath her touch, as if something were forming just beneath the skin. She laughed once. Sharp. Brittle. “Ridiculous,” she muttered. But when she passed the long gallery overlooking the lake beyond the trees, her steps slowed. The water below was dark today. Still. Waiting. Beyond the palace walls, Prince Alaric rode with a small escort toward the lowlands. The floods had been real. Roads washed thin. Fields torn open. Villages still counting what had been lost. Alaric dismounted often, boots sinking into wet earth as he listened, inspected, measured. He spoke with millers and farmers, with soldiers hauling timber and villagers stacking sandbags where the river had bitten too close to home. When hunters approached him near the marsh road and asked about the lake, he answered plainly. “The flood scattered the animals,” he said. “They fled when the banks broke. You’ll find better luck east or on higher ground until the land settles.” It was the truth. Or the truth he knew at the time. That evening, Queen Maribel summoned him. Not as commander. As her son. The chamber was quiet when he entered. The mirror stood uncovered, its surface dark and waiting. Alaric stopped short. “You brought that out,” he said. Maribel did not deny it. “It was my mother’s. And her mother’s before her.” “A family heirloom,” he said flatly. “Or a family warning.” The glass stirred. Alaric felt it immediately. Not fear. Recognition. “You’ve always felt us,” the mirror said, its many voices tightening into something almost focused. “Even when you pretended not to.” “I don’t pretend,” Alaric replied. “I ignore it.” “You cannot ignore what you are.” He stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “And what is that?” The mirror shimmered. “Stronger than her.” Maribel inhaled sharply. Alaric did not look at her. “That’s not blood,” he said. “That’s a choice.” The mirror’s surface rippled. “Power shaped by restraint. Will sharpened by service. You were raised among consequence, not comfort.” “I never wanted magic,” Alaric said. “No,” the mirror replied. “You wanted people to live.” Silence settled. Then Maribel spoke. “Elowen will disappear soon.” Alaric turned to her slowly. “You’ve done something.” “I have,” she said. “What I believed necessary.” She told him everything. The curse. The lesson. The conditions. The mistake. When she finished, Alaric exhaled through his nose, steadying himself. “I don’t like this,” he said. “I know.” “I don’t agree with how far it’s gone.” “I know.” “But I understand why you did it.” Maribel’s shoulders sagged, just slightly. “She won’t survive without protection,” Alaric said quietly. “She must not know she has it.” Alaric nodded once. “I’ll make sure the lesson holds,” he said. “And that it doesn’t kill her.” The mirror stirred again. “This is why your magic endures,” it said. “Not because you command—but because you serve.” Alaric turned away. “That’s enough,” he said. “You don’t get to flatter me.” Elowen reached the lake that evening while the queen and her son spoke behind closed doors. She did not remember deciding to go there. Only that resisting the pull had become exhausting, like holding breath for too long. The air near the water smelled clean and sharp, and for the first time in days, her chest eased. She knelt at the edge. The surface reflected her face—pale, wide-eyed, unfamiliar. Her pupils were darker now. Her neck strained as she leaned closer, the movement oddly graceful, unnaturally fluid. She touched the water. It did not ripple. It welcomed her. A sound escaped her throat before she could stop it. Low. Broken. Not quite a voice. She clamped a hand over her mouth as the sound echoed faintly across the water. “No,” she whispered. The word came out wrong. Thinner. Longer. She fled as dusk closed in behind her. The next morning, Prince Alaric issued orders. The lake road was closed. Unstable ground. Flood damage. Ongoing assessment. “By decree of the crown,” the notices read, “this area is to be avoided while reconstruction and investigation are underway.” The people listened. They always had. Soldiers redirected travelers gently. Help was offered where frustration rose. The boundary held. That night, a single dark feather appeared on Elowen’s pillow. She stared at it until dawn. Queen Maribel stood before the mirror, hands clasped tight. “You said this would teach her.” The glass shimmered. “It is.” “This was not the form I chose.” “You chose the lesson,” the voices replied. “Not the shape it takes.” Maribel closed her eyes. Far beyond the palace walls, the lake answered itself with a lonely, wavering call. Prince Alaric heard it from his camp. He did not move. He only ensured the boundary held.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.