The next morning began with chaos. Illaria felt her mornings had a track record of starting bad.
A handmaiden burst into Amayra’s room breathless. Illaria and Amayra were still in bed, barely awake.
“Princess this is to notify you of the Emperor’s recent orders — the whole city of Nightsong along with the palace is being closed down until further notice. No one may leave or enter Nightsong. This is being done in order to tighten the security to protect the Western Kingdom. ”
Illaria froze. Amayra, on the other hand, exploded. “What? Everything has been fine till now! Why suddenly shut the entire city?!” The handmaiden did a low bow and shook her head. She didn't know. Amayra dismissed her and jumped out of the bed and started getting ready.
“What are you doing? I thought we weren't allowed to leave?” Illaria asked in a confused tone.
“Getting dressed. You can’t move but I can. At least inside the palace. You stay here. I am going to my dad. He might know what has happened. You stay here and do nothing, and I mean it — nothing. Security breaches here are serious.” and saying that Amayra left.
Illaria waited, pacing the room, her stomach twisting into knots. They finally had some information and things were going wrong. A while passed before Amayra returned. Looking at her expression, Illaria knew she had bad news.
“Something happened at the lab yesterday night,” Amayra said quietly. “Two mysterious men tried to break in.”
Illaria’s heartbeat thundered. Her breath caught.
But Amayra continued, “Luckily, they escaped. The guards couldn’t catch them. Our boys are safe for now, but for how long, I don’t know. A whole security unit has been deployed to catch the intruders. The city has been temporarily closed so they can’t escape out. ”
Knowing they were safe, a rush of relief swept through Illaria. Marcus and Rigor were safe. Although she didn’t let Amayra catch her breath of relief.
“They will have to lift the lockdown eventually, we can’t go like this for too long, let’s hope they both stay safe till then.” Amayra went on. “But till then, everyone is being monitored. Which means, we’re stuck.”
“So what do we do?” Illaria asked. “Can I send the beast magic information home? My dad might know a bit about it.”
“No.” Amayra shook her head firmly. “Things are too strict. I would advise going against the palace for a week at least. Crucial information can’t be communicated right now. One wrong move could get you, Marcus and Rigor killed.”
“What about Amarin, can we meet him?”
“If Amarin is in the city we might be able to make contact, but if he’s not then he can’t even enter the city right now. Let’s stay low for the next two days atleast. We will sneak out after that for a couple of hours.”
The next two days passed in anticipation. The two girls finally sneaked out using Amayra’s hidden tunnel system she had built around the palace. It was really handy, Illaria realised. However, this time they weren’t dressed like a Princess and a handmaiden. Instead, both wore simple commoner clothes and cloaks that covered their heads. They couldn’t risk being identified, Amayra said. They made their way to the cafe where they had gathered after the Festival of Aris. Illaria smiled as she relived that memory. It was so close yet so far. A once in a lifetime memory. They waited for a long time at the cafe but no Rigor or Marcus emerged out of the shadows. They left back for the palace disheartened.
They tried for several more days, lingering in those streets where they had laughed, returning to the cafés where they had celebrated, listening and even searching for any whispered rumor that might lead them somewhere—but there was nothing. The silence grew heavier, pressing on Illaria’s nerves until even the smallest sound made her flinch.
One afternoon, as they sat in a close-by cafe waiting, a frustrated Amayra suddenly said, “What if we go to Rigor’s home? I haven’t been there before officially but I know where he lives. What if he’s home? I can say I am a distant friend and here to visit him. If he’s there we would finally get answers.”
Illaria shook her head immediately. “That’s a terrible idea, Amayra.”
Amayra frowned. “Why? At least it’s something.”
“Think about it,” Illaria said gently. “Two mysterious men who tried to break into the lab and are now on the run. Rigor is probably with Marcus. I don’t imagine them splitting up. And if Rigor is with Marcus, he would never risk bringing Marcus to his home — his family would naturally ask who that is. And if movement was free for both of them, wouldn’t they have shown up here or tried to make contact? And his family, they don’t know you really do they? Two random girls visiting their home — It can raise suspicion instantly, especially given the lockdown. What if someone from the neighborhood calls security? Further, if we are caught and it is revealed you are the Princess it would complicate the matter.”
Amayra’s shoulders dropped as the weight of the truth settled in. “You’re right,” she murmured. “I didn’t think it through. I am just restless.”
Illaria placed a hand on her arm. “We’ll find another way. But not this. Not if it puts them at risk. What about Amarin though? Can we contact him somehow?”
“I sent a very generic letter to all noble families,” Amayra said with a shrug. “The usual nonsense—how the Empire is prioritizing development, how these temporary lockdown measures might feel unsettling, and how citizens should stay courageous and continue supporting the Emperor with a noble heart. That sort of polished, official bullshit. But for Amarin’s family – I cleverly added a message for Amarin as well. I slipped in a line about how I’d heard Amarin defeated the Banshee— yes, I know it was Marcus who killed it, but I pretended otherwise so Amarin would know I was trying to open a line of contact. I wrote that I was impressed and wanted to know how he managed such a feat, and that he should visit Nightsong once the lockdown is lifted.”
“Woah, you are already thinking ahead aren’t you? But did you get a reply?” Illaria asked.
“I sent it yesterday only, no. Not yet. Hopefully something comes up from there. Best case Amarin himself shows up.” Amayra replied with a small smile. The next few days passed in complete boredom as they waited for something to happen. Finally a reply from Amarin’s family came.
Illaria’s heart raced as she saw Amayra read it carefully.
“What does it say?” she asked in a concerned voice.
“Nothing too important — and Amarin is not in Tyria right now, he is in Lys for some official work. The visit would have to wait.”
“What is he doing in Lys?”
“Don’t know — it doesn’t specify. But looks like we will have to wait longer before we have some answers.” Amayra replied disappointingly.
The next week passed in suffocating boredom. The next one after that dragged even slower. The security measures were being relaxed slowly, movement was becoming less and less monitored. Illaria and Amaya now started waiting at the cafe freely hoping either of the three would make contact but nothing happened.
Nothing.
Not a shadow.
Not a sign.
Not a whisper.
By the fourth week, Illaria’s patience shattered.
“Amayra, we have to do something,” she said one morning, voice tight. “I can’t keep sitting here doing nothing. I miss home. I miss my father… my brothers… the hills… my mini army. My father must be worried about me.” She didn’t say it aloud, but her heart found itself missing Marcus too.
“I know. I hate this too. Sitting here doing nothing—it’s hunting me inside too —”. Then her gaze brightened. A childlike smile appeared on her face. One look and Illaria could tell Amayra had a crazy idea. Amayra didn’t disappoint.
“In two weeks, the Grand Hunt is happening.”
Illaria blinked. “The… what?”
“The annual Beast Hunt in the Forest of Lurking Shadows,” she began, her voice carrying a hint of pride. “Noble families and top generals from all across the West take part. It’s more than a hunt—it’s when the Emperor meets our strongest allies, discusses kingdom matters, and gauges where every noble family stands. The family’s heirs network and compete to bring down the fiercest beast, a subtle display of power and prestige.”
She exhaled, then lifted her chin with a spark of mischief. “After what happened at the lab, Grandad will probably want to cancel it. But I’ll convince him to loosen the security just enough and let me run the event this year. It’s our legacy—no one dares skip the Hunt. And inviting the noble families means Amarin is automatically on the list. We also invite top generals for political talks. We wouldn't invite Rigor normally, but given Rigor’s military achievements and Marcus being crowned the God of War, I can risk slipping their name into the guest list. It would raise questions for sure but I can handle grandad. I will just say I wanted to see Rigor and added Marcus’s name so inviting Rigor would not look odd.”
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A small, hopeful smile touched Illaria’s lips. “I hope they come. I am dying for a reunion.”
“It was our only viable plan as of now. Let us hope it works.”
The next morning Amayra went straight to the morning assembly. The Emperor agreed, though reluctantly, and as desired Amayra with the enormous responsibility of handling security, guest lists, invitations, weapons regulations, and prizes. The next few days blurred in chaos — meetings, arrangements, maps, beast reports, forest health, magical boundaries, and mountains of other tasks. Illaria briefly remembered her tasks when the North was going to visit. This was a similar nightmare. But finally, it was all done. The majority of the noble families and armies had made their way to Nighsong. Tomorrow was the grand day.
Amayra slumped beside Illaria on her bed, her face into the pillow, exhausted from all the work.
“Are you excited?” Illaria asked as she twisted to face Amayra. “Maybe tomorrow we’ll get more pieces to crack this puzzle.”
Amayra finally turned towards her with one hand under her head and smiled… but it wasn’t her normal smile. It wavered. “I’m excited for that,” she admitted softly. “But more than that, I really hope I’ll see Rigor again.”
Amayra went on, her voice soft in a way Illaria had rarely heard.
“As a princess, I’m supposed to marry some noble idiot who can’t even hold a sword without trembling. But Rigor…” She paused, a small, wistful smile forming. “I liked him from the very first day. I never told you how I met him, did I?”
Illaria shook her head, and Amayra continued.
“I was a kid. I used to spar with children my age, but those matches were boring, and the adults never took me seriously. I wanted a real sparring partner—someone good. I kept begging Grandad to find me one, but he wouldn’t budge. And then came the Festival of Aris.” Her eyes brightened with the memory.
“That year the priests read the stars and declared that only children under fifteen could participate. As there were only kids, the competition was kept simple: a written exam followed by knockout matches. That’s when Rigor just… stood out. He must’ve been nine, but his magic and swordsmanship were unbelievable. He defeated noble princes who had years more training—effortlessly.”
Amayra laughed softly as she continued, “Fun fact—Rigor comes from a completely ordinary family. No special lineage, no elite mentors. He’s entirely self-taught. A prodigy, truly. There wasn’t a female champion that year, so by custom I was given the title. I was thrilled to share the whole ceremony with him the next day. It was a good day. A really good day.”
Illaria smiled, remembering the joy she’d felt sharing that ritual with Marcus.
“After the festival,” Amayra continued, “Rigor received three offers—from the army to join as a soldier, from me to serve as my training partner and from Amarin’s family as Amarin’s bodyguard. Rigor wanted the army, of course… but I wanted him as my sparring partner.”
Illaria raised a brow. “So what did you do?”
Amayra smirked. “What I always do—persuade Grandad. When your grandfather is the emperor and his word is law, you learn how to negotiate creatively.”
Illaria rolled her eyes with a smile. “You really do get whatever you want.”
“Yes,” Amayra admitted, then added with a playful shrug, “but I’m not that selfish. If I were, he’d be by my side right now instead of you. Ahaha.”
Her humor faded into something more serious.
“The truth is, even if he joined the army outright, it would’ve been tough on him. Talent is respected, yes… but politics? Politics ruins everything. Noble families control a section of the army, and Rigor humiliated many of their precious, overtrained sons that day. They hated him for it.”
Illaria nodded, understanding.
“Amarin’s family was the only noble house that supported him—Amarin’s strengths lie in strategy, not swordsmanship, so Rigor was an asset to them. Rigor, he’d never lose a duel, but he’d be crushed under army politics before he even rose.”
“That’s why,” Amayra said, voice gentler now, “I convinced Grandad to bend the rules. I asked him to allow Rigor to accept all three offers—to serve the army, but also train with me and serve Amarin’s family. It was hard but then I am Amayra Sevenith after all. It was the only way to protect him.”
Illaria studied her friend for a while before she replied. “I see… so you protected him. Did you fall in love with him the day you met him?”
Amayra snorted softly. “No, no, nothing like that. In the beginning, we only sparred. I learned a lot from him—and he learned a bit from me too. You should’ve seen him back then, though. Forget boisterous—he wouldn’t even mutter a word. Completely silent. But over time I got him talking. And as we grew closer, I realized I genuinely liked him. And he, well, he may not say much, but his actions always spoke for him.”
She smiled faintly. “We trained together for three years. Then he got busier—with Amarin’s work, with army responsibilities. That’s when our sparring stopped.”
“Why is your grandad against the two of you?” Illaria asked.
Amayra’s expression dimmed. “Maybe it’s political pressure. But I know grandad loves me—I know he does. I can’t imagine he’d force me to marry someone just for alliances. I’ve tried asking, but he never gives me a clear answer. I really don’t know.”
Her voice softened, threaded with longing. “That’s why… sometimes I imagine just running away with him. Finding some small, quiet place. Spending our lives studying old mysteries instead of fighting them. No titles. No politics. No battles. Just the two of us… free.”
Amayra chuckled. “If we do, then no more West, and no more fighting. I wouldn’t even have to fight you or Marcus either then. Anyway, enough about me, tell me about you, what do you want to do after the war?”
“Nothing,” Illaria muttered. “Just to go home, return back to basics.”
Amayra burst out laughing. “Oh please — you’ve had more fun on this journey than you’ll ever admit. Especially with Marcus around.”
Illaria glared, but heat crawled up her neck.
“And at the rate things are going,” Amayra continued, “North and South might actually ally. If they do, what’s stopping you from marrying Marcus? I think your dad would be happy if you are happy.”
Illaria opened her mouth to protest, but Amayra cut her off.
“Listen, Illaria. How long are you going to run? He clearly likes you. And you obviously like him too. We live in war stricken times, who knows when we will get to see each other again? I would say if you have the opportunity, seize it before it’s gone. Think. Marcus would have a ton of marriage options. Girls in the North would adore him. After being crowned the God of War, I am sure he has admirers in the West too. And for all we know, a political marriage is already being arranged for him in the North.”
Illaria’s chest tightened.
Marcus getting engaged to someone?
The idea lodged painfully beneath her ribs.
“Hypothetically, even if—even if—I liked him,” Illaria said, struggling to find the right words, “this isn’t in Marcus’s hands. His family will decide for him. I can’t do anything about that.”
Amayra folded her arms. “Nothing will happen if you just sit here. If you want to change the outcome, you have to at least try. Start with the basics—do you even like him? Or not?”
The question made Illaria’s stomach twist. She wished Amayra would drop the topic, but her friend’s expression was firm.
“Even if I… did,” Illaria muttered, “what about his family?”
“Family comes later. First answer the actual question—do you like him?”
“...No. I don’t.”
“Great,” Amayra said lightly, rolling onto her side. “Then there’s nothing to worry about. We can sleep. Good night.”
Illaria frowned. “We can’t solve the family problem anyway, can we?”
“Why does it matter?” Amayra replied without turning. “You don’t like him, remember? You can just marry the other prince after the war. Or go home and be your perfect little mayor.”
Silence stretched across the room. Illaria stared at the ceiling, feeling that familiar frustration bubbling up. Marcus pushed her like this. Now Amayra too.
“Both you and Marcus,” Illaria muttered, “why are you so impossible to deal with?”
A laugh drifted from the other side of the bed. “Oh, we are difficult? Or is it you? Illaria, the only person you’re lying to here is yourself. Everyone else—me, Marcus, and your father when you eventually go home—we all see what’s going on.”
Illaria had no response. Everything felt tangled and confusing.
A long moment passed again. Finally, Amayra sighed and shifted again, her tone gentler. “Fine. You’re my friend, so I’ll make it simpler just this one time. This is what you can do right now. Your father you can speak to once you’re back home. But Marcus’s family—you can write to them. Tell them you and Marcus genuinely care for each other, and that instead of marrying Lyn, you’d prefer to marry Marcus. At least be honest with someone.”
“No—what? That is so obscene. How can I even think of doing that?” Illaria blurted, cheeks flushing with embarrassment so strong she had to cover her face with her hands.
“Why can’t you?” Amayra countered calmly. “The Northern Emperor was ready to marry you to Lyn if that’s what the alliance required. So why not Marcus? He isn’t the crown prince. He doesn’t handle spy networks or politics. Lyn still does. They’d get their political marriage, your dad gets a good son-in-law, and you get someone who would actually be a good partner. What exactly is the problem?”
“My marriage to Lyn was publicly decided. And then switching to Marcus? People would talk. They’d mock me. And my father.”
“So let them,” Amayra said bluntly. “What matters more—people who gossip for a few days, or a partner who has protected you, will protect you, and who quite clearly cares for you? People talk about me and Rigor too. They call me the most shameless princess they’ve ever seen. My own father has threatened me a hundred times to stay away from him. But I choose myself. I choose what I want. I don’t care about people who don’t care about me.”
Illaria sighed. “I hear you, but no. This is wartime. I can’t send a foolish letter to the Emperor.”
“Fine,” Amayra said. “Then send it to the Empress. She’s a mother. She’ll understand feelings before politics. It’s her own son after all.”
Illaria hesitated for a moment before countering. “Even if I write it, how would I send it? The West’s security is—”
“Don’t worry about that, I’ve called an old friend for the hunt,” Amayra cut in. “Someone who can take the letter to the North. You basically have tonight to write it, if you want to. I can open the path for you, but walking it or not that’s entirely on you.”
She paused for a long while before continuing in a deeper worried voice now. “And Illaria, after tomorrow, we need to plan your exit from Western Kingdom too, irrespective of whether Marcus and Rigor show up. Things are getting dangerous here and we can’t make more progress as well. There is no point staying here. Marcus is still out there but you are literally in the heart of enemy territory, in the palace. You can get trapped easily. Even for Marcus if he appears tomorrow, I will ask him to leave too. But regardless, for you, I think it is time to leave for home after tomorrow.”
Illaria nodded, but her heart was restless. Marcus’s last words to her replayed in her mind like a stubborn echo: “You’ll miss me when I am gone.” If Marcus and Rigor didn’t appear tomorrow—if the Northern court announced his engagement to someone else—then those would remain the final words he ever spoke to her. That might have been their last meeting altogether. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish these thoughts but Amayra’s words kept echoing. Illaria herself didn’t know what she was feeling — upset at realising she might never see him again or angry that the Northern family would readily trade his life just like they had done for Lyn. Finally, she concluded she was just angry.
But Long after the candles had dimmed and Amayra drifted into deep sleep, Illaria found her ‘anger’ not subsiding. She soon found herself sitting at the desk by the window, the moonlight spilling over a sheet of paper. She wrote slowly, hesitantly, each word feeling like it weighed a hundred pounds. She didn’t understand most of her feelings—but she knew a few things.
She missed Marcus.
His voice. His stupid jokes. His infuriating confidence.
The way he always caught her before she even realized she was falling.
The journey with him.
What she ended up with was a messy, cryptic letter—half confusion, half honesty. When she finished, she folded it quietly and set it on the desk. She told herself she’d written it only to clear her thoughts, that she would never actually send it.
But tomorrow had a way of unraveling decisions.
And tomorrow, everything would change.