The rain had just let up just before dawn, but the streets were still clean and shining. Elara scrubbed the palace steps like she had for years, her fingers raw from lye.
Her eyes dulled by repetition.
No one ever looked twice.
That was the point.
"You're scrubbing too slow, girl," snapped Madam Darla from the top of the steps. She was draped in layers of blue silk, her chin lifted like she ruled more than linens.
Elara bit her tongue. "Yes, Madam."
In the palace, Elara was known only to a few as the stain the royal family couldn't scrub out. A reminder to the Empress . A secret kept from the king. A punishment. The daughter of nobody who should've never existed.
The only reason she was still in the palace was because she had no family to return to. Her mother had died giving birth to her. Offering her shelter was the least Empress could do.
"Princess Isla wants you in her chambers," Darla said walking away. "And hurry. You know how she gets when her hair isn't perfect."
Elara stood, wiped her hands on her apron, and started walking.
---
Inside Isla's chamber, everything sparkled. Crystals dangled from the ceiling. The scent of roses mixed with jasmine hung to the air. Isla lounged by the mirror, wrapped in a robe made of sheer gold thread.
She didn't look at Elara. She rarely did.
"Brush it gently this time. Last time you pulled."
"Yes, Princess," Elara murmured.
She moved behind Isla and picked up the ivory comb.
Isla's hair was the envy of half the empire. Long. Silky. Perfect.
Not like Elara's, which she kept braided and tucked beneath a maid's scarf.
"Today is the awakening ceremony," Isla said, more to herself than anyone else."Father says the stone will finally choose a true flamebearer after a long time. I can't wait…"
Elara didn't answer. She knew better.
"They say impure blood makes the stone crack. Imagine that, if you so much as looked at it."
Still, Elara kept her expression calm, her hand steady as she combed her hair.
"I'll wear emerald," Isla decided suddenly. "Get the gown ready. I want to glow."
"Of course."
The palace courtyard had been transformed.
Banners of every color flapped in the wind. Nobles filled the stone paths. Servants moved like shadows, unseen but always near.
In the middle, on an ivory pedestal, was the Sacred Stone.
A heart-sized crystal, dark and pulsing faintly with a light that was neither fire nor magic.
They said it only responded to true heirs. It had chosen kings, seers, and warriors. Now, after generations of silence, it would choose again.
Elara wasn't supposed to be there.
She watched from behind the columns, forgotten, blending in like cracked stone.
The nobles stepped forward one by one. Isla among them. Confident. Radiant. But the stone remained still. Cold.
No glow. No hum. No Choosing.
Then a breeze stirred.
Elara hadn't moved.
But the stone... had.
Its light blinked once. Twice. Then flared.
Gasps erupted.
Eyes searched.
Guards reached for swords.
And the beam of blue light landed, not on Isla. Not on any prince.
But on Elara.
She stood frozen. Every part of her wanted to flee . But the light held her.
The stone pulsed.
Warmth surged through her chest, into her bones.
"She touched it!" someone cried.
"Witchcraft!"
"She's cursed!"
The High Priest raised his staff.
"Silence! The stone does not lie. It has Chosen."
The crowd turned on itself. Confusion. Rage. Awe.
From her balcony, the Empress looked downward, her lips tightly pursed.
And Elara?
She didn't run.
She stepped forward.
Because something inside her whispered, not just that she had been chosen.
But she was destined for it.