The air turned colder.
Colder than dragon-fire, colder than fear.
Queen Lysandra stood at the edge of the fractured courtyard, her hands clasped behind her back, staring into the charred horizon where Kael had vanished. Then she spoke, her voice quiet—but carrying weight like stone dropped into still water.
"His name is Lord Malveric."
The name sent a strange chill up Elira's spine.
Elric tensed. "That name hasn't been spoken in this kingdom for years."
Elira looked between them. "Who is he?"
Lysandra didn't answer.
"Queen Lysandra," Elira stepped forward, her voice firmer now, "you can't just throw a name like that at us and walk away. Who is Lord Malveric? Why does he want me? Why Kael?"
Lysandra's jaw tightened.
"Elira," Elric said cautiously, seeing the flicker in his mother's eyes.
But Elira kept going. "Was he a sorcerer? A noble? A traitor? A lover? A brother? What?"
The Queen slowly turned her head, gaze sharp as cut obsidian. "You ask too many questions for someone who barely understands the weight of the answers."
"I need the answers!" Elira shouted. "You said yourself I'm the Mirrorbound! That Kael is corrupted! That someone's trying to control fate! So tell me what you know!"
A tense silence.
Even the wind seemed to still.
Then Queen Lysandra stepped toward her, robes sweeping the ash-covered stones. When she stopped, she was just inches away from Elira, towering like winter itself.
Her voice dropped, cold and exact:
"You may be the girl the mirror chose, but do not mistake your presence here for authority. I have buried kingdoms for asking less than you just did."
Elira flinched slightly but didn't back down. Her hands were shaking.
"I'm not trying to be disrespectful," she said, quieter now, "but how am I supposed to help—how am I supposed to survive—if everyone keeps handing me half-truths and riddles?"
The Queen stared at her for a long moment.
Then turned to Elric.
"Control her curiosity, or it will burn you both."
With that, she swept around and walked away, her heels echoing sharply as she vanished into the inner halls—leaving smoke, silence, and a name:
Lord Malveric.
Elira stood motionless, her chest heaving.
"She didn't answer anything," she whispered.
Elric put a hand on her shoulder, his voice low. "She never gives answers until she's ready. And when she is ready... it's usually because the storm has already started."