Chapter 23: Reply

Finally, the familiar silhouette of Bran broke through the morning mist, a streak of obsidian against the pale grey sky. I watched him descend with a desperate, mounting hope, his wings beating a frantic rhythm as he clutched a small, tightly rolled cylinder of parchment in his talons. He landed on the stone windowsill with a heavy thud, his chest heaving as if he had flown across the world without a single pause for breath.

"Is this from the King?" I asked, though the cold weight settling in my stomach already knew the answer. I reached out, my fingers trembling as I gently pried the paper from his gri

Bran didn't give his usual playful nip. Instead, he let out a small, weary croak, leaning his head against my thumb in a rare display of affection. It was as if he could feel the poison radiating from the ink before I even broke the seal.

"Thanks, old friend," I whispered. I unfolded the letter, my eyes darting toward the door to ensure Angela wasn't lingering in the shadows. I lowered my gaze, the silence of the room suddenly feeling like a physical pressure against my ear

Diana,

I am deeply disappointed by your last correspondence and the lack of substantial progress reported. Your time in Fortundra was not a gift of leisure; it was a mandate of survival. You must immediately find definitive answers regarding Zion’s specialized weaponry and his tactical army training. Silvermere is currently at risk, and I rely on you—and only you—to discover the secrets necessary so that I may properly prepare my men for what is comin

Is his army as formidable as the rumors suggest? Does he truly desire war, or is he playing a deeper game? Most importantly, where does he keep his riches? If you fail me, Diana, I will halt all payments to your family’s estate immediately. Upon your inevitable capture or return, I will have you publicly hanged in the square of Silvermere as a traitor to the crown—a necessary example for others. This means you will never see your parents again, nor will they survive the winter without my support. Do we understand one another?

I hope this letter finds you well-aware of your position, and I await your next response with great eagernes

Your Royal Highness,

Ultarion

Don't cry. The words on the page blurred into a jagged mess of black ink. I pressed my lips tightly together, my jaw aching from the effort of holding back a sob that threatened to shatter my ribs. If I let one tear fall, the dam would break, and I couldn't afford to be broken—not here, not with Zion’s eyes watching every corner of this castle.

Bran let out a soft, mournful croak, a sound so filled with empathy it almost undid me. He hopped from the sill onto my shoulder, the familiar weight of him grounding me. I leaned my head sideways, pressing my cheek against his cool, sleek feathers, drawing strength from the only piece of home I had lef

"It’s nothing, Bran," I lied, my voice cracking despite my best efforts. I shook my head and forced a jagged, hollow smile that felt like a scar on my face. "I'm fine. We’re going to be fine."

But as I looked out at the towering spires of Fortundra, I realized the cage hadn't been built by Zion at all. It had been built by the man I was supposed to be serving, and the bars were made of the people I loved most. I clutched the letter until the parchment crinkled into a ball in my fist, knowing that to save my parents, I would have to become the monster Ultarion already believed me to be.