Crowned in Crimson Cinders

Chapter 13: Darien's POV

It's only been days. Days since Aleah came to my door, her eyes narrowed with accusation, asking if I'd hired an assassin to kill her brother. Absurd, I thought. But then, a cold logic set in. My arrival, then an almost-assassination days later? Her suspicion was warranted, even if my innocence was absolute.

I've spent most of my time since then in the library, a grand, echoing space where shelves seem to stretch into infinity. Yet, the memory of bumping into Aleah just outside its massive doors keeps replaying in my mind.

There's something unsettling about her, a feeling I can't shake. Every time I'm near, I sense it: she's hiding something, a million secrets she's desperately trying to keep buried. And for some reason, I feel an undeniable urge to help her, to understand her trouble. She is my betrothed, after all. It's technically my responsibility to see she's alright. I haven't seen her in nearly a week, and I find myself, oddly enough, missing her sharp, haughty edge.

Although whats been weighing on me more has been the conversation with the mysterious hooded woman afterwards. I keep thinking I made the wrong decision and every time I think of it again, i wonder what the complication will now be with Aleah. I loved my brother, but I made a decision without even knowing if he was truly alive at all.

Sleep doesn't come easy. From my room, I hear voices through the thin wall, coming from Aleah's side. It's Brock, I'm sure of it. Most of the words are muffled, indistinct, but certain phrases pierce through the quiet: "control," "dangerous," "ancient," and "powers." Those four words, together, strike a chilling chord. What powers is she hiding?

Eavesdropping feels wrong, a violation. But with the whole palace under effective lockdown after Brock's incident, there's little else to do. Aleah and Brock are clearly up to something, and the more I listen, the more my concern grows. I'm almost positive I heard them mention King Alexandros and Prince Julian—a name that plucked at a memory from my history lessons about Atalar. The brother who seized the throne, the one with the special flame powers, right after The Great Atalarian War.

The pieces began to fit, forming a mosaic of unsettling possibilities. Ancient powers. Someone trying to control them. But who? My head swam with the implications. I needed a moment, a quiet space to process. I dragged a chair onto the balcony and sat, watching the sun dip below the horizon, hoping the calm of the evening would bring some answers.