4: Darken War

7: Thorne

Chapter Seven: Thorne

I had finally returned to my palace in El'Gorin, the capital of the elven kingdom, where light filtered through enchanted glass domes and vines curled over ivory pillars. Though I had only ruled here less than a year, the palace already felt more like home than I ever expected. The high halls echoed with the soft steps of attendants and nobles, and I passed many of them on my way in. They all bowed deeply as I passed, some with hands over hearts, some whispering titles.

I was never meant to be a king. The elves had resisted me at first—an outsider, an assassin, a human-raised elf with no royal blood. But when Alexandria vouched for me, everything changed. When she declared that it would be her own son, Althaeon, who would inherit the throne in time, the people accepted me. I was a steward, a protector until her child came of age. That suited me just fine.

I made my way through the grand white-marble corridors, past the throne room guarded by twin silver-cloaked sentinels, and turned left. The air grew cooler as I descended the stairs into the lower levels of the palace, where the barracks and officer quarters were housed. The stone here was older, darker, more grounded. These walls had seen war.

At the end of the corridor stood an oak door carved with the emblem of a bow wrapped in ivy. I knocked once.

It creaked open a moment later, revealing General Silverbow, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. When he realized who I was, he immediately stood straighter and placed a hand over his chest.

"Your Majesty—apologies. I had no idea you'd returned so soon."

"It's fine, Silverbow," I said, raising a hand. "But I'm here on serious business."

He stepped aside and gestured for me to enter. "Why do I feel like this has something to do with the Great Dragon?"

I gave a dry chuckle as I stepped inside and took a seat at the small table in the corner. "Unfortunately, you're right."

Silverbow closed the door and sat across from me, his expression already grim. "Another war, then?"

"It seems so."

He sighed and poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher on the table. "It's only been six months since we last went to war. What happened?"

I leaned forward, fingers laced. "We traveled to the Dwarven Kingdom at their king's request. King Thrain called for peace talks, but it all went to hell. He accused us of killing the Dragon King and declared war."

"That doesn't make any sense," Silverbow muttered. "Dwarves and dragons have never had any known diplomatic ties. They'd have to pass through our lands just to send a messenger."

"Exactly. That's when Alexandria realized something was wrong. She saw it—the other Eye of the Great Dragon. The twin to the Mind Gem she once destroyed."

Silverbow set his cup down carefully. "You're telling me someone is using the Eye again? That's... dangerous."

"More than dangerous. Whoever holds that gem can manipulate minds. King Thrain isn't acting of his own will. Alexandria stayed behind to retrieve the gem and deal with its wielder."

Silverbow stood, his face already hardening. "Then we're gathering the armies. Even if she succeeds, we must be ready."

I nodded and stood as well. "Queen Alana and King Alexander are preparing theirs too. If everything goes to plan, we won't need to fight. But we prepare all the same."

"Understood. I'll have the first division armed and ready by nightfall. We'll march at dawn."

"Thank you, old friend."

He left swiftly, the sound of his boots echoing down the hall. I made my way back up the steps, past the throne room again, then up the spiral stair to the royal quarters. My office was quiet, the scent of parchment and cedarwood ink lingering in the air.

And someone was sitting at my desk.

Alexandria.

I froze in the doorway.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, blinking. "There's no way you could've arrived before me."

She leaned back in the chair, resting her elbows on the arms like she owned the place. "I have wings, don't I, Surok?"

Something was wrong.

"Your wings have never worked," I replied slowly, stepping inside. "Not even in your past life."

"Well," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, "I figured it out."

She stood and began to pace the room.

"I assume you've already ordered the troops to prepare?"

"Yes. General Silverbow is mobilizing them now."

"Then I need you to call them off."

I frowned. "That's not going to happen."

She spun to face me, her expression darkening. "I am your High Queen. You will obey."

"No, you're not," I said quietly, my hand drifting to the dagger hidden in my sleeve. "The real Alexandria would never order me to do something like that."

"Oh? And what gave me away?"

I stared at her, heart pounding. "You made one fatal mistake."

She tilted her head. "And what was that, Surok dear?"

"The real Alexandria would've called me Thorne."

With a flick of my wrist, I hurled the dagger at her face—but it passed through her like smoke, embedding itself in the far wall.

Her form shimmered and shifted, revealing a figure I'd only seen once before—the dwarven advisor. He smiled darkly.

"Unfortunate. I'd hoped the elves were as foolish as the dwarves believed."

I reached for another blade. "What have you done with her?"

He gave a mocking bow. "She's alive. For now. But if you want her to stay that way, you'll call off your little army."

"Go to hell," I snarled and hurled the second dagger—but he was already gone, vanishing into a cloud of shadow.

"Damn it!" I punched the wall hard enough to crack the stone.

A knock came at the door. I spun. "Enter."

General Silverbow appeared, now clad in gleaming armor. "Is everything all right, Your Majesty?"

"No," I growled. "The Great Dragon is in danger. There's a shapeshifter, the Dwarven Advisor—posing as her. If anyone sees her, or anyone claiming to be her, they are to aim to kill unless confirmed."

Silverbow's expression hardened. "Understood."

"Send word to the other kingdoms. The Council of Eight must be warned. We march within the day."

He gave a curt nod and left the room.

I turned to the cracked wall, heart pounding.

Hold on, Alexandria. We're coming.