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The mystical continent of Nooristana teeters on the brink of war. As the enemy forces prepare to attack, Queen Numaira of Amruthsthaan stands alone between peace and chaos, anxiously awaiting r...
Queen Numaira walked briskly through the grand corridors of the palace, the hem of her silk gown skimming the polished floors.
Her mind swirled with the events of the day-making sure the families of the martyrs received their aid, overseeing the tense council meeting about the mysterious new leader in Aldoria, and following up on the search efforts for Samaira.
Every thought of her missing daughter tightened the knot in her chest.
Her steps quickened, a subtle tremor in her hand as she clutched the edge of her gown, twisting the fabric between her fingers. She hadn't eaten since morning, not that she could stomach food with worry gnawing at her constantly.
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She glanced at every guard she passed, hoping one might bring news, any news, about Samaira. But with every empty look, her heart sank further.
As she neared her chambers, her thoughts spiraled again.
"Has Samaira been hurt?"
"Isshe safe?"
The haunting image of her daughter's smile filled her mind, drowning out all else. She barely noticed that the door to her chamber was slightly ajar, her distracted steps leading her inside.
The usual calm of twilight felt different today-the air was thick, pressing heavily against her chest, making her steps slow.
A sense of foreboding sent a chill through her, though she couldn't quite place why.
Her chamber was bathed in the fading light that trickled in through the edges of the heavy curtains. The room, usually bright and welcoming, felt cloaked in an unnatural shadow.
She frowned, her instincts sharpening, sensing something amiss.
With a tired sigh, she moved toward the window, intending to pull the curtain aside and allow the final light of the day to stream in.
Her fingers barely grazed the fabric when she froze, every hair on the back of her neck rising in alarm.
"Numaira..."
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