Fated flame's

The cold stone walls of the dungeon seemed to press closer with each passing moment, suffocating Elira in their eerie silence. Her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her breath misted in the air, and the only sound was the faint drip of water somewhere far away. Days blurred together, and loneliness gnawed at her like a ravenous beast.

Elira's thoughts wandered to her family, though she could hardly call them that. They've probably forgotten I even exist, she thought bitterly, tears threatening to spill. Yet, even in despair, a flicker of determination lingered—if no one cared to save her, she would find a way to save herself.

The sound of heavy footsteps jolted her upright. The door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. He was tall, with sharp features and piercing eyes that seemed to read every secret she'd ever tried to hide. Elira recognized him from the brief glimpses she had caught during her capture—Deleris, the younger brother of King Dorian.

He didn't speak at first, merely studying her with a calm, unnerving gaze. Finally, he stepped closer, his voice smooth yet edged with curiosity.

"You must be the infamous Princess Elira," he began, his tone neither warm nor cruel. "The girl they say brought ruin to her own kingdom."

Elira flinched but said nothing, her jaw tightening.

Deleris chuckled softly, crouching to meet her eye level. "Do you ever wonder why they've left you here to rot? Why your father, the great King of Thaldris, hasn't sent his soldiers storming our gates to bring you home?"

She glared at him, refusing to let his words cut her deeper. "My father is… calculating. He'll act when the time is right."

"Will he?" Deleris tilted his head, his smile faint but mocking. "It seems to me he's made his choice, and it isn't you. Tell me, Elira, what does it feel like to be abandonded?"

Her throat tightened. "Why are you here? To mock me?"

"To talk," he replied smoothly, standing and pacing the room. "I figured people reveal their truest selves when they think they have nothing left to lose. And you, Princess, are on the brink of losing everything."

"What do you want from me?" she demanded, though her voice trembled.

Deleris paused, his expression shifting to one of feigned concern. "You're about to leave this dungeon, Elira. My brother has plans for you, but I wonder… have you thought about what's waiting for you outside these walls? Have you considered how your father will react when he sees you with his sworn enemy? Or if he'll care? "

As he said Elira frowed "what are you planning to do with?" she asked as he smile "you'll see" he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Let me give you some advice. People like us—those marked by the world as cursed, hated, or feared—we have two choices. We can either accept our fate or rewrite it. The question is, Princess, which will you choose?"

Before she could respond, he straightened and turned toward the door. "Rest well. We'll leave at first light."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Elira alone once more, but with a storm of doubt and questions raging in her mind.

Elira stared at the heavy door long after it slammed shut, her thoughts tangled. The words Deleris left behind lingered, gnawing at her fragile hope. Why did he come here? Was it to plant doubt—or was he warning me?

She had no time to dwell. Hours later—or perhaps minutes, for time had become a cruel blur—the door opened again. This time, Deleris entered with two guards.

"Stand," he commanded, his calm tone leaving no room for disobedience.

Elira pushed herself up on shaky legs, her head pounding. She squinted against the faint torchlight as the guards flanked her, their grips firm but not painful.

"You're coming with me," Deleris explained as he strode ahead. "Your time in this dungeon is over. My brother has decided you'll be traveling with me to meet King Eryndor of Alvoris. I trust you've heard of him?"

"Elira didn't respond, her lips pressed into a tight line. She had heard of King ivoran—a ruthless, power-hungry ruler with a penchant for exploiting weaknesses. The thought of facing such a man made her stomach churn.

Deleris chuckled lightly, sensing her unease. "Good. You understand the stakes." He glanced back at her. "But let me be clear. You're not a guest on this journey. You're a bargaining chip. Your survival depends on how useful you are. So, behave accordingly."

Elira bit back a retort. She had no illusions about her position—Deleris had made it clear enough. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear.

The journey began at dawn, a cold, gray sky looming over them as they rode through the dense forests surrounding Aladrath. Elira was shackled, her wrists bound in front of her, though Deleris had ensured she was given a cloak to shield her from the biting wind.

Deleris rode beside her, ever watchful. He occasionally broke the silence with sharp, probing questions.

"Tell me, Elira," he began, his tone conversational. "If you were Queen of Thaldris, what would you have done differently?"

She turned her head sharply, caught off guard. "What kind of question is that?"

"A curious one," he replied, his calm gaze fixed on her. "Humor me."

Elira hesitated. "I… I wouldn't have abandoned my people the way my father has. I'd protect them."

"Interesting," Deleris mused. "And yet your people believe you're cursed. Would they even want your protection?"

Her jaw clenched. "I didn't choose to be born into this. They hate me for something I had no control over."

"True," he agreed, nodding slightly. "But control is earned, not given. Tell me, do you think your father believes he has control over his kingdom?"

The question hit harder than she expected. Elira frowned, unsure whether it was a trap. "I… suppose he does. He's the King."

"And yet, he let his daughter—the symbol of his kingdom's unity—be captured by a fledgling kingdom like ours. Doesn't sound like control to me."

Silence hung between them, thick and heavy.

"Why are you asking me this?" she finally demanded, her voice sharp.

Deleris smiled faintly. "Because understanding power is the first step to wielding it. And, Princess, whether you realize it or not, you still have power—if you know how to use it."

Elira stared at him, her mind racing. His words unsettled her, not because they were cruel, but because they were true.

By the time they stopped to rest, Elira felt more drained from Deleris's questions than the journey itself. She sat on the ground, her back against a tree, while he paced nearby, issuing orders to the guards.

"Get some sleep," he said to her as the night deepened. "You'll need your wits about you when we reach Alvoris."

Elira didn't reply. Her mind was too busy replaying his words, trying to piece together his motives. Was he testing her? Manipulating her? Or was he preparing her for something far worse than she could imagine?

One thing was certain: she could no longer afford to be passive. Whatever lay ahead, she would face it head-on.