They didn't touch her. Not once.
The guards walked Elara through the palace like she was fire too sacred to grab, too dangerous to hold.
Not respect.
Not kindness.
Something colder.
Fear.
Reverence.
Whispers trailed behind them:
"She touched the Stone."
"Not a maid never."
Their silence was louder than trumpets, but Elara said nothing.
She didn't have to. The pulse of the Sacred Stone still throbbed at the back of her skull slow and steady, like a second heartbeat that wasn't hers.
Hours ago she'd been scrubbing the floor.
Now she was on her way to meet the Empress.
Her slippers were still damp from the courtyard well, leaving faint prints on polished marble.
She could smell burnt porridge on her sleeves.
The world had changed; she hadn't.
Inside, she was calm.
Not proud.
Not afraid.
Only still.
The doors groaned open, revealing stained-glass light and hush.
At the center sat a woman in a gown of starlight silk.
Delicate crown.
Deadly eyes.
The Empress.
"Elara of Bramblecourt," she said, as if trying the name on her tongue.
No heralds, no trumpets just her name dropped into snow-cold silence.
Courtiers froze. Noblewomen leaned forward.
Elara didn't bow. Didn't curtsey.
She simply met the Empress's stare.
Madam Darla once whispered that some girls were born to crawl.
Yet here Elara stood, facing the ruler of the Empire.
"You changed the course of fate today," the Empress said. "Fate never moves without a price."
Quiet spread like ink.
"Do you know what the Stone saw in you?"
Elara kept her voice steady. "No, Your Majesty."
"But it saw something. Enough to glow. Enough to choose.
" The Empress paced a slow circle.
"You're a maid born in shadows, raised in whispers an insult to the royal line."
The words stung, yet Elara didn't move.
"And still," the Empress went on, "the Stone shone brighter than it has in a hundred years."
Gasps rippled through the gallery. Goblets slipped. Fans snapped shut.
"Why?" she asked. "What do you carry?"
"I don't know," Elara said. "I didn't ask for it."
The Empress's smile was small and blade-thin. "No one asks. Power never needs permission."
A Royal Decree
She faced the council. Her voice echoed.
"From this moment, Elara is under royal protection. She will no longer serve as a maid."
Uproar exploded:
"A mistake!"
"She's common!"
"She's cursed!"
"Enough!" The Empress's shout cracked like lightning. "Question her, and you question the gods."
Silence fell hard.
She turned back to Elara.
"You will be trained. Watched. Tested. If you fail"
"I won't," Elara said.
One brow lifted amused, intrigued.
"Very well. Rise. Not as a servant. Not yet as a princess. But as a question the world must answer."
Colored light washed over Elara's face ruby, sapphire, gold.
A prophecy in every hue.
She was no longer the forgotten daughter.
She was a symbol.
And symbols always demand a price.