The fire in the stone hearth crackled like a restless beast, spitting embers that danced across the worn oak floor of Ramius's study. Shelves groaned under the weight of dusty tomes and strange trinkets—gleaming crystal orbs, a dagger with a hilt carved like a snarling wolf, and a skull that seemed to leer from the shadows. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment, melted wax, and the sharp tang of red wine. Flickering candlelight painted the walls in a warm, golden glow, but the room felt heavy, as if secrets clung to every corner like cobwebs.
Michael slouched in a creaky wooden chair, his face scrunched in confusion. His fingers drummed impatiently on the table, each tap echoing like a tiny heartbeat. "So, what do I do now?" he asked, his voice tinged with frustration, his eyes narrowing at his father.
Ramius leaned back in his chair as he took a slow, deliberate sip, the wine staining his lips like blood. "It's not so simple, son," he said, his voice smooth as velvet but heavy with meaning. "There's a tangle of thorns around this plan."
Michael's chair scraped the floor as he leaned forward, his patience fraying like a worn rope. "What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped, crossing his arms tightly, his boots scuffing the floor in agitation.
Ramius swirled his wine, the liquid catching the light like a ruby caught in a dragon's hoard. "Queen Nyxelene guards the princess like a hawk with a fledgling, though only the gods know why. There's a reason for it, I wager, but it's a thorny subject I'd rather not prod." He paused, his eyes glinting with mischief, like a fox spotting a rabbit. "But I've got a trump card."
"A trump card?" Michael's brows shot up, curiosity wrestling with his impatience. "What's it for?"
Ramius's grin widened, his teeth flashing like a crescent moon. "The queen's as rigid as a castle gate, but her word is iron. She owes me a favor—a debt carved in stone. That's my card to play."
Michael frowned, his forehead creasing like crumpled parchment. "What's that got to do with Rya, you old bones?" he asked, his voice sharp, though a flicker of amusement danced in his eyes at his father's theatrics.
Ramius chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that filled the room like distant thunder. "First, I'm as dashing as the day you were born, you cheeky whelp. And that favor? It's a golden key. You can stir up as much mischief as you like—climb Rya's tower, sneak into the castle, cause a ruckus. If the guards nab you, I'll cash in that favor to spring you free. So go bold, son. I've got your back." He winked, his eyes sparkling with reckless confidence.
Michael stared, his mouth slightly open, uncertainty clouding his face like a storm brewing over the horizon. He rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers lingering on the frayed collar of his tunic. "You're serious?" he muttered, half-expecting his father to laugh it off.
"Come here, son," Ramius said, his voice warm as he extended a calloused hand, beckoning Michael closer. His grin was too wide, too sly, like a cat toying with a mouse.
Michael hesitated, then reached out, his hand hovering before grasping his father's. In a flash, Ramius pulled back, leaving a fat, hairy spider in Michael's palm. Its spindly legs twitched, glinting in the firelight like tiny daggers. Michael yelped, a high-pitched scream that echoed off the walls, and flung the spider across the room. It landed with a soft thud in a shadowy corner, scuttling away into the darkness.
Ramius doubled over, clutching his sides as laughter roared out of him, shaking his whole frame. His wine sloshed dangerously in the goblet, nearly spilling. "Oh, son, this never gets old!" he wheezed, tears of mirth gleaming in his eyes. "You fall for it every blasted time!"
Michael's face flushed crimson, his heart still pounding like a war drum. He glared at his father, brushing his hands frantically on his tunic as if the spider's ghost still clung to him. Spiders were the one thing in the world that turned his courage to dust. "Not funny!" he growled, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying a reluctant grin.
****
Later that night, in the heart of Runevale's towering castle, Rya's chamber was a sanctuary of silence. The air carried the faint scent of lavender from Rya's recent bath, mingling with the crisp chill seeping through the arched window. Beyond the glass, the night sky churned with storm clouds, their edges glowing faintly with the moon's hidden light. The wind wailed, rattling the windowpanes like a restless spirit begging to be let in.
Rya lay sprawled on the bed, her damp hair fanning across the silk pillow, her body cocooned in a soft linen nightgown. Her bruised knee from earlier ached dully, but the warm bath had soothed her weary limbs. She stared at the ceiling, her forest-green eyes distant, lost in a whirl of thoughts as heavy as the storm outside.
The chamber door creaked open, and Mira, the maid, bustled in to collect the damp towels. Her round face, framed by graying curls, softened with a smile as she glanced at Rya. Mira's hands, rough from years of service, moved with gentle care, folding the towels with practiced ease. "I'm so glad you've found friends, my princess," she said, her voice warm as a hearthfire. "It does my heart good to see you with others your age."
Mira had always fretted over Rya, her heart aching for the princess's lonely life. Unable to bear children of her own, she had poured her love into caring for Rya, tending to her with a mother's devotion despite Nyxelene's icy neglect. Earlier that day, when Mira had glimpsed Michael and Javier in Rya's chamber, laughing and teasing, her heart had soared like a bird set free. She hummed softly, her smile lingering as she tidied the room.
Rya didn't respond, her gaze fixed on the ceiling. Her chest tightened with a bitter certainty: those fleeting moments with Michael and Javier were just that—fleeting. Earlier, in the castle's sprawling garden, its roses blooming like drops of blood against the green, the other children hadn't recognized her. Even Michael and Javier, though children of high-ranking nobles, did not recognise the princess. That was how shut in she was. She turned her face into the pillow, her breath shaky.
Mira paused at the door, her hand resting on the iron handle. She glanced back, her smile tinged with sadness, but said nothing more. With a soft click, the door closed, and the room fell silent, save for the wind's mournful howl.
Rya lay still, the bed's softness a stark contrast to the turmoil in her heart. A faint tapping broke the silence, like pebbles striking the window. She frowned, assuming it was the wind tossing twigs against the glass, and burrowed deeper into the blankets. The sound came again—sharper, more insistent. Tap, tap, tap. Her pulse quickened, a prickle of unease crawling up her spine. She sat up, the blankets pooling around her waist, and swung her legs over the bed's edge, her bare feet brushing the cold stone floor.
The tapping grew louder, rhythmic, like a secret code. Rya crept toward the window, her nightgown whispering against her legs, her heart thudding like a trapped bird. She pushed aside the heavy velvet curtain, its embroidery glinting in the dim light, and peered through the glass. Her breath caught, and she nearly screamed.
Michael's face was pressed against the window, his nose squashed comically, his sapphire eyes sparkling with mischief. His hair was tousled by the wind, and his grin stretched wide, as bright as a crescent moon breaking through clouds. He clung to the stone ledge outside, his fingers gripping the ivy-covered wall, his tunic flapping like a flag in the storm.
"Hello!" he called, his voice muffled but cheerful, his breath fogging the glass. He waved one hand, nearly losing his grip, and laughed as he steadied himself, his boots scraping the stone.
Rya's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and reluctant delight. The storm roared outside, but Michael's grin was a spark of warmth in the cold, dark night.
The storm outside Rya's chamber raged like a furious beast, its winds howling through Runevale's spires, clawing at the castle's ancient stones. The arched window rattled in its frame, the leaded glass trembling as if it might shatter under the tempest's wrath. Inside, Rya's room glowed softly, a haven of warmth against the night's fury. Lingering scent of lavender from Rya's bath filled the air, now tinged with the damp, earthy breath of the storm seeping through the window's edges.
Rya, eyes wide with shock, fumbled with the window's iron latch. Her small hands trembled as she pushed the heavy panes open. The wind roared in, tugging at her linen nightgown and sending her hair whipping across her face like a tangled veil. Michael, clinging to the ivy-choked ledge outside, flashed his impish grin, his blonde ponytail bouncing wildly in the gale. His eyes sparkled with reckless delight, and his face glowed with the thrill of his daring climb.
With a nimble leap, Michael vaulted through the window, then, he jumped, landing on Rya's bed with a dramatic thud that made the mattress bounce. He sprawled across the silk sheets like a starfish, arms and legs flung wide, his tunic rumpled and damp from the storm. His boots left faint smudges of mud on the pristine covers, and he let out a triumphant whoop, his voice ringing with relief. "I swear, I thought the guards would nab me for sure!" he said, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. He propped himself up on his elbows, his ponytail slipping loose, strands of golden hair sticking to his sweaty forehead.
Rya closed the window with a soft click, shutting out the storm's wail. Her heart still raced, but a smile tugged at her lips, softening with a flicker of joy she couldn't hide. She crossed her arms, her nightgown swishing as she stepped closer to the bed, her green eyes glinting with curiosity. "Why in the world did you climb the window, Michael?" she asked, her voice a mix of wonder and delight. "You could've fallen and broken your neck!"
As the sons of Runevale's legendary warriors, Michael and Javier had been forged in the crucible of combat training since their first wobbly steps. By age eight, their small bodies were honed for feats most children couldn't dream of—scaling walls, wielding wooden swords, dodging blows with nimble grace. So, when Michael tackled the castle wall to reach Rya's window, it wasn't a simple task, but no insurmountable challenge either. The slick stones, glistening under the rain's relentless assault, tested his grip, each foothold a precarious dance with danger. Javier might've hesitated at such a perilous climb, his thoughtful nature favoring safer paths.
Michael sat up, swinging his legs over the bed's edge, his boots dangling like a mischievous pup's paws. He leaned forward, his grin as bright as a crescent moon breaking through clouds. "Because my old man—Ramius, you know—wouldn't dare talk to Queen Nyxelene about letting you out. Says it's too risky, even with his fancy favor." He rolled his eyes, mimicking his father's sly tone, then chuckled, the sound bubbling like a brook. "So I figured, why not take the direct route? Up the wall, through the window, and here I am!"
Rya's smile faltered, a shadow of disappointment crossing her face like a cloud over the sun. She sat on the edge of the bed, tucking her legs beneath her, her fingers twisting the hem of her nightgown. "What about Javier?" she asked softly, her voice tinged with worry. "Wouldn't he come too?" Javier's kind face flashed in her mind—his long black hair swaying as he'd knelt to help her in the garden, his dark eyes warm with concern.
Michael scratched the back of his neck, his fingers snagging in his ponytail. "Javier's brave, but climbing castle walls in a storm? Not his style," he said with a lopsided grin. "He's more about books and clever tricks than scaling towers. But don't worry, I'll tell him all about our adventures next time I see him. He'll be jealous he missed out!" He winked, his sapphire eyes twinkling with promise, as if he could already see Javier's pout.
Rya nodded, her shoulders relaxing slightly, though doubt lingered in her chest like a heavy stone. She glanced at the window, where rain lashed the glass in shimmering sheets, and imagined Javier's gentle hands steadying her in the garden. Maybe Michael was right—maybe they could all be friends, just maybe.
From that night on, Michael became a regular visitor, his blonde ponytail bobbing as he scaled the castle's ivy-covered walls under the cover of darkness. He'd tap on Rya's window like a secret signal, his grin a beacon in the night. Each night, he would whisper tales of imaginary battles and hidden treasures, their laughter muffled to avoid waking the castle's stern guards. The chamber, once a lonely cage, began to feel like a sanctuary, its tapestries glowing warmer with each visit, the candlelight dancing like their shared secrets.
One stormy evening, as thunder rumbled like a giant's growl, Mira caught them. The maid's graying curls bounced as she pushed open the door, her arms laden with a tray of polished silver goblets. Her round face froze, her eyes widening at the sight of Michael sprawled on the bed, his boots dangling, and Rya giggling beside him, her dark hair a tangled halo. For a moment, the room held its breath, the rain's relentless drumbeat against the window the only sound.
But Mira's lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes softening like a mother's. Instead of scolding, she set the tray down with a gentle clink, revealing two goblets of sweet berry juice, their surfaces sparkling like tiny rubies. "Not a word to the queen," she whispered, her voice conspiratorial, her rough hands brushing Rya's shoulder with a tender pat. "But I'll keep watch. If Her Majesty heads this way, I'll tap the door twice to warn you." She winked, her gray curls catching the candlelight, and slipped out, closing the door with a soft thud.
Rya and Michael exchanged wide-eyed glances, their hearts pounding with relief and mischief. From then on, Mira became their silent ally, her footsteps a quiet guardian in the castle's echoing halls. She'd bring them goblets of juice and warm bread, her loyalty to Rya outweighing her fear of Nyxelene's wrath. Javier joined them one evening after Michael begged him several times. That was how—Rya, Michael, and Javier—formed an unbreakable trio, their bond forged in whispered stories and shared laughter, a spark of warmth in the cold shadow of Runevale's towers.