The whisper barely sounded human. đł
âYouâre not the first.â
The words slid from beneath Mirelâs iron helmet like cold smoke, soft enough that only Soren could hear them clearly⊠yet somehow every person in the cathedral felt them.
The air itself seemed to tighten.
Sorenâs fingers went numb inside her grip while the blood drained slowly from his face. Around them, the candle flames flickered violently, bending as though an unseen wind had entered the hall.
Nobody moved.
Not the king.
Not the priests.
Not even the servants lining the walls.
Because suddenly, every rumor they had buried for years no longer sounded like madness.
Soren tried to pull his hand away again, more firmly this time, but Mirelâs fingers tightened with impossible strength beneath the silk glove. Her touch wasnât warm. It wasnât even cold.
It felt⊠absent.
Like holding the hand of someone who had already left the world long ago. đŻïž
âYour MajestyâŠâ Soren whispered shakily, unable to take his eyes off the helmet. âWhat did she mean?â
The king did not answer immediately.
That frightened Soren more than the whisper itself.
The old ruler stood frozen several steps behind them, his expression hollow with exhaustion, as though he had spent years waiting for this exact moment and still had no idea how to survive it.
Then, quietly, he spoke.
âThere were others before you.â
A murmur spread through the court instantly.
Some gasped.
Others lowered their heads, refusing even to look toward the altar.
Soren stared at him in disbelief. âOthers?â
The king closed his eyes briefly, and for the first time since entering the cathedral, he no longer looked like a ruler.
He looked like a man carrying a punishment too heavy to survive. đđ
âThe first disappeared after three nights,â he said slowly. âThe second tried to flee before dawn. The thirdâŠâ
His voice broke.
âThe third begged me to lock the mask again.â
The silence afterward felt unbearable.
Sorenâs heartbeat pounded violently inside his chest while his mind tried desperately to understand what none of this meant.
Mirel remained perfectly still beside him.
Not reacting.
Not denying.
Just standing there in white silk beneath the candlelight, the dark steel helmet reflecting tiny flickers of gold across its surface.
Thenâ
The metallic sound came again.
Scratch.
Soft.
Slow.
From inside the helmet. đš
Several courtiers immediately stepped backward.
One elderly noblewoman crossed herself with trembling fingers while another man whispered a prayer beneath his breath.
Soren swallowed hard.
âWhat is under there?â he finally asked.
The kingâs expression changed instantly.
Not anger.
Fear.
Raw fear.
âDo not ask that question.â
âBut you removed the mask!â
âI removed the lock,â the king whispered. âNot the punishment.â
Soren felt his stomach twist.
Before he could respond, a loud crash suddenly echoed from the far side of the cathedral as one of the young servants dropped an entire tray of silver goblets onto the stone floor. The sharp metallic noise exploded through the hall like thunder. â ïž
And Mirel moved.
Not quickly.
That was the worst part.
She turned toward the sound with slow, unnatural precision, her helmet tilting inch by inch until it faced the terrified servant completely.
The young servant froze.
Then began shaking uncontrollably.
The candles nearest Mirel dimmed all at once.
One by one.
Like the darkness itself was breathing outward from her.
âNoâŠâ the king whispered under his breath.
The servant suddenly screamed and ran for the cathedral doors.
But before he reached themâ
Mirel spoke again.
âDonât leave.â
Her voice was calm.
Gentle, even.
And somehow that made it worse. đ€
The servant stopped instantly.
Not because he wanted to.
Because he physically could not move anymore.
Every person in the cathedral saw it happen.
His body locked in place while terror flooded his face so completely that tears began spilling down his cheeks.
Soren stumbled backward at last, finally wrenching his hand free from Mirelâs grasp.
âWhat is happening?!â he shouted.
The king rushed forward immediately and grabbed Soren by the shoulders with desperate force.
âYou must stay calm,â he hissed. âIf she feels fear, it becomes stronger.â
âWhat becomes stronger?!â
But the king could not answer.
Because at that exact moment, Mirel slowly raised one gloved hand toward the servant across the hall.
The servant began choking.
No wound.
No touch.
Just choking violently while clawing at his own throat as though invisible fingers had wrapped around his neck. đł
The cathedral erupted into panic.
Courtiers backed away.
Priests shouted prayers.
Candles overturned.
But through all the chaos, Mirel never moved from the altar.
She simply stood there beneath the steel helmet while the kingdom finally witnessed the truth they had hidden for years.
Not a curse placed upon her.
A curse created by her.
Then suddenlyâ
The choking stopped.
The servant collapsed to the floor gasping for air.
Silence crashed over the cathedral once more.
Mirel slowly turned her helmet back toward Soren.
And though he still could not see her eyesâŠ
He knew she was looking directly at him.
âYouâre afraid now,â she whispered softly.
Soren could not answer.
Because she was right.
And somewhere deep beneath the horrorâŠ
he realized something even worse.
For the first time since the ceremony beganâ
Mirel sounded sad. đ
