Before the games of power began, she stood alone in silence—unbowed, unseen, and afraid.
(Takes place before Chapter 1 – Clara's POV)
I didn't sleep the first night in the palace.
The room was too quiet—too clean, too cold. Even with velvet curtains and satin sheets, I felt like a trespasser. Like one breath too loud would break something I didn't understand.
They called me "Your Grace," but no one bowed with sincerity. Not the maids who whispered behind half-shut doors. Not the guards who stiffened when I passed. I could feel it—the silent question in every glance: What is she doing here?
Even I didn't know the answer.
The day I arrived, the throne room had emptied before I could step past the marble threshold. Except him.
Alaric.
The man they called a monster. Crowned with frost instead of gold. He didn't speak a word. Just looked at me like he was trying to read a language he'd never seen before. And whatever he found in my eyes, he clearly didn't like.
He turned away.
Just like that. No greeting. No threat. Nothing.
I think that hurt more than if he'd hated me out loud.
But I didn't kneel. Not then, not ever. I kept my chin up not because I was brave—but because I didn't know how else to survive. If I looked down, I was afraid I'd disappear. That the palace would swallow me whole and no one would notice.
I clung to the memory of my mother's last words. "Do not yield. Not even to a crown. Especially not to a crown."
So, I smiled when I was supposed to cry. I curtsied when they expected me to fall. I watched the court the way I used to watch storms from my window—quietly, counting the distance between the lightning and the thunder.
I didn't understand him then.
Not Alaric. Not the court. Not myself.
But I would.
Eventually.