Chapter 6) Echoes Between Curtains
The morning air was thick with tension, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Caelum sat at the edge of his bed, the single violet petal resting on his palm. It was soft and smooth, delicate enough to crumble with the slightest pressure. And yet, it had been left like a signature—silent, intentional, and personal.
He turned it between his fingers.
There had been no note. No mark of who had entered his room the night before. No broken lock, no footprints in the dirt outside. Whoever had come knew how to vanish. How to haunt without being seen.
He carefully tucked the petal into his journal and locked the drawer.
His thoughts were already burning as he washed, dressed, and stepped into the now-too-bright streets of Rivelan. The market was alive with movement, but it all felt distant—like he was moving through a play he hadn't auditioned for.
He needed answers.
And only one person, he thought, might give them.
---
The library of House Sloth wasn't known to the public. It lay on the quieter side of the estate grounds, veiled behind archways and willow trees, guarded not by soldiers but silence. It was said that Princess Lira of Sloth, daughter of the seventh kingdom, rarely left its walls.
Caelum had never seen her before. Only heard whispers—that she slept more than she spoke, that she was sickly, or strange, or simply uninterested in the chaos of court life.
He climbed the garden steps slowly, pausing before the entrance to the library.
To his surprise, the doors opened before he could knock.
A young servant, pale and silent, gestured for him to follow.
The halls were dim, lit only by afternoon shafts of light slipping through colored glass. Shelves lined every wall, stretching into upper galleries and archways. Velvet carpets swallowed the sound of footsteps. The air smelled of parchment and lavender.
And in the heart of it, beneath a canopy of floating curtains and drowsy vines, lay Princess Lira.
She reclined on a daybed near the stained-glass window, a book resting open on her lap. Her long silver hair shimmered like moonlight across her shoulders, and her eyes—half-lidded, an odd shade of amethyst—lifted lazily to meet his.
"You're not the librarian," she murmured.
"No," Caelum said. "I asked to see you."
She blinked slowly. "That's a first."
He approached carefully. Lira didn't look weak, not exactly. But she looked like someone made of smoke and candlelight. Her skin was pale and cool-toned, her hands thin and graceful. Her dress was midnight blue with tiny stars embroidered across the sleeves.
"I need your help," he said.
She tilted her head, curious.
"With what?"
"Someone left something in my room last night. A violet petal. After the coin Selene gave me. After the threat. I thought… if anyone had knowledge others don't—"
"You came to the lazy one?" she smiled, amused.
"You're not lazy," he said. "You're… quiet."
Her smile widened just slightly. "You're interesting."
Caelum sat across from her. "Please."
Lira closed her book and set it aside. Then, slowly, she reached for a nearby scroll and unrolled it across the low table between them. The parchment depicted a map—not of kingdoms, but of influence. Threads connecting names. Lines curving across symbols.
She pointed to a sigil in the shape of a flower.
"That's not just a violet petal," she said. "It's a message from the Veil."
He frowned. "What's the Veil?"
"A secret order," she said. "Made up of courtiers, nobles, even servants—people who observe, influence, and collect secrets. They don't act in public. They don't take sides. But they watch everything."
"Why would they leave me something?"
Lira's voice dropped. "Because they think you're going to matter."
He stared at her.
"Why now?"
"Because you've attracted all seven," she whispered, as if reciting prophecy. "And that hasn't happened in over a hundred years."
Caelum shook his head. "That's not possible. I didn't—"
"It doesn't matter what you did. It's what they felt. The banquet changed something. And the Veil… noticed."
He sat back, trying to process her words.
"What do they want from me?"
"They won't say. Not yet."
Lira reached into her sleeve and pulled out a small card—black velvet, embroidered with a single silver eye.
"Take this," she said. "If they want to speak, they'll find you."
He took the card carefully, feeling the embroidery under his thumb.
"Why are you helping me?" he asked.
Lira leaned back against her cushions, closing her eyes.
"Because I'm tired of reading about stories. I want to see one happen."
---
Later that day, Caelum made his way through the western gardens, trying to make sense of what he'd learned. The Veil. The coin. The petal. Seven kingdoms shifting their eyes toward him. He wasn't just some boy from a quiet workshop anymore.
He reached a familiar fountain and paused.
Someone was already there.
Rhiannon.
She stood with one foot on the edge of the stone, sword balanced across her shoulders. Her hair was pulled back in a warrior's tail, her boots muddy from morning training.
"You look haunted," she said.
"I feel haunted."
She smirked. "Good. Means you're alive."
He stepped forward. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting."
"For?"
"You."
Caelum blinked.
Rhiannon dropped from the edge and approached him. "You've been quiet. Thought I'd check if you were still breathing."
"Barely," he muttered.
She studied him for a moment, then pulled something from her belt. A small, curved dagger—polished, engraved with flames along the hilt.
"Take it."
He stared. "Why?"
"Because this world doesn't like you. And because not all wars are fought with wooden swords."
He hesitated, then took the blade.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
She shrugged. "Don't thank me yet. You'll probably end up stabbing yourself."
He smiled despite himself.
Rhiannon looked at him seriously.
"I don't know what's going on. But I know danger when I smell it. And it's all over you."
"Do you regret meeting me?" he asked.
She scoffed. "I don't regret anything."
Then she punched his shoulder lightly and walked off, boots crunching over gravel.
---
Evening approached. And with it came the invitation.
Another one.
This time, a royal herald arrived at Caelum's door with trumpets and ceremony, announcing a formal gathering hosted by the Queen Regent herself—an event that all seven princesses were expected to attend. And, for the first time, so was he.
Caelum stood frozen as the herald bowed and left.
It was official now.
He wasn't an outsider anymore.
He was on the chessboard.
---
That night, Caelum sat by the window, the silver eye card resting beside Selene's coin and Maribelle's charm. Symbols of danger, protection, and fate.
Outside, the moon hung heavy and full over Rivelan, casting the rooftops in silver glow.
Inside, Caelum stared at his reflection.
A boy with golden hair. Blue eyes.
A storm forming beneath silk.
And seven kingdoms slowly turning toward him.