Hated by her lineage, Iliya Dalaminai dwells in self isolation, awaiting the day her cousin marries so she might escape the Throne.
Feared by the Gods, Sorein Chakrine's crown is mainly a relic put on display at royal ceremonies to ward off evil.
Wh...
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The Lord lay on the floor of the Grand Archives, gasping for air.
Iliya watched, stunned, her hands trembling uncontrollably as etharis files scattered around them like escaping birds. Tables and chairs shook on the ground, some flying backward.
"What is wrong with you?" Lord Alvero demanded from his splayed position at her feet. When had he fallen?
She blinked, confused, still hearing the words he'd spouted when he'd been standing.
"Between the Halfling and the Bastard, Chiori Faire will become a breeding ground for mutts."
She'd heard a million smug, condescending comments before.
Yet they had always isolated her.
Never once was her cousin brought into it.
Why would this Lord–
The ground swayed beneath her again, and she looked at the obsidian pillar stretching up before her.
The Aphyre.
Streams of mana began to pull straight from the Aphyre, alarms sounding as magic threatened the integrity of the barriers. A whirlwind of light funneled into her hands, the runes on her arm searing bright red.
Iliya shrieked at the burning, thrashing around as the Lord stood and yelled for the King.
He tried to pin her arms behind her, clamping his hands around the runes and causing pain to radiate over her skin.
Long, torturous seconds passed before the door burst open and the King ran through the Grand Archive, his footsteps fierce as he navigated the bookshelves. He stopped in front of the Aphyre, throwing a protective glance at Iliya before turning his attention to the monument, hands glowing as he held them aloft.
As the bursts of mana dispersed back into the obsidian crystal, the King growled and tugged Iliya into his chest, her arm pulled reluctantly away from the sour Lord.
"She's not your prisoner!" the King snapped.
Iliya managed a steadying breath before waves of numbness crept in, taking possession of her limbs.
Lord Alvero's handprints slowly faded as Iliya scrubbed feebly at her arm. What arrogance. Handling her as if she were a criminal.
"Ezre–" she whispered to the King as the numbness continued to take hold. "I can't feel anything..."
He frowned, wrapping an arm over her shoulders before casting a glare at the Lord. "Find Destry, tell her to contact Halavesta. She'll need medical attention."
