It was a day that she wished to forget, a day mired in sorrow instead of joy. Princess Lass had come of age, her twentieth name day, yet the kingdom's bells remained silent. The Great Hall of Elthra, draped in shimmering banners of deep azure and gold, stood cold and empty. No feast awaited, no musicians played light airs to lift spirits weighed down by gloom. The curse had poisoned all, stealing away even simple pleasures from life's milestones.
Lass paced the empty hall, her golden gown catching fleeting glints of magic meant to mimic fallen stars. No guests congregated with well-wishes or congratulations, for what hope was there left to celebrate? She hugged her arms tight, nails piercing palms, wishing to flee this mockery of festivity.
A soft voice called her name, and Ilara emerged with a cup of honeyed wine. "You look as though you'd choose solitude over this charade," she said gently.
Lass accepted the drink but did not sip. "I'd rather be taking action," she replied, gazing towards the palace gates and possibilities beyond.
Ilara smiled sadly. "For now, let us pretend. The night need not be a total loss."
Before more could be said, a herald's summons echoed through the empty hall. "Their Majesties request your presence in the royal chamber, Princess Lass."
The grand hall fell silent as every eye turned toward Lass, intrigue and unease crackling in the air. She straightened her spine, battling the sudden qualms twisting within her gut. Rarely had King Muse and Queen Elyra summoned her so formally. Something was awry.
Ilara squeezed her arm tightly. "Go now," she whispered softly. "I'll await your return."
With her heart hammering violently, Lass handed Ilara the untouched goblet and cut through the throng of guests. Whispers trailed her like ghosts, but she paid them no heed. She climbed the winding staircase to the royal wing, finding little solace in the grandeur surrounding her. The tension she knew awaited only served to heighten her nerves.
When Lass entered the royal chamber, the weight of stress pressing down was the first thing she noticed. Her father, King Muse, sat slumped upon his throne, his broad shoulders burdened by unseen woes. His golden crown appeared dull, and his usually keen eyes were dimmed with worry. Queen Elyra stood by his side, her delicate features drawn and pallid, her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles had whitened.
"Lass," King Muse said, his voice roughened beyond her memory. "Secure the door."
She obeyed; the sound of the heavy door closing rang out like tolling bells at a funeral. Lass turned to face her parents, dread coiling within her stomach. "What has happened?" she asked, her voice stronger than she felt. "What troubles you so?"
Queen Elyra exchanged a glance with her husband, tears glistening in her emerald eyes. "It's time we told you the truth of the curse," she spoke.
Lady Lass breath caught in her throat. The curse that hung over her family like a dark shroud, spreading misery throughout the realm. For years she pleaded for answers only to receive half-truths and evasions. At last, the long sought explanations were within her grasp—though she feared what truths may be revealed.
King Muse sighed wearily. "The curse was cast upon our line generations past," he began slowly. "The sorceress Soranna, driven mad by outrage, unleashed her wrath upon one of our ancestors. Now Elthra withers while she crows in triumph, unless..."
He faltered, grief rending his words. Queen Elyra took up the tale. "Unless a royal weds one with nary a copper to their name," she murmured. "Alone can a union 'tween high birth and low lift what that hag has wrought."
Lady Lass felt the ground disappear beneath her feet. "Marriage?" she echoed faintly. "You mean I must wed a peasant to break the curse?"
Her parents' tormented silence provided all the answer she dreaded. Fury and incredulity overwhelmed her. "Why keep me in ignorance for so long?" she cried. "Why deceive me thus?"
Tears shone in Queen Elyra's eyes. "We wanted only to shield you," she wept. "We had hoped against hope to find another path. But Soranna's malice strengthens while our kingdom crumbles. Time has run out."
Lady Elyra's fists clenched at her sides. "Or did you shield yourselves from censure?" The bitter words escaped unbidden, though remorse swiftly followed. Still, betrayal seared too deeply to be denied.
King Muse sat back, overwhelmed by fatigue. "We did what we felt was prudent," he uttered. "But now the choice rests with you, Lass. You are humanity's final hope."
Lass stalked from the chamber, her mind abuzz. She scarcely noted the elaborate tapestries adorning the halls or the flickering sconces casting unsteady shadows. Her world had been upended, her future stolen and refashioned into something unrecognizable.
She emerged within the library, traditionally a solace where she frequently fled. The rows of aging tomes and crumbling scrolls ordinarily comforted, yet today stifled. Lass slumped into a high-backed chair, concealing her face in her hands.
"I've no control over my own path," she whispered through pain. "All my efforts, all my dreams... they mean nothing."
The library door creaked open, and Ilara slipped inside. She approached quietly, her footsteps muffled against the polished floor. "I assumed I might find you here," she spoke gently. "How do you fare?"
Lass laughed bitterly, lifting her head. "Fare well? How can I faring well, Ilara? My life is dictated by arrangements formed generations past, and I've no alternative but to uphold them."
Ilara's expression grieved. "I apologize deeply, Lass."
Silence engulfed them, weighted with the unspoken. Eventually, Ilara stated "Do you recall when we were young, how you dreamed of exploring lands beyond Elthra's borders? Sailing to distant shores, discovering novel magic?"
Lass's heart ached recalling. "Those were childish fantasies."
"Perhaps," Ilara agreed. "But they belonged to you. And maybe... maybe there remains a manner for you to claim something for yourself amid all this."
Before Lass could respond, the walls of the cavernous library trembled, a faint rumbling echoing through the ancient stone. The torches flickered wildly, their flames sputtering in a sudden icy gale that swept through the towering shelves.
"What sorcery is this?" Ilara whispered, fear widening her eyes.
Lass rose unsteadily, pulse quickening. "The curse strengthens," she said grimly, dread sinking in. "We must hurry."
In the Great Hall, pandemonium reigned where celebration had been. Guests huddling fearfully glanced skyward through lofty windows, seeing roiling clouds laced with sickly green lightning. The trembling earth reeked of sulfur and decay.
Bursting within, Lass and Ilara saw King Muse commanding guards. "Convey all to lower chambers at once!" he cried urgently. "Make haste!"
Lass gazed skyward, stricken. The raging storm beyond was no work of nature. Shadowy tendrils writhed amid clouds akin to living malevolence. A mocking whisper carried on the howling wind, chilling her to the bone.
"This is but a foretaste of what is yet to come," it hissed sinisterly.
Lass felt cold horror take root. She knew with grim certainty the curse had grown impatient to claim all in its wrathful grasp. Yet how to thwart such darkness remained a mystery.