A soft drizzle pattered against the stained-glass windows of Silverstrand's grand corridor, and Rena drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders as she ventured deeper into the castle. The rhythmic tap of rain brought a cool hush to the halls, muting the usual bustle of servants and guards. Outside, the sky was a uniform gray, as though the city itself awaited the next move in the unfolding drama of the royal court.
Only yesterday, she had faced Lord Severin in the council chamber—an encounter fraught with poised smiles and hidden daggers. Though Rena had stood her ground, she still felt the lingering impression of his gaze, cold and cunning. She was no fool: Severin's theatrical courtesies masked a burning desire to unseat her family. And she could practically feel him scheming in the castle's shadows, searching for cracks in her newly established authority.
You must learn to navigate these waters, she reminded herself. King Darius and Queen Maribel needed her to be strong. Even Gareth had urged her not to shy away from the steward's challenges. She flexed her fingers, imagining the surge of healing energy she could summon if pressed. Her power might be enough to mend broken bones, but could it heal a fractured kingdom?
Her musings broke off when she reached an intersection of corridors, faint torchlight reflecting on polished floors. Two guards stood watch at the threshold of a tall door carved with silver filigree. Behind it lay the Hall of Petitions—a place where members of the royal family (or their representatives) listened to commoners who sought an audience, typically regarding disputes or urgent requests. Usually, the steward would handle many of these matters, but rumor had it that Severin's influence had caused an uptick in complaints about unfair taxes and harsh enforcement.
As Rena approached, the guards dipped their heads respectfully. "Princess Rena," one said, stepping aside. "Chancellor Eldorin is inside, awaiting your presence."
She nodded, nerves buzzing in her stomach. She had agreed to join Eldorin and Lady Halene in hearing some minor petitions. King Darius, unfortunately, was too unwell to attend. Queen Maribel needed to focus on an upcoming council with foreign envoys. All of which left Rena to represent the crown—even if only in a modest capacity.
Inside, the Hall of Petitions was a lofty space with rows of benches facing a raised wooden platform. The thick scent of incense lingered, probably to mask the damp chill creeping in from the rainy courtyard. A few individuals sat on the benches, dressed in plain but neat attire, each accompanied by a guard or assistant. Their faces were anxious, their postures stiff. At the front, a small table bore quills, parchment, and a half-melted candle.
Chancellor Eldorin spotted Rena immediately, rising from his seat behind the table. Lady Halene, standing beside him, offered a relieved smile. "Princess, you made it just in time," Halene whispered, guiding her toward the platform. "We've only a few cases to review today. A perfect chance to ease you into this part of court life."
Rena let out the breath she'd been holding. "I'm glad. I'm still nervous about… well, everything."
Halene gave an encouraging nod. "Understandable. But small steps matter. Show fairness and compassion, and people will see that you truly care."
Eldorin motioned for Rena to take the central seat on the platform—he and Halene would flank her on either side, offering discreet guidance if needed. The old chancellor's gaze held warmth, as though he believed in her potential. "We'll start with straightforward matters," he said softly. "Just speak honestly and weigh each petition with a clear mind."
Rena settled into the chair, smoothing her cloak. The first petitioner, a middle-aged farmer with calloused hands and a weather-beaten face, stepped forward with a guarded expression. He wrung his cap in his hands, bowing clumsily. "Your… Your Highness," he managed, voice trembling. "I—my name is Berold. I come from the outskirts near Cragwood. We've had trouble with roving wolves attacking our livestock, but the local tax collector demands we pay levies on top of that, leaving us with hardly any coin to fix our fences or hire help."
A quill scratched against parchment as Halene took quick notes. Rena drew in a calming breath, recalling her time among the humble folk in Whisperwood. She spoke gently, "I'm sorry for your trouble, Berold. Has anyone from the local guard offered assistance?"
He shook his head, gaze dropping. "None, milady. We asked, but we were told the guard is stretched thin. Some say the steward's men have been sent elsewhere—some new project or something." His brow knitted. "We just need a bit of relief or help driving the wolves away, so we don't lose more animals."
Rena frowned, exchanging a look with Eldorin. "Could we arrange a small force from the city guard to patrol the area temporarily? That way, Berold's village can rebuild fences and protect their livestock."
Eldorin nodded. "The city guard can be redirected, yes, though that normally requires the steward's approval. We can make a recommendation to the king, but if we do so without Severin's sign-off, it may be contested."
Warm frustration flared in Rena's chest, recalling how Severin's overreach likely created these shortfalls. "Let's do this: I'll bring it to King Darius, and if he approves, we'll have enough authority to bypass Severin's bureaucracy. Meanwhile, we'll grant Berold and his village a temporary reduction in taxes so they can recover."
Halene's eyes shone with approval. "A wise approach, Princess."
Relief flooded Berold's face. He bowed, tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. "Thank you, Your Highness. You've no idea how much that'll help."
Rena felt a small spark of confidence. "Stay in the city for a day or two so we can finalize the details. Chancellor Eldorin will have more instructions for you soon."
With a grateful nod, Berold made his exit, and another petitioner stepped up—an older woman seeking redress after a fire damaged her shop. Rena listened, asked questions, and offered what help she could within her limited knowledge. More petitioners followed, each with a unique worry: farmland disputes, accusations of an overzealous tax collector, even a traveling merchant who claimed bandits targeted only those caravans not aligned with Severin's trade policies. The common thread was a kingdom straining under uneven enforcement, some of it orchestrated—or at least tolerated—by the steward.
By the time the last petitioner departed, the candle on the table had nearly burned out, and the drizzle outside had intensified into a steady rain that drummed against the roof. Rena's shoulders ached, but her mind hummed with new insights. These people depend on the crown for justice, she realized, every bit as much as she once depended on Aunt Sorren's wisdom in the forest. If the monarchy failed them, they had nowhere else to turn.
Eldorin gathered the parchments, scanning Rena with mild admiration. "You did well, Princess. Your empathy shines, and your suggestions were practical."
Halene agreed, though her expression remained thoughtful. "But we must also ensure these decisions don't provoke Severin to block them out of spite. He relishes using official channels to undermine any reforms he dislikes."
Rena rose, smoothing her gown. "I'll speak to my father as soon as possible. If the steward tries to block our proposals, at least we'll have the king's decree to back them." She paused, gazing at the door where the petitioners had exited. "I won't let fear of him freeze us into inaction."
Halene gave a tight smile. "Then we move forward."
Not long after, Rena found Gareth waiting in the corridor. Water droplets clung to his cloak—he must have been outside, perhaps checking on the guard rotation or meeting new arrivals at the gate. His eyes lit up when he saw her.
"How were the petitions?" he asked, falling into step beside her.
"Tiring," Rena admitted, "but enlightening. I can see now how everyday folks suffer in ways the court rarely notices."
Gareth nodded. "Yes. That's why your presence matters—it reminds the royals that people's lives are at stake, not just political ambitions. And speaking of politics…" He lowered his voice. "I've heard rumors that Severin plans to attend tomorrow's council with the foreign envoys. He wants to appear indispensable in front of them."
That made sense: forging alliances or trade agreements with neighboring lands would be crucial for Silverstrand's economy. If Severin positioned himself as the true power behind the throne, he could overshadow Rena's influence—or even the king's.
She pursed her lips, stepping around a puddle of rainwater that had seeped in through a window. "I won't let him claim the spotlight unopposed. My mother's hosting that council, so I'll join her. The envoys should know the rightful heir has returned."
Gareth gave a small, approving smile. "We can coordinate with the guards to ensure your safety, just in case. There's also talk of a demonstration of your healing gift." He hesitated. "Some nobles claim they won't believe you're truly the 'Moonlit Healer' without seeing it firsthand."
Rena's stomach gave a nervous jolt. "I was afraid of that. I've never wanted to flaunt my powers like a spectacle… but maybe it's unavoidable."
"Perhaps you can select a demonstration on your own terms," Gareth suggested. "Something that helps the kingdom, not just an empty show. That way, you stay in control of the narrative."
She swallowed, considering the possibility. Healing the king himself might be the boldest act. But King Darius's illness was no small wound, and she feared disappointing everyone if she couldn't cure a complex, lingering malady. Still… if I at least try… could it help? A glimmer of hope flickered through her thoughts.
"I'll think about it," she said aloud, forcing a small smile of gratitude. "Thank you, Gareth."
He reached out as though to squeeze her shoulder, then remembered himself and offered a more formal bow. The gesture, half-friendly and half-deferential, made Rena's cheeks warm. She realized just how much she appreciated his steadfast presence—even if she sometimes wished for the carefree ease they'd shared in Whisperwood.
By late afternoon, the drizzle had eased to a thin mist, and the corridors were livelier again. Courtiers bustled about with scrolls and ledgers, preparing for tomorrow's meeting with the envoys. Rena retreated to the relative quiet of the Moonlit Gallery, a hallway on the east wing where the windows overlooked the castle gardens. Legend claimed that on nights of a full moon, the gallery's mosaics glowed like starlight. Today, under the foggy gloom, the stones merely reflected faint gray light.
She paused beside a tall window, gazing out at the gardens below. Raindrops sparkled on the white lilies that formed the kingdom's crest in floral arrangement—a testament to Silverstrand's beauty and heritage. This is all so much bigger than me, she thought, hugging her arms around herself. Aunt Sorren raised me to help the injured, not to negotiate with foreign powers or duel wits with cunning stewards.
Yet her mind wandered back to the petitioners earlier that day: Berold, the older shopkeeper, the merchant weary of bandits. They needed someone who cared enough to make changes. If she shrank away, they'd be left to Severin's mercies. That thought alone stiffened her spine.
"Princess?"
A gentle voice startled her, and she turned to see Queen Maribel approaching. The queen's gown glimmered in subdued candlelight, and her eyes, though tired, shone with concern. Rena inclined her head, warmth spreading through her chest at the sight of her mother.
"I'm sorry," Rena said softly. "I was lost in thought."
Queen Maribel placed a hand on Rena's shoulder. "Don't apologize. I understand. The palace can feel overwhelming, even for those of us who have lived here for decades." She let out a quiet sigh. "How have you been, my dear? It's been a whirlwind since we confirmed your identity."
Rena hesitated, then decided on honesty. "It's… a lot. Petitioners rely on us, and Severin is lurking around every corner, waiting to strike. I'm worried about Father's health, too. I want to do more to help him, but I'm unsure how."
The queen's gaze flickered with sadness. "King Darius's condition has been slow to worsen these past weeks. The physicians do what they can, but it often feels like we're fighting an enemy we can't see." Her voice trembled. "Sometimes I fear losing him—and our kingdom all at once."
A pang of sympathy tightened Rena's throat. On impulse, she gently squeezed the queen's hand. "Let me try to heal him—properly. I know my power can't solve every ailment, but perhaps it can help."
Maribel's eyes brightened with cautious hope. "Truly, child? You would attempt it?"
"I've healed fevers and wounds," Rena said, recalling a half-dozen villagers she'd saved from dire infections in Whisperwood. "I've never faced a chronic illness as complicated as Father's. But if my power can ease his suffering, I'd gladly attempt it."
Tears pricked the corners of the queen's eyes, and she pulled Rena into a sudden hug. The surprising closeness made Rena's heart swell. "Thank you," Maribel whispered, voice catching. "Even if it only brings him relief, it's more than we dared hope."
Rena hugged her mother back, breathing in the faint scent of lavender from her gown. In that moment, she felt a sense of belonging she'd never known. She wasn't simply an outsider in the palace—she was part of this family, for better or worse.
Later that evening, a palace steward discreetly informed Rena that King Darius was resting in his private suite, attended by a physician. If she wished to attempt healing him, now might be an opportune moment. The news set her pulse racing, but she steeled herself.
A few minutes later, she stood outside the king's door in a dimly lit corridor, Gareth and Lady Halene at her side. The guard stationed there stepped aside to let them through, his expression grave. Inside, a small antechamber opened to a more spacious bedroom. Heavy drapes muffled the last traces of daylight. A single lantern cast flickering shadows across a thick carpet and an intricately carved bed.
King Darius lay propped against pillows, eyes half-open, complexion ashen. Queen Maribel sat in a nearby chair, worry etched into every line of her face. A middle-aged physician hovered with a satchel of herbs, bowing slightly as Rena and her companions entered.
Halene lingered by the door, while Gareth stepped softly to one side. Rena approached the bed, heart thudding. Her father's breathing rasped faintly, and she realized with a jolt that he looked weaker than he had even a day ago.
"Father," she said gently, her voice catching on the word. "May I try to help?"
He managed a small nod, too exhausted to speak. His gaze held both hope and resignation. The queen reached out, squeezing his hand, then turned to Rena. "Do what you must, my dear."
Rena swallowed, stepping closer. The memory of healing broken bones and fevers in Whisperwood flashed through her mind. She'd always relied on a mixture of intuition, compassion, and that mysterious silver glow that manifested when she touched a wound. But King Darius's ailment was no ordinary injury—it spread through him like creeping shadows.
Gently, she rested her palm against his forehead. His skin burned with fever, yet beneath it lay a chill that made her shiver. She closed her eyes, drawing in a slow breath, letting the hush of the room anchor her focus. A soft warmth built in her chest, traveling down her arms to her fingertips. Let me in, she pleaded silently. Let me sense whatever is wrong and guide it away.
A faint silver-white glow flickered at the edges of her vision. King Darius tensed slightly, a low groan escaping his lips. She pressed on, careful not to overwhelm him. She visualized layers of sickness, dark threads woven through his body, and tried to unravel them. The heat under her hand pulsed, as though pushing back, resisting her.
Seconds stretched into a blur of strained concentration. Rena's breathing grew shallow, sweat beading on her brow. The sensation was both familiar and utterly alien—like grappling with a wound that had no clear edges. She sensed pockets of infection or lesions in his lungs, maybe in his blood, that flared up whenever she tried to soothe them.
Her heart lurched. It's bigger than I thought, she realized, voice tightening in her throat. She refused to retreat, even as her own strength ebbed. Bit by bit, she coaxed the fever's intensity down, layering gentle healing across the areas that felt inflamed. Time lost all meaning until, at last, she felt her power slip away like a receding tide.
With a gasp, she withdrew her hand, head spinning. Gareth rushed forward, gripping her shoulders to keep her upright. The silver glow vanished, leaving the faint flicker of the lantern in its wake.
King Darius exhaled a quivering breath. Color returned to his cheeks, faint but noticeable. Queen Maribel stood, placing a hand on his chest. "Darius?"
His eyes fluttered open more fully, a spark of clarity there. Though still pale, he seemed calmer, less burdened by whatever internal battle raged before. A quiet relief spread through the room like the hush after a fierce storm.
"You… you truly have a gift," the physician breathed, sounding equal parts awed and astonished.
Rena tried to straighten, though her knees threatened to buckle. "It's not a full cure," she admitted in a trembling voice. "There's still a deep sickness within him, but… I've eased some of the infection. He should rest now. I can try again in a few days, once I recover."
King Darius gazed at her with something like wonder, a faint smile on his lips. "Thank you," he whispered, voice rasping. "My daughter…"
Queen Maribel pressed a kiss to his forehead, tears shining on her lashes. "Rest, my love. You're safe."
Gareth guided Rena back a few steps, helping her settle into a nearby chair. He knelt beside her, searching her face. "You look drained. Are you all right?"
She nodded, fighting to steady her labored breathing. "I'll manage. Healing him took… a lot." Her limbs tingled with exhaustion, a familiar aftermath of intense healing sessions. Still, a small flame of hope glowed in her chest. Perhaps we can keep Father's condition at bay until we find a permanent cure.
Halene gently urged the physician forward, and the man listened to King Darius's heartbeat, checking for immediate signs of relapse. To everyone's relief, the king's breathing remained steady. He soon drifted into a deeper, more peaceful sleep.
Queen Maribel approached Rena, eyes shining with gratitude. "I cannot thank you enough. Even this measure of relief is a gift." She squeezed Rena's hands. "We must be cautious, though—if Severin hears of your healing attempt, he may twist the story to his advantage."
Rena swallowed, recalling Severin's insistence on seeing her power displayed. "He'll surely want to make it public," she said, "to claim I'm abusing some forbidden sorcery or that it's all a trick. But at least Father is in less pain."
Gareth rose, helping Rena stand. "We'll worry about Severin later. For now, let's see you to your room so you can rest. You look like you could collapse any minute."
"I'm fine," she insisted, though her voice trembled with fatigue. Even so, she allowed him to lead her from the suite, Halene trailing behind. Queen Maribel remained with King Darius, whispering words of comfort at his bedside.
In the corridor, guards bowed as they passed. Rena's footsteps felt heavy, her body begging for sleep. Gareth's presence at her side anchored her, and she found solace in his quiet concern.
"You really are the Moonlit Healer," Gareth said softly, guiding her around a corner. "I've seen you heal mortal wounds, but never an illness like that. You're braver than you know."
A pang of self-doubt flitted through her, remembering how close she'd come to collapsing. "It's not bravery," she murmured. "Just desperation—he's my father."
They reached her chamber door, and Halene opened it, revealing the familiar room with its large bed and a warm fire crackling in the hearth. The comfort beckoned to Rena like a distant promise. She turned to Gareth, offering a small, grateful smile. "Thank you. For everything."
He gave a slight nod, eyes lingering on her face. "Rest. You'll need your strength for what's coming."
Rena managed a faint nod. She stepped inside, Halene quietly closing the door behind her. Alone now, she discarded her cloak and sank onto the bed, the soft mattress practically swallowing her. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, and her thoughts whirled—Severin's smirking face, the desperate petitioners, the king's ailing body, the silver glow of her healing gift.
I'll keep fighting, she told herself, fingers curling into the sheets. For my father, for the people, and for the kingdom that calls me princess.
Exhaustion claimed her soon after, carrying her into a deep, dreamless sleep.