The Princess and the Alchemist - Part 10

The Princess and the Alchemist - Part 10
Night fell over Norden like a mantle of cold silver. The tall towers cast long shadows across the inner courtyard, and the torches burning along the corridors flickered as if the wind whispered ancient secrets through the stone walls. Lissandra climbed the stairs in silence, the soft sound of her steps echoing through the arches — a calm rhythm, though her heart was anything but calm.
The banquet was over, but the words exchanged at the table still echoed inside her. The food, the wine, the polite laughter — all had lost their flavor after Tristan’s insinuation.
The dry tone, disguised as an innocent remark, still burned in her memory. Her brother’s gaze, cold and discontented, had made it clear the attack had a target.
She had answered as best she could, using the composure she’d been trained to master since childhood — every word weighed like a thread ready to snap. Randal had tried to ease the tension with humor, turning the insult into an anecdote. But the wound remained, invisible at the table, burning beneath the varnish of royalty.
Lissandra entered her chambers and closed the door softly. The full moon bathed the marble floor in milky light. The fire in the hearth was dying, leaving only the faint crackle of embers. She removed the light tiara she’d worn to dinner and set it on her vanity. The cold metal contrasted with the warmth of her hands.
The night should have brought peace — but there was none.
She walked to the window and pushed aside the curtains. From her tower, she could see much of the palace — the inner courtyard, the lit corridors, and in the distance, the medical wing. There, among the shadows of the greenhouses and the pale gleam of oil lamps, a single window still shone. The laboratory.
Agon’s lights.
Lissandra rested her hands on the stone ledge, feeling the cold climb up her wrists. The night air carried the damp scent of a fading winter, already giving way to tender grass. She stood still, watching that steady flicker of light — sometimes firm, sometimes wavering — as if it were the very heartbeat of the man working inside.
She knew Agon didn’t rest easily. Since the day she met him, she’d sensed in him a hunger that could never be sated. And somehow, that hunger mirrored something within her too.
The teachings of faith said truth came from the gods, and that understanding the world was an act of reverence. But Agon believed understanding was a conquest — a challenge thrown at the dark. In truth, they both sought the same thing — just from opposite sides.
Lissandra took a deep breath. The moon looked larger that night, as if it had drawn closer to the earth just to hear her think.
“Maybe knowledge and faith are the same path,” she said softly, as if hoping the goddess above might hear her and answer. “Just seen from different sides of the mountain.”
The memory of Tristan’s gaze returned. She believed his rigidity didn’t come from hatred, but from fear — fear of losing control over what he thought was the natural order. To him, the throne and faith were walls, and curiosity was a crack in the stone.
But Agon… Agon saw beauty in the cracks.
Lissandra rested her chin on her hands, still watching the windows of the laboratory. The light inside moved back and forth — he must have been changing tables, mixing liquids, writing notes. The thought made her smile, despite everything.
“You start storms without even noticing,” she thought. “And still you keep working, as if nothing could stop you.”
Outside, the cold wind blew harder, making the flames in the fireplace bow for an instant. The moon’s reflection spilled across the floor and over Lissandra’s loose hair. She looked like part of the light itself — a figure caught between the mortal and the divine, trapped between two worlds that would never fully understand each other, no matter how they tried.
At the far end of the palace, the laboratory remained awake.
The tables were cluttered with vials, notes, and small mounds of cut roots. The bubbling of liquids filled the air with a constant hum — a whisper of life. Agon moved among the bottles with quiet focus.
The night didn’t intimidate him; it was when his thoughts came most clearly. Moonlight filtered through the windows, reflecting off the glassware and turning the room into a mosaic of colors. He wrote, he mixed, he observed — but in his mind, images from the afternoon returned in fragments.
Tristan’s gaze.
The cutting words.
The murmurs in the halls.
He sighed and braced his hands on the table.
“You think knowledge makes you our equal.”
The phrase still echoed, as if carved into the wall. Agon closed his eyes, and for a moment, the fury he had suppressed earlier threatened to break loose. He rarely lost control, rarely needed to resort to the wolf-shape to end a conflict. But that day, he’d almost been pushed to it.
“How can he be her brother?” he muttered.
But when he opened his eyes, he caught the faint glow of the vial containing the bluish sap of the tree that fascinated him so deeply. It was impossible to look at it and not feel the spark of mystery.
Curiosity consumed him — but with it came something new: the memory of how the princess had looked at him when she spoke about the flower kept in the Cathedral. Not with superiority, but with a rare kind of respect.
Agon walked to the window. From there, he could see the courtyard, the towers — and in the distance, a faint light: the silvery reflection of her chamber.
For a moment, the world hung suspended between two invisible gazes. He knew, without seeing, that Lissandra was awake too.
The wind stirred the curtains. The moon hung high, perfectly round, watching them both — the princess and the alchemist — separated by walls and vows, yet bound by the same restless spirit.
Agon rested his arm on the sill and murmured to himself,
“I wonder what she’s thinking right now.”
The lamp’s flame wavered, casting shadows across the walls.
Outside, the clouds drifted slowly, revealing more of the moon. The same light that bathed the palace now touched Agon’s stained hands — and Lissandra’s face, far away.
Neither of them slept that night.
She, pondering what faith could not explain.
He, searching for what science could not measure.
And between them, the moon — silent witness to the beginning of something neither gods nor kings would ever be able to contain.