Chapter 12 FIRST LESSON
By sunset, Haven had taken a bath, and changed into one of the dresses Nerisa had bought from the market . It was a light blue dress with transparent sleeves and a neckline that dipped lower than she liked.
But there was no time to dwell on it. Nerisa came into the room with a cheerful smile on her face. “My lady, you’re expected in the East Wing. Lord Imogen awaits.”
Haven groaned softly and threw her head back. “Don’t I get a moment to rest?”
“Not when the King orders otherwise.” Nerisa smiled faintly, setting a tray of fruit and tea on the bedside table. “You might want to eat first. Lord Imogen can be... overwhelming.”
“That’s one word for it,” Haven muttered. She ate a bit of the contents on the tray before Nerisa led her to the East Wing.
The East Wing was nothing like the rest of Emberlight Castle.
It was bright, filled with tall glass windows, stacks of books, old scrolls, and suspended orbs of light that drifted lazily near the ceiling. The air smelled of parchment, candle wax, and faint ozone, like magic itself.
Imogen stood by a large window, sunlight glinting off his golden hair. He wore a loose white shirt tucked into dark trousers, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and that same infuriatingly charming smile that could probably melt ice.
“Well, well,” he drawled when she entered. “The mortal bride graces us with her presence. I was beginning to think you’d run away like most of your predecessors”
“I considered it,” Haven replied, folding her arms. “But then I remembered I’d probably get burned alive.”
Imogen laughed, a smooth, rich sound. “Ah, sarcasm. You’ll do just fine.” He gestured toward a seat near a circular table stacked with books. “Come, sit. Let’s begin your royal education. We'll start with something simple. The history of fire.”
He placed his palm over a crystal sphere at the table’s center. Instantly, flames danced to life within it, swirling in hues of gold, red, and blue. “Fire,” he began, watching her eyes widen, “is not just an element here. It’s alive, it’s willful. It chooses its master.”
“Like… the King?” Haven asked, cautious.
Imogen grinned. “Exactly. Auren isn’t just bonded to the fire. He is its vessel. That’s why our kind call him flameborn. .”
“Does that mean he can’t die?”
“Oh, he can die,” Imogen said easily. “But not that easily and not quietly. He might take the whole continent down with him.”
Haven blinked. “Comforting.”
He laughed again, clearly enjoying himself. “That’s why he can form his bonds. Consciously or unconsciously. Like the mark on your neck.”
Her hand instinctively rose to touch the faintly glowing mari at her collarbone. “It appeared after… after they first showed up in our village.”
“Ah, yes.” Imogen leaned closer, his tone dropping to a teasing murmur. “That, my dear, is not just a mark. It’s the fire’s claim.”
“The fire’s… claim?”
He nodded, still smirking. “You see, when a dragon king finds his bride, the fire recognizes her as his counterpart, his other half. It’s rare, though. Usually, the mark fades with time and it appears just on the wrist . But yours, ” He leaned even closer, eyes glinting. “Yours appeared on your neck as well, and glows brighter when he's close.’
Haven swallowed, suddenly self-conscious. “So what does that mean?”
Imogen’s playful smile softened into something almost reverent. “It means the fire didn’t just approve of you, Haven. It chose you.”
She leaned back, shaking her head. “No. There has to be some mistake. I’m no one. Just a baker’s niece from Edenvale.”
“Then the fire must have a taste for the simple and stubborn,” he teased, flicking open another book.
Haven scowled at him. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“Oh, I always try my best to enjoy my lessons,” Imogen said with mock solemnity. “Your predecessors didn't make it easy for me though.”
He took a sip from his glass and cleared his throat. “Next, royal etiquette."
She groaned. “That sounds dreadful.”
“It is, but necessary.” He stood, bowing low in exaggerated fashion. “When addressing the King, you don’t slouch, you don’t roll your eyes, and you certainly don’t tell him to stay out of your thoughts.”
Haven’s face flushed. “You know about that?”
Imogen’s grin widened. “No, but that's something I would tell him if he had unlimited access to my thoughts.”
She covered her face with her hands. “It’s infuriating. ”
“Don’t worry,” he said lightly, setting a hand over hers to lower them. “He didn’t set you on fire. That’s progress.”
She couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her lips.
For a moment, her eyes met his, warm, playful, almost too comfortable, until a familiar voice echoed in her mind.
‘You seem awfully entertained, little flame.’
Her smile faltered. She sat up straight.Imogen noticed the change immediately and smirked knowingly. “He’s listening again, isn’t he?”
She shot him a glare, cheeks flushing pink. “Can he always hear everything?”
“Oh yes,” Imogen said cheerfully. “Every thought, every sigh, every little…”
“Enough.”
The single word came not from Imogen, but from the doorway.Auren stood there, clad in black and gold, his expression unreadable, though the faint gold fire flickering in his eyes said more than words could.
Imogen turned and bowed dramatically. “Your Grace! We were just discussing her lessons in etiquette. ”
Auren’s gaze darkened. “Careful, Imogen. You’re treading on fire.”
Imogen smirked, unbothered. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Haven wanted the floor to swallow her whole.
Auren stepped closer, ignoring Imogen entirely. His attention was fixed on her. “You’ve learned enough for today.”
“But we were just…”
“I said enough.” His tone softened slightly. “You’ll rest. Lessons resume tomorrow.”
Haven nodded, though her curiosity burned brighter than ever. She rose, offering Imogen a small smile. “Thank you for the lesson.”
“My pleasure, my lady,” he said with a wink. “I look forward to tomorrow’s session.”
\~~~
Meanwhile back at Edenvale, the soft scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, mingling with the hum of evening chatter from the market square. The was winding down for the day, the crimson sun dipping low over the farmlands. Yet, inside the Thorne's cottage, the warmth of the fire did little to chase away the unease pressing in on young Lyra’s chest.
She paced the narrow living room, her curls bouncing with every frustrated step. “It’s been weeks, Mama. Not a letter, not even a sign that she’s alive, nothing.”
Her mother, Mira, looked up from the dough she was kneading, her flour-dusted hands pausing midair. The lines on her face deepened, not from age, but from worry she tried too hard to hide. “Lyra, sit down,” she said wearily. “You’re wearing the floor thin.”
Lyra stopped only to slam her palms on the table. “I can’t just sit here! Haven wouldn’t vanish like this. “How can you be this calm when your daughter is God knows where, and we haven't gotten news."
Mira sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. “Your sister went with the King’s emissaries. We don’t interfere in royal matters, and they certainly don’t report to us.”
“Royal matters?” Lyra scoffed. “They took her, Mama. You think she wanted to go to Drakorath? You think she just woke up one morning and said, ‘I’d like to live with dragons today’?”
“Watch your tone,” Mira warned sharply, though her voice trembled. She too was worried for her little girl. was just trying to be brave like other families had been.
Silence hung between them, heavy and aching. The crackle of the hearth was the only sound until Lyra whispered, “What if she’s hurt?”
Mira turned away, her shoulders stiff. “If she is, there’s nothing we can do. That world is not ours, Lyra. You won't make it to its gates alive. The forest is not Edenvale.”
But Lyra’s mind was already racing. “I can find...”
Her mother’s head snapped toward her. “Don’t you dare finish that thought.”
“I’m serious!” Lyra’s eyes flashed with determination. “Old Tomas is heading north tomorrow to trade horses near the Silver Pass. He’s always bragging that he’s seen the spires of Emberlight from the cliffs. If I follow him…”
“Lyra!” Mira’s voice cut like thunder. “That man couldn’t find his own feet after two cups of ale! You’d get lost before the sun set.”
“I won’t,” Lyra insisted stubbornly. “Tomas may be a tease, but he knows the roads better than anyone. I’ll follow him, Mama. I spoke to him and he said he had no issues.”
Mira stepped forward, gripping her daughter’s shoulders, her eyes fierce. “You are not leaving this village. Do you hear me? Haven made her choice…”
“She didn’t have a choice!” Lyra snapped, wrenching free. “She saved us, Mama. Whatever happened, she did it for us. Do you think if she had refused, they would have just packed up and left? I’m not just going to sit here and wait for her ghost to come home.”
Mira froze, her lips parting, but no words came out. For a moment, Lyra saw the fear in her mother’s eyes. Not just of losing Haven, but of losing her too.
After a long pause, Mira turned back to the table, her voice soft but trembling. “You’ll break what’s left of me if you go.”
Lyra swallowed hard, guilt pricking her chest. She wanted to promise she’d stay. She wanted to tell her mother she’d forget the whole thing. But she couldn’t. She'd be lying.
Haven was out there, somewhere beyond the mountains, beyond the fire and mist, and Lyra wouldn’t rest until she found her.
Later that night, while the moon hung high and the crickets sang, Lyra packed her satchel in silence. Bread, a flask of water, and Haven’s old hair ribbon. From the window, she could already see Tomas’s wagon parked by the well, his donkey snoring loudly beside it.
“Looks like I’m getting a head start,” she whispered to herself, tying the ribbon around her wrist like a promise.