Chapter 85 FEAR
“She ran,” the maid whispered. “Toward… her. Or toward nothing.”
They searched until dawn.
Guards fanned out, torches blazing. Mages traced sigils through the air, muttering incantations meant to reveal hidden doors, illusions, and hidden passageways.
Nothing answered.
Lady Rowena was never found.
But the disappearances did not end the unrest.
By morning, the palace had changed.
Doors were barred. Corridors were watched. Even servants moved in pairs, glancing over their shoulders as though expecting a hand to reach from thin air and drag them away.
Still, the whispers grew.
“It’s her,” some said. “The lost queen.”
“She’s angry,” others murmured. “They replaced her.”
“No,” a few whispered more quietly, with certainty. “Someone is using her name.”
Celine sat alone in her chamber, listening.
She did not light a candle. Darkness suited her now. It hid the faint tremor in her hands as she poured herself wine.
Two consorts dead. One vanished.
It had gone too far.
She had intended fear—not chaos. Control—not madness. Whatever was happening now did not answer to her.
For the first time in many nights, unease crept into her chest.
\---
Across the palace, Adrian stood alone in Athalia’s old solar, staring at the tapestries she had chosen—scenes of ancient queens, of towers wreathed in stars, of women holding flames in their bare hands.
“Are you really doing this?” he asked the empty room.
The air stirred faintly.
He laughed once, sharp and humorless. “If you are, you’ve chosen a strange way to speak.”
A knock came at the door.
“Enter,” he said.
Captain Caleb stepped inside, helm tucked beneath his arm. His face was drawn.
“We found something, sire.”
Adrian straightened. “Where?”
“Near the path. It wasn’t there before or probably didn't see it.”
Caleb led him back to the eastern gardens, now gray with morning mist. The grass glittered with dew. The fireflies were gone.
“There,” Caleb said, pointing.
At first, Adrian saw nothing. Then his eyes adjusted.
The air ahead of them wavered.
Not like heat or mist. It bent light subtly, turning straight lines into curves, colors into muted shadows. When Adrian stepped closer, his stomach lurched, as though the ground had dropped an inch beneath his feet.
“What is that?” he whispered.
“A veil ,” Caleb said. “Magic.”
They had found it.
A mage stepped forward, hands already glowing. He spoke a word sharp enough to sting the ear and thrust his palm toward the distortion.
The magic struck—and shattered.
Not the veil, but the spell.
The mage staggered back, blood trickling from his nose. “It’s layered,” he gasped. “Anchored in ancient magic.”
Adrian took another step forward, and the veil shifted.
For a heartbeat, he saw stone where grass had been. Gray walls rising impossibly tall. Narrow windows. Runes glowing faintly along the base.
A tower.
Then the vision snapped back, leaving only empty ground.
Adrian reeled.
“It’s here,” he said hoarsely. “Right in front of us.”
“Yes,” Caleb replied.
“Break it open,” Adrian thundered.
They tried.
Spells bent the air and cracked the ground. Force met resistance and slid away harmlessly. Roots as thick as arms coiled invisibly around the structure, sealing it from every side.
“Your Majesty,” Caleb said at last. “We cannot open it.”
He pointed upward. “The only access is the window at the top.”
As the sun climbed higher, the realization settled over them like frost.
The tower had never vanished.
They had simply been made blind.
And it would have to be climbed.
\---
That night, the palace slept poorly.
Adrian lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the maid’s words.
She said the queen was calling her name.
“What if it wasn’t a lie?” he murmured.
\---
Far away—yet impossibly close—Athalia lay within the tower, her hand pressed weakly against the cold stone.
She was unconscious.
But Selene stood nearby.
She had felt the disturbance earlier—a ripple through the magic that bound the tower. For the first time since Athalia’s imprisonment, the air had shuddered, struck by something heavy and desperate.
King Adrian.
His name had not left Athalia’s lips, but her heart had spoken it anyway.
Selene needed to stop him. Quickly.
Yet things were already moving, slowly and without echo.
Women who came too close to the tower felt what Athalia felt—loss, fear, longing twisted into madness. The veil did not kill them.
It unmade them.
And now Adrian had seen through it.
Selene sank to her knees, whispering words to the stone.
“I didn’t mean for this.”
The runes pulsed differently.
\---
In the cold isolation of her chamber, Celine stood before her mirror, staring at her reflection as though it belonged to someone else.
“I didn’t do this,” she said aloud.
The reflection did not blink.
Behind her, the candle guttered—and went out.
A voice rose from the darkness, soft and amused.
“No,” it said. “You did not.”
Celine spun, heart hammering. “Who’s there?”
A figure stepped forward, resolving slowly from shadow—tall, hooded, eyes glowing faintly silver.
“Who are you?” Celine breathed.
The sorceress smiled. “You always wanted credit for more than you earned.”
Celine clenched her fists. “What are you doing here? You said Athalia was out of the way. You said the tower was gone.”
“I said no one would find it,” Selene replied calmly. “There is a difference.”
“We had a deal,” Celine demanded. “This—this is despicable.”
“I gave you what you asked for,” Selene said gently. “Imprisonment.”
“No,” she corrected softly. “Punishment for sin.”
Celine backed away. “What does her sin have to do with the others you’re killing?”
“I am allowing the tower to do what it was built to do,” Selene said. “And I am honoring the consequence of a broken promise.”
Her gaze sharpened. “As for you, I will protect you—from those who would replace you.”
“And when the king finds her?” Celine asked. “He has already torn down your veil.”
Selene’s eyes gleamed. “Then we will see whether love can survive the tower’s strength.”
\---
As tents were raised around the invisible structure and preparations made to climb, Adrian stood before the shimmering air, torchlight flickering uselessly against it.
“I know you’re in there, Athalia,” he said.
“Wait for me. This time, I will save you.”
The air beneath his hand grew warm.
Somewhere beyond sight, Athalia’s eyes remained closed, hovering on the edge of death.
And when dawn came, they wasted no time beginning the ascent.