A Flicker Before Dawn

Kael was already halfway down the main corridor, boots striking the stone in sharp, disciplined rhythm.

The King had ordered him to attend the court in person — to oversee the final review before any verdict.

He was late by minutes. Just minutes.

But as he turned the corner toward the great hall, the echo of voices was already gone.

Strange. Why had it ended so soon?

Then a sound.

A sound that froze his blood where he stood.

A scream.

Not of pain — of despair.

“Please! Don’t take me! Please—I’ll be good! I promise! I didn’t—please—”

Kael’s chest seized. His steps faltered.

That voice

That was Suzan.

He broke into a run, heart pounding like a drum in his ears. The corridors blurred past, banners shivering in the gust of his passing.

At the end of the hall, a pair of guards stood before a side passage, hurriedly sealing the entry closing the heavy lattice gate that led down to the lower halls.

“Wait!” Kael shouted, breath sharp. “What are you doing—? What happened here?”

The older guard turned, startled guilt flickering across his face before discipline snapped it away.

“The court session’s over, sir,” he said stiffly. “The prisoner’s been taken back.”

“Taken back?” Kael demanded, his voice rising. “Why? What was decided?”

The younger guard swallowed. “The verdict was issued. Execution approved for dawn.”

Kael froze. The words struck harder than any blade.

His throat closed, rage boiling beneath his calm exterior.

“By whose order?” he hissed.

“The High Court, sir,” the older one said quietly. “They said there was no point in delay. Permission wasn’t needed for a confirmed sentence.”

Kael hands curled into fists. “The King hasn’t authorized this.”

“The judges said mercy has already cost too much time,” the guard murmured, eyes downcast.

Kael stared at them at the polished marble, the torchlight trembling on steel as though the world itself had split open.

From down the corridor, faint but distinct, came the fading sound of chains.

And her voice.

“Please… I didn’t do anything… please…”

It was weaker now, broken between sobs the last shreds of her voice dragging against the stone.

Kael moved before he thought, pushing past the guards, his boots striking the floor like thunder.

He caught sight of the escort turning a corner below, dragging her small form through the lower archway.

Her cry echoed up the stairwell a raw, pleading sound that didn’t belong in any court of law.

Then silence.

He stopped, breath shaking, the torchlight flickering across his face.

He had seen war. He had seen men die screaming, their blood soaking the earth. But none of it none of it sounded like this.

This was the sound of innocence crushed beneath the weight of law.

He turned away slowly, hand gripping the stone wall so hard his knuckles went white.

His heart felt hollow, his breath uneven.

'They’re turning her into a living corpse' he thought.

'And when she’s gone… what will be left to save?'

*********

By the time Kael reached the throne room, his composure had all but broken. His boots echoed sharply across the marble, each step hollow, hurried, wrong. He stopped halfway to the dais and bowed, breath shaking.

“Sire…”

The word barely escaped him.

“They pushed through the verdict,” he said, voice cracking despite his discipline. “They’ve… set her execution for dawn. Before your order.”

The silence that followed Kael’s words was suffocating.

For a heartbeat, silence ruled the chamber cold and absolute.

Only the flicker of the torches dared to move.

The King did not move. He didn't speak at first. His jaw tightened; the veins in his temple shifted beneath his skin.

Only the slow curl of his fingers against the armrest betrayed the storm beneath his stillness. His eyes darkened, not with confusion, but with fury he refused to show.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet too quiet.

“They dared,” Eldric said at last so softly that the air itself seemed to bow to it. “They dared to defy royal decree and pushed it through before my word reached them."

Kael head bowed low. “The court called it efficiency, Your Majesty. They said mercy delays judgment.”

The King rose. The weight of his mantle swept across the floor, the faint rustle echoing through the hall like thunder muffled behind clouds.

“Mercy delays corruption,” he said, his tone a blade’s edge of calm. “And judgment delivered in haste is nothing but cowardice."

Kael head lower further. “Yes, Your Majesty. They claimed it was to maintain order… to prevent further ‘sympathy’ from clouding judgment.”

The King’s eyes narrowed. “Sympathy?” He walked, the robe of state whispering behind him against the marble floor. “Is that what they call mercy now?”

The air around him shifted not loud, not fiery but heavy with restrained fury. Even the guards at the door stood straighter, afraid to breathe too loudly.

When Eldric finally turned toward Kael, his face was carved in shadow.

“Bring me the card, we will deliver it to her now” he said at last, the words edged with command.

And a scribe brought it from his desk in the study not daring to meet his kings eyes.

Eldric took it and said "She must know,” his voice trembled just enough for Kael to hear the human beneath the king. “She must know I have not given up on her. That none of us have.”

Kael lifted his eyes. For a moment, the mask of duty faltered there was grief there, and guilt, and something like devotion.

“She’s fading, Your Majesty,” he said quietly. “But perhaps… hope can still reach where medicine cannot.”

Eldric’s expression cracked. Just slightly. Enough for sorrow to show through the iron.

“Then bring someone to send it to her now,” he whispered. “Before the light leaves her eyes for good.”

Kael straightened, ready. “I can take it to her myself.”

The King shook his head. “No. I have another task for you, Kael. One that cannot wait.”

His tone softened then almost fatherly. “I want her to remember that the world isn’t all dark and cruel. That there’s still something left worth holding on to.”

Kael bowed deeply. “At once, my King.”

He turned sharply and called for one of the guards stationed by the door. The man knelt immediately, eyes wide at the sight of the golden card the King now held.

Eldric stepped forward, his gaze steady, his words a vow.

“Take this,” he said, placing the card carefully into the guard’s gloved hands. “And make sure she holds it with her own hands. No one else’s. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the guard breathed, bowing low.

“Go,” the King ordered. “And let her see even in her darkest hour that her King has not abandoned her.”

The guard left, footsteps echoing down the long marble hall until the sound faded into silence.

For a long time, Eldric stood quiet before the high windows. And Kael waited, The night wind slipped through the open curtains, carrying the faint scent of rain.

“Hold on, child,” he murmured, his voice a whisper lost to the shadows.

“Hold on until we can set you free.”

*********

The High Court’s tall doors burst open, slamming against marble as a cluster of nobles swept out into the fading afternoon light.

Silks whispered. Rings flashed. Their smug whispers drifted like smoke across the courtyard.

Suzan’s execution was set.

The street rat would be gone by dawn.

Lord Vercian loosened the clasp at his throat, inhaling as though justice itself had been restored.

“One less nuisance,” he muttered, satisfied. “The court was decisive today.”

They moved down the polished steps toward the noble district a quiet, manicured quarter built for comfort and reputation, where even the streets smelled of lavender oil and politics.

Halfway across the tiled bridge, Vercian slowed.

His companion frowned.

“What now?”

Vercian didn’t answer.

Because at the far end of the walkway, someone had stepped into view.

A young girl in pale robes, walking with soft, unhurried steps so gentle that even the breeze seemed to hush around her.

And the nobles’ faces drained of color.

Vercian’s breath hitched.

His hand clenched the railing so hard the veins on his wrist stood out.

“No… no, no, no,” he whispered, horror crawling up his spine.

“Why now? Of all moments—why now?”

His companion went rigid beside him, eyes wide, throat bobbing in a hard swallow.

“Gods preserve us,” he breathed.
“It's Princess Jane. She's back?"

There was something almost saintly in the way she walked — serene, graceful, untouched by the noise of court politics.

No entourage.

No carriages.

Only two palace guards trailing respectfully behind her at a distance, their heads slightly bowed.

Princess Jane.

Not the queen.

Not a council figure.

Not someone wrapped in titles and power struggles.

Just Jane — the first daughter of Eldric, the princess the kingdom called 'the gently blessed', the healer who bowed back to shopkeepers and knelt to bandage a servant’s scraped knee.

Veira's divine healing burrower like her parents, her gift used not for war, but to mend and soothe.

She had been away these past days in the outer wards, responding to pleas from the border villages after a skirmish — tending to the wounded, children and soldiers alike, her presence bringing hope where medicine alone could not.

And now, unexpectedly, she had come home to her villa deep in the noble district’s quiet, blooming lanes.

Every noble froze.

Some bowed as she passed, stiff and nervous, unsure of what to do.

Jane merely returned a small nod, her robe brushing lightly against the polished stone.

She paused when a servant’s basket spilled across the walkway, kneeling with effortless grace.

“Easy now,” she murmured, brushing dust from a trembling child’s sleeve before handing the basket back with a gentle smile.

The guards at her back bowed their heads again, as if protective of something far purer than royalty.

She looked harmless

Soft.
Calm.
Gentle.

The exact kind of person who could ruin everything.

A living contradiction to the blood-signed verdict the nobles had forced through only moments earlier.

Vercian nearly choked.

“Of all days…” he hissed under his breath. “Today?”

A young guard sprinted from the nobles’ carriage not a palace guard, but one of their own house servants, panting hard.

“My Lords! I heard Princess Jane returned early from the outer wards. Your orders?”

The nobles exchanged a single look dread tangled with calculation.

Vercian seized the guard’s tunic.

“Listen carefully. Princess Jane must be kept away from the palace. Away from the lower halls. Away from anything concerning today’s ruling.”

“But… she’s a royal,” the guard stammered, confused.

“She does not need a title to be dangerous,” Vercian snapped.

The guard blinked.

Vercian’s companion leaned close, whispering through clenched teeth,

“You truly don’t understand, do you? She isn’t feared for her status.”

He swallowed hard.

“She’s feared because she is kind.”

A heavy silence fell over the bridge.

He continued, voice barely audible:

“Princess Jane is danger wrapped in gentleness. If she hears even a whisper — even the faintest rumor that a child is being mistreated…”

His voice thinned into fear.

“…she will act.”

Vercian’s jaw locked.

“She will investigate. She will question every guard. She will demand to see the prisoner with her own eyes.”

He looked down the lane, following the fading glimpse of Jane’s silhouette as she turned into the quiet street lined with white-stone walls and flowering trees.

“And once she sees that girl’s condition…”

His voice trembled.
“…she will tear apart every lie we built.”

But the companion wasn’t finished.

“And worst of all — she’ll go to the King.”

He swallowed.
“And he will listen.”

Because Jane wasn’t just a princess.

She was the daughter who carried her mother’s compassion and her father’s stubborn morality — the embodiment of justice, fairness, and truth.

A girl who once walked into a noble’s estate unarmed and uncovered an entire trafficking ring simply by asking why a servant flinched.

A girl who had gotten corrupt inspectors dismissed because she noticed falsified medical records for the poor.

A girl who believed — fiercely, stubbornly, dangerously — that no rank stood above what was right.

She had no weapon.

No army.

No political ambition.

And yet she could dismantle the most carefully constructed schemes simply by caring.

The guard swallowed again, finally understanding.

“Nothing reaches her,” Vercian ordered, the urgency cracking through his composure.

“No whispers of trials. No mention of injuries. No hint of what waits at dawn.”

He straightened sharply, cloak rustling like a threat.

“Keep her ignorant. No matter the cost.”

The guard bowed deeply and ran.

The nobles stood frozen on the bridge, watching the villa door close in the distance — gentle, harmless, quiet.

And yet their hands shook.

Kindness frightened them more than any sword ever could.

Because kind people expose cruelty simply by noticing it.

Vercian exhaled shakily.

“May the gods damn this timing,” he whispered.

What none of them knew

what not a single noble could fathom

was that the girl they had condemned to die by sunrise…....

was Princess Jane’s little sister.

*******************

Down below, in the darkness of her cell, Suzan lay half-collapsed on the floor.

Her hair clung to her face, damp with sweat and tears.

Her lips trembled, shaping words that barely made sound.

“Please… spare me…”

Her voice was hoarse raw, ruined the sound of someone who had screamed until her throat could bleed no more.

For hours she had begged, pleaded, promised anything to be freed, until her pleas were no longer words but faint, broken breaths.

“Please… I didn’t… I didn’t do anything…”

Her fingers curled weakly against the cold stone, nails scraping the damp floor.

“Please… I’ll be good… I’ll go home… I won’t run again… please…”

No one answered.

The guards outside her cell stood in silence, their eyes averted.

No one dared to move.
No one dared to speak.

Her voice faded to a whisper, then to nothing at all.

Her body still held strength Kael’s mana had seen to that but her will was ebbing fast. The body endured; the spirit did not.

Every breath was a tremor of disbelief, every heartbeat a quiet question of 'why live if no one believes me?'

She wept until her eyes burned dry, her chest hitching soundlessly, tears soaking the stone beneath her cheek.

Hope had left her long ago; now even fear was gone. Only the hollow ache remained.

It was then long past noon that footsteps echoed through the corridor.

Not the usual march of guards changing shift, but slower. Heavier.

A royal guard entered the lower halls, a lamp in one hand and a small golden card in the other. The light caught the metal, scattering faint gold across the dungeon walls.

The men stationed there stiffened.

A royal seal.

Silence swept through the hall.

The guard’s voice was steady, though his throat was tight.

“By command of His Majesty,” he said, holding the parchment high, “the prisoner is to be summoned to the palace. Tomorrow at first light." He announced.

Shock rippled through the room. Some of the guards exchanged glances — disbelief, confusion, envy, even a flicker of guilt.

None spoke.

The royal guard walked in to her cell.

When the cell door opened, Suzan barely stirred.

The lamp’s light spilled across her face, and she flinched, blinking at its brightness.

The man with the golden card stepped inside. His armor creaked softly as he knelt beside her.

“From the palace,” he said, his voice low. “For you.”

She blinked again, dazed, her eyes bloodshot and hollow. “What… what is it?”

“A summon,” he murmured. “You’re to see the King tomorrow.”

Her lips parted, but no sound came.

Her mind couldn’t form the meaning.

The word King meant nothing to her now — only another face of power, another hand ready to hurt her.

“They’ll all be the same,” she whispered faintly, her voice breaking halfway through. “They won’t believe me.”

The guard hesitated. For a moment, the weight of his helmet seemed too heavy to bear. Then he lowered himself further, the lamplight catching the sadness in his eyes.

“Maybe not,” he said softly. “But someone wants you alive. Hold on to that, at least.”

Suzan stared at him, uncomprehending, until he reached for her hand — trembling, cold — and pressed the card into it.

The gold caught the dim light.

The royal crest gleamed faintly beneath the grime of her fingers.

It felt warm.

And in this hollow pit of stone and chains, it was the only thing that glowed — fragile, bright, impossibly alive.

For the first time in days, Suzan closed her hand around something other than chains.

_____________

Author's note 

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