ShadowBound: The Need For Power

The queen’s chamber had once been one of the warmest rooms in the royal wing, designed with Seralyne’s preferences in every detail. It had wide windows overlooking the inner gardens, pale curtains that glowed in the afternoon light, shelves of old poetry and political histories, low tables set with delicate porcelain, and walls decorated with polished silver mirrors framed in carved wood.

Now, everything that could reflect had been covered. The mirrors were draped in thick cloth from top to bottom. The polished trays had been removed. The tall glass cabinet near the writing desk had been veiled. Even the windows had their curtains partly drawn despite the brightness outside, muting the garden view and reducing the chance of reflections in the glass.

Bowls of still water were gone. The silver-backed brushes from her vanity had been hidden away. What remained was a room that looked like it had been stripped of its own memory, beautiful in shape but wounded in spirit.

There were other changes too. Protective talismans had been placed near the corners, though none had shown any true effect. Soft calming incense burned near the far wall, not strong enough to overwhelm the room, but present enough to leave a faint herbal scent beneath the heavier air.

A healer’s chair sat near the bed. Folded blankets lay stacked on a side table. A cup of untouched tea had gone cold near the armrest of a reading chair. Everything carried the careful arrangement of people trying to manage suffering they did not understand.

Seralyne was not in the bed.

She was curled up on the couch in the far corner of the chamber, wrapped in a robe that looked too loose around her frame, rocking herself back and forth with her knees drawn close and her hands gripping the fabric near her arms.

The sight of her struck Tharionson harder than he expected, though he had seen her like this before. Perhaps that was why it hurt worse. The first time had been horror. Now it was recognition. This was no longer an impossible moment. It had become part of their days.

Queen Seralyne Magna, who had once moved through court with quiet grace and a stare that could silence ambitious nobles without a raised voice, now sat folded into herself like a frightened child hiding from something only she could see.

Tharionson swallowed the ache rising in his throat and approached slowly. He did not move like a commander now. He moved like a son trying not to scare his mother.

"Mother," he called softly.

Seralyne did not react. Her lips were moving, but the words were too faint to understand. Her eyes were open, fixed somewhere near the floor, though Tharionson doubted she was seeing the carpet or the table beside her. She rocked again, slowly, her fingers tightening and loosening in the robe. Tharionson stopped a few steps away, careful not to enter her space too quickly.