The Dragon Queen Selection Chapter 46

LIRA

The Queen’s summons felt more like a sentencing than a briefing. We stood in the grand hall, a handful of girls trying to look brave under the weight of Queen Seraphina’s gaze. It was a look that could strip paint from walls and courage from hearts.

“There have been… a lot going on lately,” she began, her voice a blade honed on decades of rule. The silence in the room was so absolute I could hear the frantic beat of my own heart.

“We are working tirelessly to find the person who did this and get the Selection back on track,” she continued, and I believed her. A disrupted Selection was a sign of a weak crown, and Seraphina would never tolerate that. “But we must ensure your safety first. For now, rest. Stay vigilant. Report anything suspicious."

"And remember, if this news goes beyond the palace walls, not only will it jeopardize the Queen's selection, but also your own lives and reputation."

Then her voice, for the briefest moment, lost its steely edge. “And keep Lady Lenora in your prayers. She is strong in her faith. I encourage you to pray for her as she would have for any of you.”

We all nodded, a chorus of solemn, frightened girls.

The visit to the infirmary to see Lenora that afternoon was worse. The air smelled of harsh antiseptics and sweet, cloying flowers that did nothing to mask the scent of sickness. Lenora lay in the center of it all, a pale, still doll against the white linens. The vibrant, gentle girl who blushed at a kind word was gone, replaced by this fragile doll. Vivienne and Amara murmured words that sounded hollow in the oppressive quiet. I hung back, my guilt a sour taste in my mouth.

This wasn't some courtly game of spilled wine or stolen ribbons. This was a life, flickering. The poison was meant for Calista, but it had struck poor Lenora. And while I probably wouldn't have shed a tear for Calista, seeing Lenora here, her chest rising and falling in a shallow, mechanical rhythm, made my stomach clench with a cold, hard fury. No one deserved this.

Elora materialized beside me, her presence as quiet as a ghost’s. “She doesn’t deserve this,” she whispered, her wide eyes glistening.

“No one does,” I replied, the words feeling utterly inadequate.

“I’m starting to worry about her now…” Her voice trembled, voicing the fear we all felt but dared not name.

“She will recover,” I said, forcing a confidence I didn't feel. “Lenora is strong-willed. You know her.” But the words rang false. Strength of will was a poor defense against such a brutal toxin.

Seeking fresh air, I guided Elora out of the infirmary and into the palace gardens. The sunlight was a shock after the gloom, the scent of blooming jasmine a relief from the smell of sickness. We walked in silence for a while, the gravel path crunching beneath our slippers.

“It’s all becoming so real, isn’t it?” Elora said finally, her voice small. “It was all so exciting at first. The dresses, the balls, the Crown Prince…” She trailed off, and I knew she wasn't just talking about the poisoning. She was talking about the brutal reality of our situation.

Before I could form a reply, a familiar voice cut through the garden's tranquility.

“Lady Lira.”

We turned to see Prince Evander approaching, his hands tucked casually into his pockets. His smile was easy, but his eyes, as always, held a deeper, more observant light. “A pleasant afternoon for a walk,” he said, his gaze lingering on me for a moment too long. “I hope you are both… bearing up.”

“We are, Your Highness,” I said, dipping into a curtsy. “Thank you.”

He exchanged a few more pleasantries, asked after Elora’s family, but his attention, subtle yet unmistakable, kept drifting back to me. After a moment, he bowed and continued on his way, leaving a prolonged silence in his wake.

The moment he was out of earshot, Elora turned to me, her earlier anxiety replaced by a spark of girlish curiosity. “He likes you,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.

I felt a flush creep up my neck. “Don’t be absurd. He’s just being polite.”

“Polite?” Elora let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “Lira, I’ve seen him be polite. That was not it. He sought you out. His entire demeanor changes when he speaks to you.” She linked her arm with mine, pulling me closer. “It’s not such a bad thing, you know. He’s kind and lovely."

Her words sent a jolt of panic through me. The last thing I needed was for anyone, especially a potential ally like Elora, to suspect any kind of alliance with a prince. “There is nothing to see,” I insisted, my tone firmer than I intended. “And even if there were, my focus is on surviving this Selection, not… him.”

Elora’s smile faded, replaced by a look of quiet resignation. She looked out over the manicured hedges, her expression turning wistful. “I understand. I… I had a crush on Prince Cassian for years. Ever since I saw him at a tournament when I was thirteen.” She gave a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I used to dream about him noticing me. But being here, seeing the reality of it all… I’ve made my peace with it. He will never pick me. And that’s alright.”

Her confession was so raw and honest it stole my breath. Here was a girl who understood the fantasy and had gracefully accepted its end, while I was trapped in a nightmare of my own making, clinging to a dangerous reality she couldn't even imagine.

I squeezed her arm, a genuine gesture of sympathy for a dream I was actively working to shatter. “Well I'd say you deserve better. Someone who truly sees you, Elora. Truly sees you.”