Page 20 of Fallen Nocturne

No one answers. I take a step forward.

The palace is abandoned, but its beauty remains untouched beneath the dust. It’s as though everyone simply walked away one evening and never returned. The tall doors stand open. Paintings remain straight within their gilded frames, and the carved tables beneath them still hold silver bowls and empty vases. Even the long velvet curtains hang neatly beside the windows.

I wander farther into the hall, one hand gathering the hem of my nightdress away from the dusty floor. Everything I pass demands that I stop and look.

The architecture is unlike anything in Aelfheim. Elven buildings invite the natural world inside, allowing trees to grow through open courtyards and flowering vines to climb living walls. This palace was built differently. Every arch reaches high and every doorway is wide enough for a giant.

It should feel cold and severe. Instead, it is magnificent.

I pass through a banquet hall where an immense table stretches beneath three chandeliers, long enough to seat a hundred guests. Silver plates remain arranged before empty chairs as though a feast might begin at any moment. Beyond it lies a conservatory enclosed by tall panes of glass. The plants have long since withered, but their dry vines still curl around iron arches, preserving the shape of the garden that once flourished there.

The lullaby leads me onward.

I should be afraid. This is clearly a place of immense power, abandoned for reasons I cannot begin to guess. Yet fear never comes.

I feel safe here.

More than safe. Welcomed. As though the palace has been waiting for me to return, though I know I have never seen it before.

Where am I?

I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know whose palace this is or what kingdom it once belonged to. Yet the longing in my chest is so fierce that it feels like a fishhook pulling me forward.

Several portraits along the gallery have been covered with protective sheets. Age has loosened the cloth from some, revealing flashes of painted faces and scenes beneath. Men and women recline across couches in various states of undress.

I quickly turn away, my cheeks warming despite the absence of anyone who might catch me staring.

Another portrait draws my attention. It hangs alone between two tall windows, uncovered and untouched by dust.

A man gazes down at me. His expression is stern, almost disapproving, but a faint softness around his eyes undermines the effect. He wears a dark coat embroidered with silver at the collar, and one gloved hand rests upon the pommel of a sword.

Something about him feels familiar.

I move closer and search the painted face for an answer. The small plaque beneath the frame is covered in dust. I wipe it clean.

The lettering is written in an ancient human language. My fingers hover over the words.

“The prince of Morsvyenn,” I whisper.

The name slips from my tongue before I can stop it. I stare at the plaque. The painted man’s eyes seem to shift.

I freeze.

For one breath, I could swear he is no longer looking past me but directly at me. His expression has changed too. The severity is gone, replaced by something so deeply sorrowful that my chest tightens.

Then the light shifts and he is only a painting again. The portrait remains still, but I cannot shake the feeling that its gaze follows me as I hurry from the gallery.

The pull of the lullaby grows stronger. I have learned not to fight dreams. They show you what they want to show you. I keep walking. My footsteps echo in the dark.

I pass a library with shelves climbing three stories high. Narrow iron staircases twist between the levels, and rolling ladders rest against rows of books bound in black, crimson and deep blue leather. At the far end, a collection of smaller figures rests inside a glass cabinet.

My attention catches on a dragon.

It is no longer than my palm, carved from dark green stone veined with silver. Its wings are too small for its body, and one sits slightly crooked. The little creature is poised mid-pounce, its tail lifted for balance. Amber chips form its eyes, glowing faintly beneath the moonlight.

Coral.

It looks exactly like Coral.