The Court towered over them, looking much like a palace. Intricate carvings adorned the walls, shimmering it with an otherworldly luminescence. Tall, ethereal spires reach skyward, and it looked like both a dungeon and a palace at the same time.

It had the touch of royal flair.

Two wolves in armour stood guarding the black, massive doors of the Court, standing on two feet. They looked ferocious and glared at Wren like she'd done something wrong.

'I want,' she spoke, trying to speak clearly, 'to go in.'

'What reason?' growled the first wolf. Wren took a step back.

'We want to meet the High King,' she said without hesitation.

'Oh, a lot of people want to meet the High King,' said the other wolf brusquely. 'You think you're the only one wanting to fangirl over the High King, do ya?'

'We caught one young woman tryna sneak into the Court,' barked the first.

'Caught her good and out, we did,' said the other. He turned back to Wren, baring his teeth. 'No valid reason. Out.'

'I'm the royal princess of Argonian,' Wren persisted. 'Heiress to the throne.'

'Do I care? No I don't,' snarled the wolf. 'Now get out before I chase you out.'

'I'm the lost princess,' Wren tried again, taking another step back. She heard a rustle from the bushes, indicating Ladislaya and Jake, where they were hiding. The three had decided it was best for Wren to go alone.

'The lost princess. From Argonian? You must have heard of me,' Wren said, truly petrified now. 'I just want to speak with the High King and I promise I'm not here to mess around.'

'If you really are the lost princess,' barked one of the wolves, 'where's your crown?'

Wren blinked. 'My - my crown?'

'Yes, your crown,' spat the other wolf. 'True royals wear their crown wherever they go. Prove that you're a royal or you're dead meat!' he roared, spraying spit over Wren. Wren flinched and took another step back.

'Look, I don't wear my crown everywhere I go -' she racked her brains to think of another proof. 'Hey! You know the Dark Witch? She's after me, and I know that.'

'The whole world knows the Dark Witch's after that lost princess, Wren Carezby,' hissed the wolf.

'Yeah, that's me,' Wren said, a twang of irritation. 'Wren Eloria Carezby, sister to Queen Odyssey of Argonian and heiress to the throne. Can you just let me in?'

'No!' spat the wolf.

Wren had the greatest desire to glare at the wolf but that was probably suicide. Instead, she took a deep breath and said, 'Tell me how else to prove I'm a royal other than wearing my crown because unfortunately, I don't have it with me now.'

The wolves bent down so they were level to her face. Cautiously, she took another step back.

'Don't move,' one of them ordered. Wren stayed still.

He drew a short, sharp knife from his armour. Wren swallowed, fighting the urge to turn and run but her feet stayed rooted.

'We'll need your blood.'

'I'd prefer to live,' Wren said shakily.

'Hold out your hand!' roared the other. Spontaneously, Wren held out her right arm, closing her eyes.

She felt the blade plunge into her skin and a wave of pain shot through her. It was a rising crescendo on a piano, gradually getting louder but never loud enough. The pain slammed into her hand like a giant tornado, making her dizzy, faint - she swayed on the spot slightly. Suddenly, the blade withdrew from the palm of her hand. Sharp pain had no mercy on her; it continued like a fatal wave.

She opened her eyes to see a wound on the palm of her hand. Swallowing, she pulled her eyes away and stared at the ground, dripped with her blood. The wolves bent down and sniffed it.

If they didn't let her in after slamming a knife into her hand, she was done.

'Royal blood,' announced the wolf. They straightened up.

'Thanks for stabbing me,' said Wren, her head still feeling dizzy. The wolves ignored her and stepped aside.

'One wrong move and you won't leave,' the first wolf barked.

Wren walked shakily towards the massive doors. They wolves pounded on it twice and they opened slowly, magnificently. Wren's red blood dripped on the front of her dress. Cautiously, she walked in, her foot slipping every now and then. She was in a large entrance hall with polished marble floors and the Court was as dark as midnight. She looked up at the ceiling to see it painted a velvety midnight blue, adorned with stars that swirled around as if they were alive.

'Well, well, well,' said a soft voice from ahead her. 'I heard it's the missing princess.'

Wren turned, looking in front of her. A young man in about his young twenties sat on a midnight black throne adorned with wavery, golden stripes. A gold crown sat unevenly on the tuft of his raven black hair and he had one of his long legs over an armrest. He stared at Wren lazily.

Wren bowed her head towards him. 'My king.'

'Come closer,' he ordered. Slowly, Wren walked towards him. His dark green eyes studied her face. Wren's eyes trailed to his sharp jawline, high cheekbones and pointy nose.

'Wren Carezby, I heard,' the High King said.

'Yes, my king.'

He ignored her. 'Nathaniel Daeyl,' he said and it took Wren a second to realise he was introducing himself. 'High King of Elryzian, ruler of all.'

Wren stood rooted on the spot, not knowing what to say.

'You came here to see me,' the king said, lowering his leg from the armrest and placing his elbows on his knees. 'Why?'

Wren bit her lip. 'I came here to ask you something,' she said, voice confident and whole.

'No, I am not looking for a betrothed,' said the king, his voice bored.

Wren stared. 'What?'

'Well, that was what you were going to ask, weren't you?' his lazy green eyes rolled back to her.

'No,' Wren said, shivering at the thought. 'I came to ask you if you know about the Veil of Whispers.'

'The Veil of what, pardon?' said the king, angling his chiseled face towards her.

'Veil of Whispers. Have you ever heard of it?'

'Have I?' said the king, bemused and looking entertained. 'Of course I have.'

'Tell me.'

'Tell you what?'

'Everything you know about it.'

A grin sparked across his face. 'Darling, you can't expect me to be commanded around. You see, you're a princess. I'm a king. The High King.'

A flush of scarlet seeped to Wren's cheeks. She felt hot; did titles really matter now? Then of course, it mattered.

'I beg your forgiveness, my king,' she muttered, forcing the words out of her mouth.

A throaty laugh escaped the king's throat. 'Forgiven,' he announced. Wren scowled.

'Do you mind if you tell me what you know of the Veil of Whispers, my king?' she said, politer.

'And why would you, of all people, be interested in an artifact this dark?' whispered the king, lowering his face to hers.

Wren didn't answer. The king raised his head slightly. 'Of course,' he said, 'it's the Dark Witch. She's after you, and she wants to kill you.'

Something about the way the High King spoke those words, reminding Wren that her life was on the edge of a cliff, sent tingles down her spine. He gazed at her.

'You want to stop her.'

Five powerful words, the most obvious in Wren's world, but now she felt like she shared the world with the High King.

'Wouldn't you, if you were in my shoes?' she said. 'Wouldn't you want to end her? Imagine if someone wanted to step into your kingdom. Rule over it. Have you banished. And they want to kill you because they believe you are the downfall of their kingdom, you are the key to destroying them. Wouldn't you want to end them?'

The High King gazed at her imploringly. 'Yes,' he said softly. 'Yes I would.'

Wren took a step back when he stood up from his throne and walked down the steps of his stage to reach her.

'You're the heiress, Wren Carezby,' he said to her, walking around her like a predator. 'Why bother if you don't own the kingdom?'

Wren felt the familiar twang of irritation in her chest. He was pulling her out of her own question, avoiding it, playing with her, thinking she was a game.

'It will be my kingdom,' Wren said throatily.

'And you want the best for your people?'

He was speaking like she owned Argonian, like she was the queen.

'Yes.'

'You're one of a kind, Wren Carezby,' mused the king, stopping in his tracks so he was a few feet behind her. 'You're one of a kind.'

Wren irritation shimmered beneath her skin; the High King's words like an intricate dance around her truth. She felt a mixture of frustration and curiosity as he circled her, his words laden with hidden meanings. The weight of her crownless title, the heiress to a kingdom, hung heavy on her shoulders.

And yet, she couldn't shake the feeling Nathaniel Daeyl was playing a dangerous game in which she was a mere pawn. Wren's eyes stayed fixed ahead, but her mind raced, attempting to decipher the High King's intentions.

'Intriguing,' he murmured. 'Just one tiny little flaw. A tiny little flaw in this brilliant game.'

'Yes, he definitely thought she was a game.

'Why does the Veil of Whispers have anything to do with the Dark Witch, Wren Carezby?'

'Everything,' Wren said, not wanting to elaborate. 'I'm just asking for one favour, my king. What do you know about the Veil of Whispers?'

The king held up one long finger. 'Before I dive into that,' he said, 'what makes you think I know anything about the Veil of Whispers?'

Wren paused for a moment. 'Everything.'

'Feisty, aren't you?'

'Can't say I'm not. This is the Court of Eternal Arcana, so that's also one of the many, many reasons why you might know something, or most probably, everything about the mirror.'

The king walked back towards his throne. 'Wine,' he said.

'What?'

'He snapped his fingers and a goblin scurried out of nowhere, holding a tray that held a glass of red wine on it. Picking up the glass, he smirked at Wren. 'Just requesting for my usual dose of wine.'

Wren was exasperated. 'I'm just asking if you know -'

'The Veil of Whispers has many secrets,' said the king loudly, taking no notice of Wren. 'Being a portal is one of them.'

Shock consumed Wren.

'You're wrong.'

The High King choked on his wine. 'I'm sorry?'

'You're wrong. The mirror's not a portal.'

'Now I beg your pardon, Your Majesty,' said the king in a tone Wren didn't like. 'You asked if I knew anything about the Veil of Whispers. I gave you my answer. It's a portal, and whther you like it or not, you can't change the fact that it is.'

'It's not a portal,' Wren said again. 'I couldn't even put a fist into it, so it's definitely not one.'

'There are certain ways one has to do and/or get in order to activate the mirr - what did you say?'

Wren blinked. 'I said I couldn't even put a fist into the mirror.'

Nathaniel Daeyl glared at her and she saw the knuckles of his hand turn white by gripping his beloved glass of wine so tightly.

'You have the mirror.'

It was that very moment that Wren knew she made a mistake.

'I - it's not -'

'You have it,' hissed the king, now gripping his glass of wine so tightly Wren could feel almost sorry for the glass, 'you have it and how in bloody hell did you get your hands on it?'

The glass of wine he was holding shattered; Wren took a step back as he took a step closer towards her. 'Truth. Now.' he demanded, fixing his eyes on hers.

Wren opened her mouth -

'Don't even think about lying.'

Wren glared into thin air. Was his ability to read minds, or predict what one was about to say, or perhaps glamouring someone to speak truth?

'I got it from the Palace of Iridia.'

'You stole.'

Wren's jaw clenched.

'You're a thief.'

Wren's nostrils flared as she held her ground, refusing to back down under her weight of accusation. The High's King's glare pierced through her.

'It's not stealing if it's rightfully mine,' Wren retorted. 'The Soulstone's in it, and Nicaea Valdis desires it. She wants it to erase her memory as well as shape it into a weapon that can help her destroy me.'

The High King flinched before his lips curled into a sly smile. 'Bold words, Wren Carezby, but ownership does not make it so. The Soulstone's power transcends the borders of all kingdoms in Elryzian. It is a powerful artifact and I won't even ask why you know the Soulstone's in the mirror.'

'So it is in the mirror, then?' Wren said, pouncing at once.

'I won't deny,' remarked the High King.

Wren's shoulders relaxed. 'You're still a thief,' the king said. 'Ownership does not change the fact. Besides, how are you so sure it's rightfully yours?'

'I'm not,' Wren said with no hesitation. 'But I claim it mine because I need it.'

'Oh Wren,' the king said. 'You don't know the rights and wrongs, do you?'

'Sometimes,' Wren said. 'Stealing it might have been wrong, I'll admit. But it was a right kind of wrong.'

The king studied her carefully. 'And how very right you are,' he mused.

Wren didn't say anything. The king reformed his seat on the throne, resting both his legs over an armrest now. 'Wine,' he ordered. The goblin made its appearance again. 'And clean this up.' The king waved vaguely towards the mess of shattered glass on the floor.

Wren took a breath. 'So you claim the mirror's a portal.'

'I claim?' the king gave a hearty laugh. 'No, I don't claim. I know so.'

'How do I get in?' Wren said, taking care not to break eye contact. 'How do I link the portal?'

Nathaniel Daeyl let his eyes slip to hers. 'You have to say an enchantment,' he announced. 'A forgotten enchantment.'

Wren let her breath out. 'Okay. Thanks. So what's the enchantment?'

The king lowered his gaze. 'Not that simple,' he said. 'Truth is, this enchantment has been long forgotten.'

Wren felt the heat rising to her face. 'What? You don't know it either?'

'I don't,' he spoke, his voice rising higher an octave. 'But I can show you.'