A Court of Fire and Shadow

The cobbled streets of Hawn City were damp from an early morning rain, the gray sky casting a pall over the sprawling cityscape. Morrigan adjusted the hood of her deep crimson cloak, pulling it closer to shield her face from the light drizzle. The weight of her presence in this city was suffocating, every step feeling like a tether that dragged her further from the freedom of Velaris.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered to herself as she reached the towering gates of the court's administrative wing. Her golden hair, tucked beneath the hood, seemed to itch with frustration, a reminder of how out of place she felt here. Hawn City might have been under her family's rule, but it had never been her home—not truly.

The guards at the entrance, stiff and mechanical, inclined their heads in acknowledgment. "Lady Morrigan," one of them said. She didn't bother to reply, her amber-brown eyes fixed ahead as she swept past them into the building. Her boots echoed on the polished stone floors as she made her way to the grand hall where Nala would undoubtedly be waiting.

Nala. Mor's lips tightened at the thought of the court's new ruler, according to Rhys' newest idea. Efficient, calculating, and impossibly dutiful, Nala represented everything Mor loathed about this place. The court of her father, Keir, was a cage, and Nala was now one of its many locks.

"Lady Morrigan," came the smooth voice as Mor entered the hall. Nala was already there, her golden hair swept back in a severe style, her amber eyes as sharp as ever. While the two might be able to be more casual in the freedom of Velaris, this were Hawn city and it demanded another level of formality.  She was poring over a series of ledgers and scrolls spread across a massive oak table. "You're late."

Mor bit back the retort that sprang to her lips. She didn't owe Nala an explanation for anything. Instead, she strode to the table and leaned against it, crossing her arms. "Rhys told me that I simply had to be here before nightfall and it's not yet nightfall."

Nala didn't look up from her work. "The court doesn't wait on anyone's whims. Not even yours."

A muscle ticked in Mor's jaw, but she forced a careless shrug. "Then let's get this over with. What mundane tasks do you need my help with today?"

Finally, Nala raised her eyes, meeting Mor's gaze with a steely calm that made Mor's skin prickle. "The merchants' guild is demanding more favorable tariffs, the northern borders require additional patrols after recent raider activity, and the estate's accounts are in disarray after years of being in your family's incapable hands." She gestured to the chaos of documents. "I thought you might enjoy using your sharp tongue to deal with the guild, at least."

"Enjoy" was a stretch. Mor glanced at the ledgers, the columns of figures swimming in her vision. She'd always despised the tedious politics of court life. Still, it was better than sitting in a room with Keir. "Fine. I'll handle the guild."

Nala's lips curved into the barest hint of a smile. "Good. They'll be here within the hour."

"Perfect," Mor drawled, sarcasm dripping from the word. She straightened and paced to the window, looking out at the city beyond. It was vast and impressive in its own way, but it lacked the magic, the life of Velaris. Her fingers itched for a glass of wine at the House of Wind, for a stroll along the Sidra. Instead, she was trapped here, surrounded by her father's shadow and memories she'd rather forget.

"You don't want to be here." Nala's voice cut through the silence, startling Mor. "Your disdain is written all over your face."

Mor turned, arching a brow. "And you're thrilled to have me here, I'm sure. Why you said yes to Rhys' plan I'll never understand."

Nala's expression didn't waver. "My feelings are irrelevant. The court needs you, whether you like it or not. We must all do our part to make it through these dark times. "