Chapter 5: The Unveiling

The execution was a spectacle. A yellow-painted witch was pulled to the scaffold, her face twisted in terror. The crowd gathered, their whispers rising into roars, propelled by hatred, fear, and superstition.

"The golden witch must die!" someone shouted.

Orion watched from the shadows, expression unreadable. His people never truly loved him; they never looked at him with admiration. But they feared him, and that was enough.

The executioner raised his blade. A sharp gasp rippled through the crowd as the head fell, rolling lifelessly onto the bloodstained wood.

A killer. The last witch who had spent years rotting in his dungeons, a soul already lost to darkness.

The people believed the girl he had captured was dead. That was all that mattered.

Orion turned away before the body was taken down, his mind already elsewhere. He had orchestrated this deception not to protect Sylvara, not out of mercy, but because he detested being told what to do. Let them think the witch was gone. Let them believe their fears had been put to rest.

Because in reality, the true Sylvara remained hidden—locked away in his manor, her fate still entirely in his hands.

—-

Sylvara had been unconscious for three days.

They had put her into a deep sleep, a necessary measure as they tried to remove the yemtema from her skin. No water, no soap, no scrubbing could rid her of the golden stain. The plant’s magic clung to her, refusing to be erased by mortal hands.

But Orion was nothing if not persistent.

He had summoned healers, alchemists, even a few sorcerers who still dared to practice their craft in secret. None of them could remove it.

Until today.

Henry stood beside Orion, arms crossed as he observed the final attempts. Over Sylvara's sleeping body, the alchemist whispered an incantation and sprinkled a shimmering dust; the yellow paint flashed, then started to peel away like dried leaves caught in the wind.

Piece by piece, it vanished.

And finally, she was revealed.

Orion took a step closer.

Her skin was pale—untouched by the harsh elements of the Dark Forest. No scars, no bruises, no signs of hardship. How had she survived that wretched place unscathed?

Her long legs and delicate curves were accentuated in the dim candlelight. She was perfect from head to toe.

One of the servants said, "She looks like a goddess," in a low voice.

But Orion wasn’t looking at her body. His gaze locked onto her hair.

Black.

Not the silver or white of a Velaryn.

His stomach twisted.

Not Velaryn.

Not the answer he had been seeking.

He experienced a sudden, cold surge of disappointment.

"She’s just an ordinary human," Henry murmured quietly, his tone laced with something hard to decipher. "Or at the very least… not as you believed she was."

Orion didn’t answer.

Because when Sylvara’s lashes fluttered, when her violet eyes opened, he felt something else entirely.

Hope.

A Velaryn with black hair? Impossible.

And yet… her eyes.

That haunting shade of violet. The very color spoken of in legends. The prophecy said that Velaryn blood carried power—not just in their hair but in their souls.

Was she an anomaly? A lie? Or something else entirely?

Before he realized what he was doing, Orion extended his hand.

His fingers gilded gently and intentionally over her cheek. Her skin was as pristine as untouched snow and remarkably soft to the touch.

She was beautiful. Too beautiful.

His silver eyes darkened.

No. He couldn’t let her go.

Even if she wasn’t Velaryn, even if she wasn’t the key to his future—

He wanted her.

She belonged to him now.

—-

Sylvara’s mind drifted through layers of darkness and warmth.

She felt light. Suspended between waking and sleep.

Then—

A touch. Warm fingers against her skin.

When she opened her eyes, the environment was initially hazy—soft candlelight, shifting shadows, and a person towering above her.

And then her vision focused.

Orion.

His silver eyes bore into hers, unreadable, intense.

Her breath caught.

"Good," he murmured, brushing her cheek with his thumb. "You have woken up."

Every muscle in her body urging her to shift, Sylvara tensed. Yet, no matter what had been inflicted upon her, she remained excessively heavy and feeble. Her voice was raspy as she whispered, "Where am I?"

Orion paused briefly before answering. His fingers traced the contour of her jaw and then glided down her cheek. It was something else, not a menacing touch. Something hazardous. Sylvara fought the want to wince. He finally remarked, "You should be grateful," in a pleasant voice. "The world thinks you’re dead."

Her heart thumped. Dead? He placed a hard but gentle touch on her shoulder as she attempted to sit up. "Careful," he said. "You’ve been asleep for days."

Sylvara’s pulse pounded. Her body felt different. Lighter. Cleaner.

And then she noticed it.

Her arms. Her legs.

The paint was gone.

She looked at her exposed, pale hands in astonishment. There was no indication of the golden mark that had previously stuck to her skin. A sudden wave of panic surged through her, but her body lacked the strength to react. She gulped thickly, her throat rough like sandpaper. Her voice was raspy, hardly audible above a whisper. "You…" Her throat constricted.

"You removed it?"

Orion nodded slowly.

Sylvara swallowed hard. The reality of her situation slammed into her like a crashing wave.

She had no home. No forest to run to.

And now… no disguise.

She was truly exposed.

Orion added, "You should rest," in a calmer tone. "There’s much to discuss when you’re stronger."

Sylvara's breathing was erratic, her mind racing. "Why do you want me to live?" she questioned, barely raising her voice above a whisper.

A grin pulled at Orion's mouth. "Due to my desire to do so." Then, before she could say another word, he got up and moved to the door. The weight of his presence persisted even after he had left.

Sylvara curled her fingers into the covers, her heart pounding. "What have you done to me, exactly?"

No answer came. Only the flicker of candlelight and the weight of exhaustion pressing her back into the bed.

She was alive.

But at what price?

Orion shut the door behind him and entered the corridor. Henry was waiting there already. His face was unreadable, his arms folded. The words "you should let her go," Henry whispered softly. "She’s not what you wanted."

Orion let out a slow breath. "Perhaps."

Henry looked at him for a while. "And yet, you can’t seem to let her go."

Orion didn’t answer.

Because Henry was right.

There was something about her.

Something that made him restless.

Before he had a chance to reply, footsteps resonated along the hallway. A courier came forward, bowing quickly.

"My lord," he said, voice urgent. "Lord Everet Langley requests an audience."

Orion’s jaw tightened.

"Again?"

The messenger nodded. "He says it’s urgent."

Orion’s silver eyes darkened.

So be it.

-

Orion walked into the waiting room, his face emotionless.

Lord Everet positioned himself by the window, his hands tied together behind him.He turned when Orion approached, his gaze sharp.

"You lied to me," Everet said, voice cold.

Orion smirked. "I lie to many people. You’ll have to be more specific."

Everet’s eyes flashed with anger. "The golden witch still lives."

Orion’s smirk faltered.

A sharp pause.

Then—

Everet stepped closer, his voice dropping.

"You think you can deceive the council?" His tone was laced with warning. "You think the people will not find out?"

Orion said nothing.

Everet leaned in.

"You may have fooled the crowd," he whispered. "But you cannot fool me."

Orion’s fingers curled into fists.

Sylvara’s secret was no longer safe.

And now, the true danger had begun.