The Glass Floor

POV: Isolde (Izzy) Thorne

I didn't sleep. How could I? Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the pit of obsidian shards Morgana mentioned. I saw myself falling, my fake noble skin tearing apart to reveal the poor weaver underneath.

Alaric stood by the window all night. He didn't move. He looked like a real statue now, a dark shape against the moonlight. The silence between us was heavy, but the "Soul-Link" in my head was screaming. I could feel his heartbeat. It was slow and heavy, like a drum buried deep in the earth.

“Stop shaking,” his voice echoed in my mind.

"I can't help it," I whispered, hugging my arms. "You heard her. The Glass Floor. I’m a weaver, Alaric. My blood is common. The moment I step on that floor, it will shatter. Why didn't you tell them the truth?"

He turned around. The moonlight hit the stone on his face. “Because if I tell them the truth, the Arch-Druid will burn you alive. And I will turn into a pillar of salt by noon. You are my only battery, Isolde. You have to survive.”

"To save you?" I felt a surge of anger. "You kidnapped my brother. You are using me like a tool. Why should I care if you turn to stone?"

He walked toward me. He was fast for a man made of rock. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up. “Because if I die, Morgana takes the throne. And she hates you more than I do. She will execute Leo just for sport.”

I pushed his hand away. He was right. I was trapped between a stone king and a venomous snake.

Morning came too fast. Two handmaids entered the room. They didn't speak. They dressed me in a gown of pure white silk. It was so thin it felt like spiderwebs. They didn't give me shoes.

"The Queen must walk barefoot," one of them whispered. Her eyes were full of pity. She thought I was going to die.

They led me to the Great Hall. The entire court was there. Hundreds of nobles stood on the balconies, looking down at a long bridge made of clear glass. Below the glass was a drop so deep I couldn't see the bottom. All I could see were the jagged, black points of obsidian spears waiting for a sacrifice.

"The Trial of Blood!" the Arch-Druid shouted. He was an old man with a long white beard and eyes that looked like cold marbles. "If the girl is of royal blood, the glass will hold. If she is a pretender, the glass will vanish."

Morgana stood next to him, a cruel smile on her lips. She leaned over and whispered as I passed her. "Goodbye, little weaver. I hope the shards are sharp."

I looked at the start of the bridge. My legs felt like jelly.

“Walk,” Alaric’s voice commanded in my head. He was sitting on the throne at the other end of the bridge. He looked powerful, but I could feel his hand gripping the armrest so hard the wood was cracking.

I took my first step.

The glass was freezing. It groaned under my weight. A tiny crack appeared under my big toe. The crowd gasped.

“Don't look down,” Alaric warned. “Look at me. Focus on the crown on your palm. Push your magic into it.”

I focused on the black tattoo on my hand. It began to burn. I took another step. Then another. The glass under my feet began to glow with a faint, golden light. It wasn't my light. It was a mix of my starlight and Alaric's dark power.

The crack didn't grow. The glass held.

I was halfway across. I could see Alaric’s eyes. They weren't cold anymore. They were wide, watching me with something that looked like hope.

But then, Morgana moved. She pulled a small silver whistle from her belt and blew a silent note.

Suddenly, the soul link in my head snapped.

The connection to Alaric was gone. The golden light under my feet vanished.

Crrr-ack!

The glass floor beneath me shattered into a thousand pieces. I screamed as I felt the air rush past my ears. I was falling. The obsidian spears were rushing up to meet me.

"Izzy!"

A voice roared, not in my head, but in the air.

A black shadow blurred over the edge of the balcony. A hand, rough and heavy as a mountain, caught my wrist. I jerked to a stop, dangling over the pit. My arm felt like it was being pulled out of its socket.

I looked up, gasping for air.

It was Alaric. He had jumped from the throne. He was hanging onto the edge of the broken bridge with one hand, holding me with the other.

But the effort was too much. I watched in horror as the black obsidian stone on his arm began to spread at lightning speed. It raced up his shoulder and toward his neck.

"Let me go!" I sobbed. "You're turning to stone! If you don't let go, you'll freeze like that and fall with me!"

Alaric looked down at me. His eyes were turning into solid black glass. He couldn't speak, but one final thought flickered into my mind before the link died completely.

“I won't let her win.”

With a roar of pain, he swung me upward, throwing me onto the solid stone ledge where the court stood. I landed hard, skinning my knees.

I scrambled to the edge and reached out. "Alaric!"

But it was too late. He was a solid statue now. His fingers slipped from the glass.

I watched as the King of Solvalla fell into the dark pit.

A loud crash echoed from below. Then, silence.

The court was frozen in shock. Morgana stepped forward, her face twisted in a fake look of horror.

"The King is dead!" she screamed. "The fake queen killed the king! Guards, seize her!"

I stood up, my heart turning into a cold coal in my chest. I looked at the Arch-Druid, then at Morgana. I didn't feel like a scared weaver anymore. I felt a rage so hot it made my starlight magic burn white-hot in my veins.

"I didn't kill him," I said, my voice echoing through the hall. "But I am going to kill you."

The guards closed in, their spears pointed at my throat. But before they could touch me, a loud explosion shook the palace.

The ground under our feet began to crack. A dark, oily smoke began to rise from the pit where Alaric had fallen.

And then, a hand made of glowing, red-hot stone gripped the edge of the floor.

He wasn't dead. But he wasn't the king anymore.

Something much worse was climbing out of the dark.