A Glimpse of Divinity

The sea, even from the highest turrets of the castle, sang a siren song to Althea. It was a melody of freedom, of untamed power, of a world far removed from the silken constraints of her royal life. Today, however, the song felt tinged with an undercurrent of unease, a tremor that vibrated not just in the air, but deep within her own chest. It was a feeling that had been growing, a disquiet that mirrored the subtle shifts she’d been observing in Cris.

He was her constant, her shadow, the one sturdy oak in the tempest of her existence. Yet, lately, the oak seemed to tremble. It began with small things, easily dismissed. A sudden chill in the air on a warm afternoon when he was near, the faint scent of brine clinging to his tunic even when he hadn't been by the coast, a flicker of an unnerving light in his usually steady, sea-green eyes.

This morning, the unease sharpened into alarm. They were in the royal gardens, a place Althea usually found solace in the riot of blooming roses and the gentle murmur of fountains. Cris stood a respectful distance away, his posture as rigid as ever, but Althea could sense his agitation. The air around him seemed to hum with an unseen energy, like the static before a lightning strike. A prized rose bush, its petals a vibrant crimson, suddenly drooped, its leaves curling as if touched by an invisible frost. A nearby fountain, usually a gentle cascade, sputtered and then erupted in a wild spray, drenching a startled gardener.