A Gift of Trust and a Title

The fire in the Quiet Room had dwindled to embers by the time Luxa rose from the couch. For a while she stood silently, one hand resting on the mantle, the other hanging loosely at her side. The glow of the aquarium cast her face in soft, flickering blues and greens. Gregor thought she looked caught between worlds—the girl he knew and the queen she was bound to be.

At last, she turned to him. “We must go. This room is not meant for us to linger forever, no matter how much we may desire it.”

Gregor shifted reluctantly, not ready to leave. He had only just discovered the room, and already it felt like a refuge carved out of all the chaos below. Still, he followed her lead, standing and brushing the warmth from his hands.

Luxa walked to the wooden door but paused before touching it. She turned to him again, her eyes grave but steady. “You may return here whenever you wish. The door will open for you, as it does for me. Simply place your hand upon it. Night or day, it will grant you entrance. But know this—only we may do so. Should any other attempt, the wood will remain silent and still.”

Gregor blinked. “You mean… it recognizes us?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Luxa replied. “It has been so since the founding of the royal line. This place belongs only to those the family permits. I have given you that right, Gregor. Do not take it lightly.”

He nodded, feeling the weight of the gift settle deep inside him. It wasn’t just a room, he realized—it was a trust, a bond Luxa had chosen to extend to him alone.

For a moment, silence lingered, broken only by the soft burble of water from the aquarium. Then Luxa’s expression shifted, a shadow crossing her features.

“Our first step to peace cannot be only words, Gregor,” she said, her voice low. “It must be truth. Tomorrow evening, we return to the secret tunnel—the place where the wall gaped and the whisper came. What lies beyond may yet decide more than any council’s decree.”

Gregor felt a shiver, remembering the faint rush of wings and the breath of cold air in the hidden passage. His instincts told him she was right—something waited there, something that might alter everything.

“Then we’ll face it,” he said firmly. “Together.”

Luxa inclined her head, the briefest flicker of relief softening her gaze. Then she gestured toward the door and said, “We will meet here tomorrow night after dinner. Bring your flashlight and I will bring my sword… for you are The Peacemaker.”

As a title, the word struck Gregor with unexpected force. It did not sound like a title casually given, but like a mantle being placed upon him—one that carried the weight of the Underland’s fragile future.

At her urging, he placed his palm against the wood. To his astonishment, it yielded, swinging inward as though the chamber itself had accepted him. The passage beyond stretched ahead, dark and waiting.

They looked at each other, a quiet understanding passing between them. Then, in unison, they spoke the same words—soft but certain:

“Tomorrow night.” Without another word, Luxa stepped to his side. Took his hand. Together, they crossed the threshold, leaving the fading firelight of The Quiet Room behind them.