Vitalis, Lumithar 19, 528 EK
That noon, sunlight slipped through the tall stained-glass windows of the Grand Hall of the Golden Palace, refracting soft colors across the cold marble floor. The air felt cool, wrapped by a thin breeze drifting from the open windows, carrying the scent of dried leaves from the palace gardens. A luncheon had been prepared: the long polished ebony table was filled with steaming dishes, creating a blend of aromas—roast meats, exotic spices, and red wine from the vineyards southeast of Elysara, the capital of Valterion. At the head of the table, King Kaelric Valterion sat upright, his left hand resting lightly on the arm of his throne carved with the symbol of a silver dragon. His sharp eyes studied his two guests with an expression hard to read. His jet-black hair was slightly wavy and perfectly arranged, reflecting a discipline that ran deep. Although the palace seemed warm, a veil of tension hung over the room like a thin mist that refused to dissipate.
At the other side of the table, Princess Kaela Nymvalis toyed with the rim of her cup with her slender fingers. Sunlight caressed her skin, smooth as silk, making it gleam like pearls on the sea. Her ocean-blue hair fell in gentle waves across her shoulders, matching the silvery-blue gown that hugged her form. Every movement seemed carefully considered—neither hurried nor excessive—like a princess born to be observed without effort. Beside her, Prince Vaelvalis Nymvalis was not as graceful as his sister. His shoulders were taut, his breaths a little deeper than they should be. His bright blue eyes, ringed faintly with silver, kept watching Kaelric, as if searching for a crack in the king’s composure. His pale blue hair was tied loosely at the nape of his neck, a few strands falling onto his brow, giving the impression that his mind was working harder than he let on.
“Please, Princess Kaela, Prince Vaelvalis,” Kaelric’s voice sounded deep, authoritative yet cordial. “You have been here two days; you must be tired of all these discussions. Enjoy our meal.” Kaela lifted the corner of her mouth in a polite smile and inclined her head. “Your hospitality never disappoints, King Kaelric,” she replied, her voice soft but measured, like waves whispering on the shore.
But before anyone touched the food, Vaelvalis laid both hands on the table and leaned forward slightly. “We did not come to dine, Kaelric,” he said, his voice low but firm. “We demand answers. Your troops remain at the Aurelion border. Two days have passed, and you continue to delay these talks.” For a moment, the clinking of cutlery halted. Nobles who had been murmuring fell silent, their gazes shifting to the high table. In a corner of the hall, General Aelorian Valthirion, standing rigid, reflexively moved his hand toward his sword hilt though he did not draw it. His sapphire-blue eyes flashed sharply as he stared at Vaelvalis.
“Mind your words, Prince,” his voice was calm but carried a subtle threat. “You are in Valterion, and you speak to my king.” Kaelric raised one hand, stopping Aelorian with a simple gesture. “Calm,” he said, then turned his attention back to Vaelvalis. A thin smile appeared on his face—faint but meaningful. “Eat first, then we will speak. I will gather my key men. We will discuss this with cool heads.”
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Beside Vaelvalis, Kaela placed her hand on her brother’s arm, her cool fingers touching his skin with a gentle pressure. “Give them time, Vaelvalis,” she whispered, her voice almost like a midday breeze along the shore. Vaelvalis exhaled and set his jaw. “Very well.” He finally leaned back into his chair, though the tension in his shoulders had not entirely eased. “But you must know, Kaelric, this is not an empty warning. We came personally, not as ordinary envoys.”
Kaelric considered Vaelvalis for a moment, then smiled slightly. “Believe me, I am well aware of who you are.” He glanced toward a soldier standing by the door and issued an order in a calm but firm tone. “Summon Queen Lythienne and Prince Alaric to join this luncheon. Also, gather the elder dukes. I want them present for this discussion.” The soldier bowed and hurried out of the hall.
One of the soldiers moved down the long corridor toward the Queen’s chambers. Noon sun pierced the high windows facing the city center, casting long silhouettes across the gleaming marble floor. His footsteps were muffled by the thick carpets that ran the length of the hall. At the end of the corridor, near the main guard post, Kaelith Draeven stood alert. Sharp eyes watched anyone who approached. As a capable commander-in-waiting and Queen Lythienne’s personal guard, his duty was not only to protect the Queen’s life but also her secrets. This time, he saw a soldier approaching with a hesitant step.
Kaelith crossed his arms over his chest and stopped the soldier just before he reached the Queen’s door. “What is your business?” he asked firmly. “The King has ordered that the Queen be brought to the hall to dine with the guests and discuss the severing of Aurelion’s trade routes,” the soldier replied respectfully, yet he looked at Kaelith with a pleading hope to be allowed through. Kaelith showed no expression. “I will inform her. You may go.”
Still, the soldier remained standing, not moving away at once. “I was ordered to ensure the Queen departs.” Kaelith’s eyes narrowed and he leaned forward a little. “You better go and let me handle this,” he said in a low, pressing tone. “That is an order.” The soldier regarded him for a moment, as if weighing the urge to object, but there was something in Kaelith’s gaze that made him relent. Though Kaelith was younger and his rank not higher, there was an aura of confidence and authority that was hard to oppose. Finally, with slight reluctance, the soldier nodded and turned to leave.
Kaelith exhaled. He waited a few seconds before stepping to the door and knocking. “Your Grace?” No answer. Kaelith knocked again, this time harder. Still no response. His heart began to beat faster. He glanced down the corridor to ensure no one was watching, then knocked once more, harder than before. “Your Grace, I must speak with you.” Silence. Anxiety crept through him. If the soldier returned—or worse, if the King himself came to fetch the Queen—this could become a disaster. Without further thought, Kaelith grasped the door handle and pushed it open slowly.
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