The Royal Palace writhed in turmoil, its very stones seeming to exhale the fear that gripped every soul within its golden walls. Every resident—from the lowest scullery maid to the highest minister—lived in dread and crushing anxiety, knowing their future and livelihood hung upon the slender thread of Princess Reloua's safe return. Three weeks had crawled by like wounded beasts, yet still no word came from the northern forests. The Kingdom of Ankh had denied all accusations with infuriating persistence, and this only served to stoke the fires of King Sichom's mounting rage. He teetered on the precipice of losing all control, his legendary composure cracking like ice beneath spring's first warmth. The palace residents watched with growing terror as the specter of war gathered in the shadows, its dark wings spreading wider with each passing day.
To prevent an even greater catastrophe, news of the Princess's disappearance had been contained within the palace walls like poison in a vial—only a select cadre of government officers knew the full truth of what had transpired. The common people remained blissfully ignorant, going about their daily lives unaware that their kingdom balanced on a knife's edge.
"Trust in his words, husband. Has the All-Knowing Kinte ever been wrong before?" Seated upon a chair of ivory and gold in their vast bedchamber, Cynthia Sichom gazed at her husband with eyes that held carefully measured concern. "He would not speak if his divinations were uncertain."
Cynthia had positioned herself as her husband's pillar of strength during these dark hours, recognizing his fragile mental state and determined to prevent its further deterioration. She knew precisely which words to speak, which silences to maintain.
"You speak the truth," Donkeu Sichom exhaled heavily, weariness etched into every line of his weathered face. "Yet it has been three weeks since I consulted him, and still... perhaps she has..." The words died in his throat, too terrible to voice.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
"Enter," the king commanded, his voice hollow as a tomb.
The chamber's magnificently crafted doors groaned open on golden hinges, admitting a figure bent with age and worry—an old man thin as a reed, his hair white as fresh snow, who immediately dropped into a deep bow before his sovereign.
"Stand straight and tell me what brings you to my presence," King Donkeu ordered, though his tone lacked its usual authority.
The ancient servant straightened with visible effort, cleared his throat with the rasp of dried leaves, and spoke with a trembling voice. "My King, the young Prince, still refuses to leave his chambers. A full week has passed, and I fear greatly for his well-being." His lips quivered as if the very words caused him pain. "I humbly beg Your Majesty to visit him."
These recent weeks had been a crucible of suffering for old Tai, who had served the royal family for decades with unwavering devotion. He had sworn a sacred oath to the late Queen to protect both her children with his life, yet he had failed utterly when it mattered most. The elder daughter had vanished into circumstances unknown to most, and there had been nothing—nothing—he could do to prevent it. Now her younger brother, traumatized by his mother's death and his sister's disappearance, had sealed himself away from the world like a wounded animal retreating to its den. How could Tai, who had grown accustomed to seeing the young prince's bright smile and hearing his joyous laughter echoing through the halls, not be crushed beneath the weight of this transformation?
He had exhausted every stratagem, employed every gentle persuasion within his power, all to no avail. Only one hope remained—perhaps if the boy's own father came to him, perhaps then the walls might crumble.
Upon hearing Tai's plea, the king's expression darkened further still, shadows gathering beneath his eyes like storm clouds. Already burdened beyond endurance by his wife's untimely death and his daughter's mysterious fate, now his son—the child he had dreamed would grow into strength and courage—was withering away behind locked doors. How had fortune turned so completely against him? Had he failed so utterly as a father? Had his devotion to the crown and kingdom blinded him to his family's needs?
But I swore the sacred oath of kingship, and nothing can supersede that duty, Donkeu reasoned with himself, seeking shelter from the tempest of emotions battering his heart. I cannot face him now—not until I can explain what befell his sister. He will despise me even more if I come bearing only empty hands and hollow words.
"I will not go to him," the king decided, his voice carrying the finality of a judge's sentence.
"But my King, the young Prince has a desperate need for you," Tai pressed, his ancient voice cracking with desperation.
"I will not visit him," Donkeu repeated, each word falling like a stone into still water.
"My King, I beseech you—consider the Prince's suffering," Tai pleaded with increasing fervor. "He needs your support now more than ever. The only souls who truly cared for him are gone, and he—"
"GET OUT!" the king's voice exploded through the chamber like thunder, silencing Tai's words before they could fully form.
The old servant's plea had struck the rawest nerve in Donkeu's wounded heart, its implication that he had never truly been present for his son cutting deeper than any blade. Tai departed the royal chamber with rage burning in his ancient breast, and as he crossed the threshold, his eyes caught sight of Amida's face—and the subtle smirk that played about her lips like a serpent's smile. The fury within him blazed higher still as he muttered a curse beneath his breath, swearing that she would answer for her sins.
Though he could not name precisely what evil she had wrought or what good she had left undone, one truth burned clear in his mind: everything had begun to crumble the moment she had set foot in the Golden Kingdom. All would have been well if she had never come to the Land of Gold.
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"We are finally here," Reloua muttered Nostalgic to the sight before her. Before them rose a monument to power and prosperity that seemed to have been carved from the very dreams of kings. The Palace of the Gold Kingdom stretched across the horizon like a golden mountain, its foundations hewn from massive blocks of red sandstone that caught the afternoon sun and threw it back in waves of crimson fire. But it was the gold that took one's breath away—not mere decoration, but rivers of molten wealth that flowed across every surface.
Next to her was a gobsmacked Teleu, He knew of Gold Land being the richest Kingdom in Nubia. However, he still underestimated the wealth generated by the business Mastodont. He couldn't help but look around in amazement.
Towering walls rose seven men high, their tops crowned with battlements of pure gold that blazed like captured starlight. Great circular towers punctuated the walls at regular intervals, each one topped with conical roofs of hammered gold plates that overlapped like dragon scales, creating a symphony of light that danced with every whisper of wind. Between the towers, the walls themselves were inlaid with intricate patterns of gold wire worked into the stone—geometric designs that spoke of ancient wisdom, spiraling motifs that told of prosperity eternal, and stylized lions that roared silently in precious metal.
The great gates of the Golden Palace drew petitioners like honey draws flies, and on this day the queue stretched back beyond the outer courtyard in a serpentine line of ambition and avarice. Merchants from distant lands waited with their retinues, some bearing chests that required four men to carry, others leading trains of exotic beasts whose hides gleamed with oils and whose eyes held the wildness of far countries. Envoys from the Ace Kingdom stood in their characteristic blue silk robes, their faces masks of diplomatic courtesy while their eyes catalogued every golden detail for their masters' intelligence. Representatives from Fairyland whispered among themselves in their flowing white garments, crystal pendants catching the light as they swayed with each movement, their presence both ethereal and unsettling to those who understood the weight of their prophecies. Even emissaries from the distant Mura Kingdom had come, their desert-hardened faces studying the palace walls with the calculating gaze of warriors measuring fortifications, their bronze armor and red cloaks a stark contrast to the golden opulence surrounding them.
Officials of the Gold Kingdom itself moved through the crowd with practiced efficiency, their own robes trimmed with threads of actual gold that caught the light with every step. They carried scrolls and ledgers, marking names and noting the nature of each petitioner's business with the methodical precision that kept the kingdom's vast commercial empire functioning. Foreign translators called out in a dozen tongues, announcing procedures and protocol, while guards in golden mail maintained order with a presence that was both ceremonial and genuinely menacing. The air thrummed with conversation in multiple languages—the musical tones of Fairyland's ancient tongue, the guttural consonants of Mura's desert speech, the clipped efficiency of Ace Kingdom's diplomatic dialect, and beneath it all, the rich, flowing language of the Gold Kingdom itself.
Near the back of this magnificent procession, Reloua and Teleu waited with the patience of those accustomed to court intrigue. The princess wore a veil of finest silk the color of burnished copper, its edges trimmed with tiny golden bells that chimed softly with each breath. The fabric was sheer enough to suggest the beauty beneath while obscuring her features completely, and she had arranged it with the skill of one who understood the power of mystery. Beside her stood Teleu, and though he bore himself with the unconscious dignity of royalty, to the casual observer he appeared as nothing more than another bodyguard—albeit one whose bearing suggested he had seen more than his share of violence. His eyes never ceased their movement, cataloguing faces, noting exits, measuring distances with the instinctive wariness of a man who had learned that death could come from any direction. Together they formed an island of watchful calm in the sea of chattering ambition that surrounded the palace gates.
Remember, from now on, under these watchful gazes, you are my personal bodyguard, staying by my side to protect me and my brother," Reloua said, her glistening eyes studying Teleu through the gossamer veil. "Worry not—as we agreed, you shall have your freedom. Just be certain to perform your duties well."
Teleu nodded, paying little heed to her words, though his posture shifted subtly into the stance of a professional guardian. His gaze swept the crowd once more, cataloguing potential threats with practiced efficiency.
In truth, she found herself increasingly intrigued by Teleu's enigmatic nature. Who was this young man she had discovered in the hollow of an oak tree? Why had he been fleeing through those dark woods, and what manner of enemies pursued him with such determination? His strength in combat was undeniable, his survival instincts honed to a razor's edge. Yet it was more than mere physical prowess that captured her attention—his intelligence shone through his careful words, his aloofness spoke of noble breeding, and his manners betrayed an upbringing steeped in prestige. Never had she encountered anyone quite like him, this mysterious warrior who carried himself with the unconscious grace of forgotten royalty.
The serpentine line moved forward with ceremonial slowness, and Reloua found herself able to pass through the great gates without hindrance—Redu's careful preparations had ensured her passage would be smooth and unremarkable. As they crossed the threshold into the palace proper, Teleu's eyes widened once more, though he fought to maintain his composed expression.
It was beyond the gates that true magnificence revealed itself. The palace proper rose in terraced levels, each one supported by massive columns carved from single blocks of granite, their surfaces sheathed in gold leaf that caught and multiplied the light a thousandfold. The columns were carved in the ancient style—lions climbing toward heaven, intertwined with vines heavy with golden fruit, their capitals crowned with lotus flowers that bloomed eternal in precious metal. The palace's central structure soared like a golden mountain, its walls punctuated by tall, arched windows framed in gold, each one telling a story in metalwork. At the palace's peak, a great dome of gold crowned the structure, its surface so perfectly polished that it served as a mirror to the heavens, reflecting clouds and sky in a surface of impossible beauty.
Gardens cascaded down the terraced sides of the palace complex, and even these spoke of wealth beyond measure. Golden fountains sent sprays of water dancing in the light, their basins carved from single blocks of gold-veined marble. Palm trees lined the pathways, their trunks wrapped in bands of gold, their fronds rustling above pathways paved with stones of gold and precious gems ground to powder and mixed with the mortar. This was not merely a palace—it was a statement written in gold and stone, a declaration that the Sichom dynasty commanded wealth enough to make the very earth jealous. As Teleu stared up at this golden colossus, he understood why other kingdoms both coveted and feared the Land of Gold. Here was power made manifest, wealth transformed into something approaching the divine.
Reloua's eyes narrowed beneath her veil as she gazed upon the golden towers of her birthright, cold fury crystallizing in her chest like winter's first frost. Somewhere behind those glittering walls walked the serpents who had tried to murder her in the darkness—and they would pay in blood for every moment of fear, every drop of tears she had shed in exile.They believed her dead or broken, scattered to the winds like autumn leaves. How wrong they were. She would uncover every conspirator, every whispered plot, every golden coin that had changed hands in service of her destruction. What belonged to her by blood and birthright would be reclaimed, no matter the cost. But first, she would need to discover just how deep the rot had spread through the heart of her father's kingdom.