**Scene: The Royal Orchard – Morning**
Sunlight, warm as spilled honey, dappled through apple blossoms in King William's orchard. The air hummed with bees and the distant laughter of children playing within the stout sandstone walls of **Fort King William**. King William Richard III, a bear of a man with silver-streaked auburn hair and eyes the color of a summer sky, stood with his wife, Queen Elara. Her hand rested lightly on his arm as they watched their seven children navigate a game of knights-and-dragons amongst the gnarled trees.
"Arthur! Fair Eleanor is not a dragon's hoard to be captured!" William boomed, laughter rumbling in his chest as his eldest son (15) dramatically brandished a wooden sword at his sister Eleanor (14), who clutched a basket of blossoms like a shield.
"But Father! All treasure is forfeit to the Black Knight of the Orchard!" Arthur declared, puffing his chest out. His earnestness mirrored William's own younger days.
Eleanor rolled her eyes, her scholarly demeanor momentarily ruffled. "Treasure? These are for Mother's tinctures, Arthur. Hardly dragon-worthy." She adjusted her spectacles, perpetually perched on her nose.
Nearby, Thomas (13) and Margaret (12) were engaged in a mock duel, sticks clacking. "Yield, foul knave!" Thomas shouted, ever the warrior-in-training.
"I yield only to pastries from Cook Agnes!" Margaret shot back, her freckled face alight with mischief before darting away.
Phillip (10), the dreamer, lay on his back beneath a tree, sketching clouds in a small notebook. Little Catherine (8) danced around him, weaving flower crowns. In a sturdy pram, baby Henry (1) cooed, watched over by his nursemaid.
Elara sighed, a sound of pure contentment. "Such peace, William. After the wars… after the darkness… it feels like a dream."
William squeezed her hand, calloused from years wielding both scepter and sword. "A dream forged in steel and prayer, my love. Won through the blood of our ancestors." He glanced towards the highest tower, where the **Valerious Dragon Banner** – crimson on black – snapped proudly against the azure sky. "We guard it fiercely, so they," he nodded towards their children, "know only sunshine."
A young messenger, breathless, sprinted into the orchard, bowing low. "Your Majesties! The delegation from the Eastern Marches has arrived early. They await you in the Sun Chamber."
William nodded. "Duty calls, my heart." He pressed a kiss to Elara's forehead. "Keep our dragons in check."
Elara smiled. "Always." As William strode away, his presence radiating strength and security, she turned her gaze back to her children. Her eyes lingered longest on **Elizabeth** (16), who stood slightly apart under a blossoming pear tree. Elizabeth wasn't sketching or playing; she was practicing. Her hands moved in intricate patterns through the air, her brow furrowed in concentration. A faint, almost imperceptible **silvery shimmer** flickered around her fingertips for a split second before vanishing. Elara's smile faltered slightly. *The Gift. The Shield.* A blessing and a burden Elizabeth was only beginning to understand.
**Scene: The Sun Chamber – Late Morning**
King William sat upon the simple yet imposing Oak Throne in the Sun Chamber, named for the wide, leaded windows that flooded the room with light. Maps of the kingdom and beyond covered one wall. Before him stood Lord Gareth, weathered leader of the Eastern Marches frontier villages.
"...and the harvest, Your Majesty," Lord Gareth was saying, his rough hands clutching a worn hat. "Bountiful, thanks be to God and your fair rule. The granaries are full. Wolves have been scarce this season, and the bandits... well," he chuckled, "they seem to know better than to trouble lands under the Dragon's eye."
William leaned forward, his presence commanding yet warm. "Good news, Gareth. And the repairs to the watchtower at Stone Creek?"
"Completed, Sire. Solid stone, thanks to the masons you sent. My people sleep easier. They speak your name in their prayers each night."
"As I speak theirs," William replied sincerely. "The strength of the kingdom lies not just in this fortress, but in every hearth, every field, every watchful eye on the border. Your people's resilience honors us all."
Gareth bowed deeply, emotion thickening his voice. "Long live King William! Long live the House of Valerious!"
The cry was echoed by the handful of courtiers and guards present. William acknowledged them with a nod, but his gaze drifted momentarily towards the window, towards the bustling town below. Peace. It was tangible here. But how far did it truly extend? A flicker of the old vigilance, honed in battles against skirmishing warlords and monstrous rumors, stirred within him. He pushed it down. Today was for gratitude.
**Scene: St. Aethelred's Chapel – Noon**
The scent of incense and beeswax hung heavy in the cool air of St. Aethelred's Chapel within the castle walls. Sunlight streamed through stained glass depicting St. Michael vanquishing a shadowy serpent, casting pools of ruby, sapphire, and emerald light onto the stone floor. Every pew was full – farmers in rough wool, merchants in finer linens, blacksmiths, weavers, castle guards still in their tabards, and the royal family themselves, occupying the front row.
Queen Elara knelt, head bowed, her lips moving silently in prayer. Beside her, King William stood tall, his expression one of profound reverence. The children, for once, were quiet, though Catherine fidgeted slightly and Phillip gazed in awe at the vaulted ceiling. Elizabeth sat perfectly still, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The faint shimmer around her seemed calmer here, almost absorbed by the sanctity of the place.
Father Donovan, an elderly priest with kind eyes and a voice like aged parchment, raised his hands. "Let us give thanks, beloved flock, for the blessings bestowed upon our kingdom, our families, and our wise and noble King William and Queen Elara!"
A murmured chorus of "Amen" rippled through the congregation.
"Thanks for the sun that warms our fields," Father Donovan continued, his voice resonating in the stone space. "For the rain that nourishes our crops. For the peace that allows our children to grow without fear." His gaze swept over the royal children. "For the strength of our walls and the courage of those who guard them."
*"Amen!"* Louder this time.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, focusing inward. She could feel the prayers around her like a gentle warmth, a collective energy. It resonated with something deep within her own core, the source of her shimmer. *Protect them,* she thought, the unformed wish directed at her family, her people. The shimmer pulsed softly against her skin, unseen.
After the service, the royal family lingered. William clasped Father Donovan's hand. "Your words bring comfort, Father. As always."
"The people's faith is strong, Sire," Donovan replied, his eyes holding a depth of understanding. "It is their shield as much as stone and steel. But remember," he added, his voice dropping slightly, "even the brightest light casts shadows. Vigilance is the companion of peace."
William met the priest's gaze, the unspoken understanding of rulers who remembered darker times passing between them. "Always, Father."
As they walked out into the courtyard, Eleanor chattered to Elizabeth. "Did you see the new stained glass panel? The one with the dove? Master Glazier finished it yesterday. It's meant to symbolize the Holy Spirit, but it looks just like Lady Beatrice's prize pigeon!"
Elizabeth smiled faintly. "It's beautiful, Ellie." Her eyes scanned the busy courtyard – servants carrying baskets, guards changing shifts, stable boys leading horses. Normalcy. Peace. Yet Father Donovan's words echoed: *"Even the brightest light casts shadows."*
**Scene: The Great Hall – Evening Feast**
Torches flickered in iron sconces, casting dancing light on the tapestries depicting Valerious victories of old that adorned the walls of the Great Hall. The long oak tables groaned under platters of roast boar, venison pies, steaming loaves of bread, wheels of cheese, and flagons of cider and ale. Minstrels played a lively tune in the corner. Laughter and conversation filled the vast space.
King William sat at the high table with Queen Elara, presiding over the feast. Below, knights, visiting nobles, senior castle staff, and even respected townsfolk broke bread together. It was a tradition William cherished – a symbol of the kingdom as one family.
Arthur, trying to appear regal beside his father, engaged a visiting knight in serious conversation about border patrols. Thomas enthusiastically demonstrated a new dagger grip to a tolerant guardsman. Margaret and Catherine giggled with the daughters of the head brewer. Phillip showed his sketches to a fascinated elderly bard. Baby Henry, on Elara's lap, banged a spoon happily. Eleanor debated herb lore with the castle's physician.
Elizabeth sat beside her mother, picking at her food. Her gaze drifted across the hall, absorbing the scene – the warmth, the security, the sheer *life* of it. A young man, the son of a visiting baron, approached, bowing slightly. He had kind eyes and a hopeful smile.
"Princess Elizabeth," he began, his voice polite. "Might I have the honor of a dance when the minstrels play a slower air?"
Elizabeth offered a gentle but firm smile. "You are kind, Lord Cedric, but I must decline this evening. I find myself… a little tired." A faint, almost apologetic shimmer, like starlight on water, flickered near her wrist before vanishing. Lord Cedric, though disappointed, bowed again and retreated gracefully.
Elara leaned closer, her voice a soft murmur only Elizabeth could hear. "He seems a good young man, Beth."
"I know, Mother," Elizabeth replied, her voice equally soft. "But… the shimmer… it feels… *fragile* sometimes. Around… certain feelings." She didn't need to elaborate. Her Gift, her Shield, was tied to her untouched state – a secret known only to her parents and Father Donovan. Intimacy, even the spark of potential romance, seemed to cause the shimmer to waver, like a candle in a draft. Protecting the kingdom meant protecting this power, even if it meant solitude.
Elara's eyes held a mother's understanding and a queen's sorrow. She covered Elizabeth's hand with her own. "Your strength is a different kind of gift, my darling. A sacred trust. The kingdom sleeps safely because of you." She squeezed her hand. "And you are never truly alone."
Elizabeth nodded, forcing a brighter smile. She watched her siblings. Arthur trying valiantly to carve his meat with royal dignity and failing slightly, making Eleanor snort into her cider. Thomas attempting to teach a complex toast to a bewildered Phillip. Margaret stealing a honey cake when Cook Agnes wasn't looking. Catherine spinning in a clear space, lost in the music. Baby Henry gumming a crust of bread. The love for them, fierce and protective, bloomed hot in her chest. *This* was what her Shield preserved. This laughter, this warmth, this safety. The shimmer responded to that protective love, flaring steady and strong within her for a moment, unseen but felt – a wall of purest steel woven from devotion.
**Scene: The Royal Balcony – Night**
Later, the feast winding down, King William stood alone on the wide balcony adjoining the royal apartments. Below, the town of Kingsreach nestled within the protective outer walls, lanterns twinkling like fallen stars. Distant sounds of a lullaby drifted up from a cottage. The air was cool and sweet with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and woodsmoke.
Queen Elara joined him, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. "A good day, William."
"The best kind," he murmured, pulling her close. "Full bellies, safe homes, children laughing. This is the legacy we fight for." He looked out over the sleeping town. "This peace… it's everything my father and grandfather dreamed of during the Border Wars."
Elara rested her head against his shoulder. "Do you ever wonder, William? If the darkness… the *old* darkness… is truly gone? Or just… waiting?"
William was silent for a long moment. The memory of whispered tales from his youth – of bat-like shapes against the moon, of villages found drained of life – surfaced like silt from a deep pond. Father Donovan's warning echoed: *"Vigilance is the companion of peace."* He tightened his arm around her.
"The scouts report nothing but wolves and bandits, easily handled," he said, his voice firm, reassuring himself as much as her. "The watchtowers stand strong. Our people are vigilant. And we have Elizabeth." He looked back towards the castle, towards his daughter's chambers. "Her Gift is stronger than any wall. A Shield blessed by Providence itself. As long as that light burns within her, the shadows cannot touch us." He kissed the top of Elara's head. "Sleep easy, my love. Dawn will come, as bright as today."
Far to the east, beyond the rolling hills and dense forests that marked the edge of William's maps, where the Carpathian Mountains clawed at a starless sky, lightning flickered silently within the brooding peaks. Not the warm, cleansing storms of summer, but a cold, unnatural light that illuminated jagged black spires for a fraction of a second before plunging them back into an abyssal dark. In that fleeting illumination, something ancient stirred. Eyes the color of frozen blood opened in the deepest dark. A voice, dry as forgotten tombs and sharp as shattered bone, whispered a name into the suffocating stillness:
*"Valerious..."*
The word hung in the dead air, a promise of ruin carried on a wind that hadn't yet reached the peaceful walls of Fort King William. Beneath the mountain, in a labyrinth of obsidian and bone, **Edward Nicolas** smiled. The waiting was almost over.
High in her tower room within the peaceful castle, Elizabeth Richard jolted awake. Not from a sound, but from a sudden, inexplicable chill that had nothing to do with the night air. The shimmering shield around her flared brightly for an instant, a silent alarm against a threat still leagues away, but drawing nearer. She sat up, gasping, her hand instinctively going to her throat. Outside her window, the kingdom slept on, bathed in innocent moonlight, blissfully unaware that the last dawn of unbroken peace had already passed.
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