(The Royal Palace)
The heavy oak door creaked open as Eyan stepped into his office.
"Hans," he called softly.
His steward was already there, waiting. Hans's jaw was tight with restrained fury, though he bowed the moment he faced his king.
"You are finally back," Hans snapped, his voice sharp despite the bow. "What took you so long?"
"I—I just—" Eyan began, fumbling for words.
"Stop, Your Majesty." Hans's tone cut him short."
"We don't have time for excuses. The guests have already arrived at the palace."
Eyan's eyes widened. "Already?"
"Yes," Hans confirmed grimly. "So hurry now."
"Alright… I'm going." Eyan turned for the door, his robes swishing at his heels.
"Your Majesty," Hans called after him.
Eyan paused. "Yes?"
Hans's gaze flicked down to the king's hand. "Your wedding Ring. Take it off."
Eyan blinked, then looked down at his bare fingers as if only just realizing. "Oh—I forgot."
He slipped the band free and pressed it into Hans's palm. "Hide it somewhere for me. I'll be late otherwise."
Hans's stern face softened with a sigh. "What would you do without me…"
After Eyan rushed out, Hans stared at the ring in his hand, then tucked it carefully into the drawer of the king's desk.
"Safe enough," he muttered, straightening his coat.
"I should go as well."
With that, he left the office, the room falling silent behind him.
------
Eyan stood before the towering doors of the reception hall, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths. He pressed a hand briefly to his heart, grounding himself.
"Alright… all good," he murmured under his breath.
With a firm push, he opened the doors, entering with a practiced smile.
"My apologies for arriving late," he said, his voice smooth yet courteous.
From within the chamber, a deep, commanding voice replied, "No, Your Majesty, do not trouble yourself with apologies."
Eyan's gaze swept forward, settling on the guest of honor. He inclined his head respectfully.
"Welcome to Velmoria, Emperor Darius Solvarn of Seraveth," Eyan declared.
Beside the emperor stood a young woman in flowing southern silks, her poise delicate yet unmistakably royal.
"And welcome to Velmoria, Princess Amara Solvarn."
Princess Amara Solvarn lowered into a graceful curtsy, her silks pooling like sunlight at her feet.
"It is a pleasure to finally meet His Majesty Eyan Lucien Therald."
Eyan inclined his head with measured poise. "No, Lady Amara—the pleasure is mine."
He took her hand, brushing his lips against her knuckles in the formal southern fashion.
Amara's eyes lingered on him longer than propriety demanded, caught off guard by the striking sharpness of his features.
"Your Majesty," she said with a composed smile, though her tone carried a hint of sincerity, "you are far more handsome than the rumors suggested."
Eyan's smile was polite, practiced. "I thank you for the kind words, Lady Amara."
Her lips curved in a quiet smile.
Turning his attention to the Emperor, Eyan's voice carried the full weight of royal courtesy. "I trust you did not face any difficulty on your journey to Velmoria, Emperor Darius."
The southern ruler's shoulders shook with a low, contented laugh. "No, Your Majesty. The journey was smooth, and I must say—Velmoria is a most beautiful country. I am pleased to be here."
Eyan bowed his head slightly. "Your words honor us, Emperor Darius. I am glad you find Velmoria welcoming."
Eyan extended his arm toward the cushioned chairs arranged near the long table. His voice carried the easy authority of a host in his own palace.
"Please, both of you—have a seat."
Emperor Darius inclined his head with a dignified nod before lowering himself onto the carved oak chair, his cloak of crimson and gold sweeping around him.
Princess Amara followed with practiced elegance, her silken gown flowing like liquid sunlight as she sat gracefully beside her father.
Eyan waited until they were settled before taking his own place across from them.
At once, Velmorian servants stepped forward in silent precision.
Silver trays bore goblets of deep red wine, accompanied by delicacies arranged with meticulous care—cheeses, spiced nuts, and sugared fruits, all chosen to honor southern tastes.
"Velmoria extends its hospitality," Eyan said smoothly, gesturing to the offerings. "May the warmth of our table be a reflection of our goodwill."
Emperor Darius reached for his goblet, lifting it slightly in acknowledgment. "Your courtesy does you credit, King Eyan. Such gestures speak louder than a thousand treaties."
Princess Amara accepted her cup with delicate fingers, her smile courteous but her eyes—bright and curious—lingered on Eyan a fraction too long.
Eyan, ever composed, raised his own glass in return. "To the friendship between Seraveth and Velmoria."
Goblets touched lightly, the crystal chime ringing through the hall.
---
(The Training hall Royal Palace)
The clang of wooden swords and the sharp scent of sweat still lingered in the air as Eva and Mira sank onto the bench, their breaths uneven but satisfied.
"It feels so good," Eva said, rolling her shoulders with a relieved sigh. "After such a long break, I'd almost forgotten how alive training makes me feel."
Mira grinned, dabbing her brow with a cloth. "Alive, yes—but exhausted too. You've been absent for almost twenty-five days, haven't you?"
Eva nodded. "Yes."
"Then you must not have heard about The Tournament."
Eva tilted her head. "What Tournament?"
"The sword tournament for new recruits. It was supposed to happen this week, but for some reason, His Majesty moved it forward."
"Forward?" Eva frowned. "Why would he do that?"
Mira shrugged, puzzled. "I don't know the reason, but it's set for next week now."
Eva leaned back, thinking. "I see."
"You should participate too, Eva."
"Me?" Eva blinked, startled. "How can I participate? It's for the official recruits. I'm just here as a temporary trainee."
Mira smirked knowingly. "Even if you're not on the official list, you can still enter. Rules bend when His Majesty allows it."
"I don't think so…" Eva murmured, doubtful.
"Well," Mira sighed, "if you don't want to, I won't push.
But Eva—if you did, and somehow managed to win, you'd earn this year's prize."
Eva's brows knit. "Prize? What would the winner get?"
Mira's eyes gleamed. "A wish. Granted directly from His Majesty."
Any wish at all—and he always keeps his word. It's been held every two years for the last decade, and never once has he never denied a victor's request."
Eva stilled, her thoughts racing. Any wish… granted by him?
"Is That so?" she whispered.
For a moment, she fell into silence, fingers curling around her knees.
Then a determined spark lit her eyes. "Well… I don't just want to chase a prize. I want to see how much I've improved. So yes—I'll participate."
Mira's smile broke into excitement. "Please do, Eva!"
"Alright," Eva said with a small laugh. "I'll go and speak to His Majesty now."
"Wait—no, not now!" Mira grabbed her sleeve quickly.
Eva blinked. "Why not?"
"Because His Majesty is busy today."
"Busy?"
"Yes The Emperor and The Princess from Seraveth arrived at The Palace this morning. He'll be tied up with them all day. Ask him tomorrow."
Eva nodded slowly. "Fair enough." She sank back down onto the bench, her sword resting across her knees.
"You know," Mira added with a conspiratorial grin, "I saw the Princess when she arrived."
"Let me tell you… she's beautiful."
Eva smiled faintly. "Is she?"
"More than beautiful," Mira insisted. "Radiant. Like the sun itself."
Eva lowered her eyes. "I wish I could see her."
The training hall doors burst open with a resounding crack against the stone walls. Both Eva and Mira jerked upright in surprise, their conversation dying mid-sentence.
Eva scowled, her voice rising without thought. "Who is that idiot—"
Her words cut short, her breath freezing in her throat.
A tall figure stepped inside, his long robe embroidered with runes that shimmered faintly in the torchlight. His sharp eyes—piercing and cold—swept across the hall before settling on her.
"I'm sorry," the man said evenly, his tone laced with faint amusement. "Did I startle you, Lady Eva?"
Eva's blood ran cold. She and Mira scrambled to their feet and bowed low.
"Forgive me, Master Luca Valerius, Grand Magus of the Velmoria Magic Tower," Eva stammered, her cheeks burning. "I… I didn't mean to call you an—"
Luca's brow lifted ever so slightly. "Idiot?"
Eva lowered her head at once, her voice small. "Yes."
The air in the training hall seemed to grow heavier, Mira's nervous swallow echoing faintly in the silence.
Luca's lips curved into a faint smile. "You are right, Lady Eva—I was an idiot for bursting the door open."
Eva blinked, startled by the unexpected humility. "That's not true… but if you say so."
His smile deepened, eyes glinting with quiet amusement. "Lady Eva, I came here to see you."
Her breath caught. "To… see me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Instead of answering, Luca's gaze shifted briefly toward Mira. The weight of his presence was enough to make her stiffen.
"Lady," he said gently, though there was an unspoken command in his tone, "would you mind leaving us alone?"
Mira paled, her voice trembling as she bowed. "Y-yes… of course, Master Luca."
"Thank you."
She hurried from the hall, leaving Eva alone under the Magus's unwavering gaze.
When his eyes returned to her, the severity melted into another smile—calm, almost kind.
"Lady Eva," Luca said softly, "would you join me for lunch today?"
Eva stared at him, stunned. "Lunch? With you, Master Luca?"
"Yes."
She shook her head in disbelief. "But how can I? I am only a commoner… and you are the Master of the Magic Tower."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then Luca spoke, his voice lower, more personal.
"Lady Eva."
"Yes?" she whispered.
"May I… call you sister?"